Podcasts about wrf

GradCast heads to the Western Research Forum! Get a glimpse into Western's largest multidisciplinary graduate research conference as hosts Liam Clifford, Mohammad Zeraati, Riya Sidhu, & Mark Ambrogio conduct short interviews with attendees, presenters, and organizers. This year's conference featured over 60 different presentations from across Western's 11 faculties. See below for interview questions and timestamps. Funding for the 39th Annual Western Research Forum was provided by Western's Society of Graduate Students (SOGS), Innovation and Strategic Partnerships, and the Academic Joint Fund, a partnership among Western Research, SOGS, and Western's School of Graduate and Postdoctoral Studies (SGPS). Recorded on March 14, 2025. Produced by Anthony Cruz. Theme song provided by https://freebeats.io/ (Produced by White Hot).   Interview Questions & Timestamps What's the biggest takeaway from your presentation? What inspired you to pursue this research? What is the effect of your research on real life? 01:00 - Jeremias 02:57 - Caitlin 04:47 - Elisabeth 06:24 - Rafaela How has presenting here helped you refine your ideas? What's one skill that has helped you succeed in your research? What's your best networking tip for first-time conference attendees? 07:37 - Sid 09:51 - Lauren 11:10 - Xavier 13:10 - Liam Summarize your research in one sentence. What has been the highlight of the WRF? How has AI influenced your research? 14:36 - Chloe 15:49 - Saghar 16:34 - Reza 19:29 - Andrew 20:16 - Aranya 21:25 - Anthony 22:12 - Ashley 23:09 - Olivia

Once again we face off in an epic battle of knowledge with our friends at Rise and Run. Joining the WRF crew is our friend Doug from The War on Cars and notoriously the Rise and Run NYC meetup featuring only hosts from Will Run For. Who will prevail? And how long will it take people to live down the outcome?

The Will Run For gang present Pace Yourself... It's Just Cancer! Erin decided to keep Tom happy by not turning this WRF into a cancer pod and so she enlisted @runningthroughbreast cancer to start one of their own! We will be back with a regular episode in a couple weeks, but until then, enjoy this inagural episode. Please follow @paceyourself.itsjustcancer and share with your friends! . Come laugh with us as we share our running experiences and talk about everything from our favorite beer runs to our chafing nightmares. Tell us what YOU run for... Email us or leave a voice memo at WillRunForPodcast@gmail.com Find us on Facebook and Instagram @WillRunForPodcast Tag your pictures and stories @WillRunForPodcast and help grow our community.

Enjoy this interview with Deny Dobobrov and Janos Sztojka of World Roma Federation! WRF is hosting a flag raising ceremony in Chicago on April 8th for International Roma Day.  To honor and share their work, we talked to them about their organization's beginnings, upcoming events, and their vision for the future. Follow, support, & join World Roma Federation through their website at https://www.wrf-gov.org/ and on Twitter @ WRFederation, and Instagram @world_roma_fed_ and @deny_dobobrov. You can find us on Instagram and Facebook @romanistanpodcast, and on Twitter @romanistanpod. To support us, Join our Patreon for extra content or donate to Ko-fi.com/romanistan, and please rate, review, and subscribe. It helps us so much. Follow Jez on Instagram @jezmina.vonthiele & Paulina @romaniholistic. Keep an eye out for our upcoming book on Romani fortune telling published by Weiser Books available October 2024.Email us at romanistanpodcast@gmail.com for inquiries. Romanistan is hosted by Jezmina Von Thiele and Paulina StevensConceived of by Paulina StevensEdited by CherubWith Music by Viktor PachasAnd Artwork by Elijah Vardo

HEADLINE: Desperate Californians climb trees to escape floods and mudslides with many trapped in cars for hours after Hilary brings record rain: Palm Springs is submerged and 25M are now under flood warnings: Shock video shows earthquake rock at bar by Olivia Jones HEADLINE: Understanding The Weather Forecasts That Preceded The Maui Wildfires by Steven Businger  Essentially a high amplitude atmospheric wave forced by strong winds interacting with the mountains of northwest Maui produced powerful, dry downslope winds on the lee slopes of West Maui mountains. The sirens are for hurricanes and tsunami's only. The community is told, if you hear the siren, you immediately get to higher ground. NWS forecasters are familiar with this weather pattern, which meteorologists refer to as a “downslope windstorm.” HEADLINE: The Real Cause of the Maui Wildfire Disaster by Cliff Mass Weather Blog A phenomenon skillfully predicted by modern high-resolution models, and thus a feature we could have warned Lahaina's population about.   A phenomenon that would have been picked up by surface weather observations, if only West Maui had invested in inexpensive weather stations. High pressure is centered north of Hawaii and this high pressure was far more intense than normal just north and over Maui (indicated by the orange, red, and brown colors).   The pressure anomalies due to the Hurricane Dora were very small in scale and limited to far south of Hawaii.  Last week, I asked David Ovens, a highly skillful atmospheric modeler in my group at the UW, to run a forecast of the Maui event using the WRF model at very high resolution (1.3 km grid spacing). I was stunned by the simulation, which revealed the real cause of the disaster:  a high-amplitude mountains wave with very strong downslope flow on the West Maui Mountains.

Dillon Francis, I knew by now, was a very skilled sorcerer. I was fasting, and quickly shifting through times, realms, and dimensions as empty as ever as I knew myself to be; these days the shortest fasts seemed the longest—and by the look and feel of things, I was always still the biggest one in the room no matter where I went. ‘Let's see what this guy can do with half a moon.' If I had to go all the way to the dance floor to continue assessing my feelings for this man, it then had to be true that there were feelings at all—and there had to have been. Either way, I didn't care much; I wasn't expecting any outcome and at the very least and most simultaneously, I was there as a fan. I was, after all, as written, Dillon Francis's biggest fan—and though I didn't wear any apparel that made it obviously so, I sought to seek means to an end at some point for the saga I had written. I had hoped to potentially see Dillon's Kayla Lauren in the wings, as I thought surely for there to be one; it would be odd for any man, especially one that traveled as much as he did, to have two dogs of his own. Again, it didn't seem to matter, as I kept it in the forefront of my mind always that a man like Dillon Francis could have anyone he wanted in the world, most certainly anyone in the audience, If a world renowned DJ were ever to do such a thing as to sink as low as to converse with a peasant, such as I; at the very least, I would record, as always, Shazam, as always, and music mine as much as I possibly could, seeing as I wasn't there to dance or to drink at all, but simply just to observe; my soul acted in certain ways in this environment, and I wanted to know why, or what it was exactly that made it do so, quite unforgivingly. Still, there was magic in the air; and whether it was his, or mine, or neither I neither cared to know nor did, but knew it to be—there was just nothing to to do but submit, as I had learned; and rightfully so, as I was coming to him, it allowed him to assert his dominance, which I liked and needed anyhow, in any event. Allowing any potential anyone to become the master was a given; and though not yet at my beauty's peak of perfection, my sexuality was peaking enough for me to explore my innate attraction to him, as I allowed it. I wanted to be controlled, and so although it felt forced and always ridden with guilt, whatever had happened with Sonny had sent me through an infinite loop and then put Kayla Lauren on display at the worst possible time; and though rarely missing a gym day since, I credited my own perseverance for it rather than her sheer luck at the genetic lottery. I would never be a little white girl, and though at my worst they acted as kryptonite to my super powers, whatever they were—I still had whatever it was they didn't, and perhaps not the affluent white man's proper ideal, still something and someone at best, maybe. I hoped to see a girl he might belong to at the show; but then wondered of course who might stay with the dogs. Are you serious? Either way, I was going to write, and record, and align with whatever my purpose was—as regardless of how, it seemed to have something to do with Dillon Francis. I was fasting, of course, but it hadn't been long; I had fulfilled what would be my calorie deficit with a box of plant based Oreos just the night before departing LA full of grief, stress, and chocolate,'for whatever reason; I would have a vegan doughnut at pink box, I decided, before I left Vegas—maybe to make up for the one I had lost in the wind from the oncoming train just days before—I called it God's work, as nothing else could be so comical and devastating at the same time—but was also still craving a doughnut and, still fitting I to everything I owed that I had purchased in an extra small, very comfortably, thought to be allowed one, at one time or another. It didn't matter to me; the white women of the world were made to steal anything I wanted or needed; especially a Sonny or a Dillon Francis, but at the very least I could ease my grief with sweets and work off the stress whenever I was blessed enough to hold gym memberships. I didn't care much, but needed the processing speed of a wired brain and empty stomach to be able to compute whatever might be meant for me to grasp in the matrix; after all, I had once thought of Dillon Francis to be a computer-program himself; the most nonplahable character yet, but still a record breaking synchronicity or rather large group of them, now, in my book. .Red Hot Chili Peppers - These Are The Ways I can see It's not meant to be Cause I can't stop lying to you And you can't stop lying to me I just keep tying you up And you just keep letting me be So who are you to me A fantasy? Freedom? Sweet relief? Perhaps, just nothing But all comes from nothing All comes from nothing All comes from lusting I'm clutching the clutch with both my feet The break is stuck, Just like my feet in the styrupa, Good luck to me You're just fucking mad at me For having such vivid imaginary catastrophies Maybe it's everything Love is But fucking What? God, I'm lucky; I ought to be I run a Fortune 500 Maybe it's nothing But all comes from nothing All comes from nothing All comes from lusting I'm clutching the clutch with both my feet The break is stuck, Just like my feet in the styrupa, Good luck to me You're just fucking mad at me For having such vivid imaginary catastrophes (Don't forget the apostrophe, Since you'll be forging for me) I can see It's not meant to be Cause I can't stop lying to you And you can't stop lying to me I just keep tying you up And you just keep letting me be So who are you to me A fantasy? Freedom? Sweet relief? Perhaps, just nothing I should be parking my car in the lobby for washing Don't mind me, It's just natural distrust All turns to dust, And all comes from nothing God, I'm lucky I should be working on something (I should be resting on Sundays, the lord says) But take my time word for it, I'm the one writing it Monday Thru Sunday I can see It's not meant to be Cause I can't stop lying to you And you can't stop lying to me I just keep tying you up And you just keep letting me be So who are you to me A fantasy? Freedom? Sweet relief? Perhaps, just nothing ‘Just remember, that every girl you see that makes you sad, is the kind of girl he gets—and that's the reason for it.' , I thought to myself. As long as I remembered Instagram models and actresses existed, I couldn't continue to be hurt by it, but I was still, somehow even after 30 years, getting used to being the ugly fat black girl—and since I wasn't Lizzo or Megan The Stallion, I really wasn't anyboth; there was still no place for me at all in the world I wanted to belong to, and I was still as I represented as I would ever be. Maybe tonight I would use my two drink tickets; a sure recipe for disaster, as I had at least almost made it to the 48 hour mark fasting, If I was counting correctly. Perhaps a vegan doughnut could soak up the liquor and shame after leaving the encore at 3 am with nothing but a handful of words and some samples, and perhaps a podcast episode if there could be one. Dua Lipa, Hallucinate What happens after The Daisy swallows Dillon Francis?! Dillon HART Francis. That's a funny name! He's a funny guy. Sometimes. Sometimes. What was I to do? I just kept writing and had nowhere to send it; there was no pitch, there was no plot, and there was certainly no point. Enter The Multiverse and The Festival Project as a whole made up for everything I could have potentially been worth—which was nothing— and I hadn't a clue at all what I was purposed for; I seemed almost psychically robotic, remembering things as they happened within seconds, only enough to slightly offset a rebuttal that at any rate seemed scripted, but wasn't—at least yet. It seemed as if I was in a movie, but to any such ohaycologist of course this could have been considered mania, psychosis, or delusions of grandeur—or even— Dillusions of Granduer. I was funny too, sometimes. I didn't have to think Dillon Francis was shallow—I knew he was shallow, just as such with Sonny or any other man worth his salt, whatever that actually meant. But, just as I had harshly learned anything else, I was starting to understand why, as the smaller and more agile I became, the more I could do with my own body, and as such began to understand why men preferred slim and petite women. I was settling in well to my non-bianary status, and my celibacy—I could do more on my own or with myself than with any partner to date, and with the only human of interest being himself well over 300 pounds, I opted to keep to myself and simply observe human nature for the time being, rather than to take part in it. I wasn't eating, but for the first time in days I had slept, and pushing anything from the future or past far from my mind, I opted to remain present, and aloof; it wouldn't mean much to try to care at all about anything—the more I cared, the more the universe would subtract from my contentedness. Hear Me Now, Nicky Romero “If the doors of perception were cleansed every thing would appear to man as it is, Infinite. For man has closed himself up, till he sees all things thro' narrow chinks of his cavern.” —William Blake As if this isn't the greatest story ever told. I'm pretty sure that's The Passion of The Christ. This is The Passion Of The Christ. That's just blasphemous. It's The Passion of— Go on. I mean, it is infinite. Well, first there was infinite— —everything— —Everything. Now what. Oh, I know. What is it? It's The Passion of Dillon Francis. Why is that? Because, they're going to kill him. Why? Dillon Francis isn't in the Illuminati! Think twice before going there. But I've got a one track mind. A one track mind In a multitrack world Is a square peg to a round hole And a half-heart To a whole world And nothing's left but to give But to give is to get Just live, Try to forget that it's Infinite What's for dinner dear? I met you here, at the crossroads Like I said I would; And you said you wouldn't come, But here you are: A phenomenon Pardon my awful camaraderie Oh! I forgot all my manners Beg your hard on for hours, Till wilted, like later my flowers Oh, the debachery —better off watching your crotch, Than up on the cross, Like last that I saw you— Stop Look, I just want to watch; I just want to wash all the blood off my hands, From the Hog I put on the bonfire (Forgot what it's called in Oahu) Who are you? I died in a fire, you know In your eyes, Despite how I tried to avoid them They light up at night, sometimes No Divine or desire I'm just here to top off my tires, I'm tired, you know —better off watching, I'm novice Another day at the office, A shot gun in place of deposits, collateral Oh, I'm the asshole— I'm actually quite proud of it This is called something of consciousness, Writing a canon, But I'm quite forgetful; A madman, if you can imagine (Disasterous) Now you attack at your best, I'm un-vested Invested my time in unrest, Don't forget I'm just under your bed We mustn't forget how it started Intensive care Must be intense in the moment When you're Dillon Francis Ah yes. Leave A Trace, CHRCHES Tell me again how you're different; I exist just to wash dishes and watch DJs— I'm lazy; A patronage made just to let the white bitches forget all their privelege; In fact, it's a gift In fact, they're chosen— In fact, I'm just “Isn't” It's miserable Everyone Talks, Neon Trees | Three Pound Chicken Wing, deadmau5 | Paradise, Laidback Luke feat. Bright Lights Let me explain, How it's a vibration; I don't care what body you're in— It's all the same love, If it's all the same love, Then I love you I love you I love you, But I'm in a body It's torturous Let me explain how It's a vibration New word: It's Sapiosexual; Oh, I forgot how you Maddened me once, with your syntax and grammar Ah, now I'm sad as Hell ‘Might as well end it”, I thought to myself If looked as disheveled as I felt They would have stopped me from entering Even at ‘Envy' Let me explain, How I'm the villain This just happens over and over To poor Skrillex And Dillon Francis So much fame and fortune It turns into torture The girls on the rail A pecking order; Ready to devour, And be devoured by The man of the hour “ I might as well end it, then” I said. (But just for attention, I'm stuck in this body, Just rotting Cause nobody wants me at this damn party I've had enough of it I need some water and Probably a therapist Oh, ‘Stream of consciousness' There, I remembered it. Who could ever love me (No one does) Who could ever need me (No one does) Who would ever want me (No one does) Uh huh, I'm no fun at parties [Three knocks on the door] I ignore it (This part is important) [three more knocks] Ought to be something, But still, I assume that it's nothing No guts, and no glory Nobody to love me Uh huh I'm no fun at parties Who could ever love me (No one does) Who could ever need me (No one does) Who would ever want me (No one does) No wonder I used to cut myself “I can feel something” I once sung Now I just run; But— I'm still not small enough For somebody to want me I like to eat every now and again But— I guess that's my problem I just want someone to want me That doesn't remind me of Something i'm not But instead as in awe of my body As I am of Anything other than Tragedy Walk like an Egyptian, The Bangles I excused myself for the lackluster workout—after all, it had been days since my last real meal, and three now since my last solid anything; I had been happy with coconut water and alkaline, trying not to stay too far from the petite I was aiming for.; the plaid dress was a perfect match for the boots I had picked out, astonished that with the nearly 300-lb weight loss, my feet had also happened to shrink down a size and a half—I was dressed to impress, but prepared to be humiliated, and to top that—very eager to Google how long it would take me to get from XS, to Pink Box doughnuts—which was open 24 hours. At least I didn't exactly look like a prostitute—and, as an added bonus, might even could keep the dress for work or interviews; the boots walked nicely, at least for now, and I didn't mind the modesty, as I was already as out of place and forgotten as could be. Rather than opting for a coconut water, I stayed empty; not much was needed to do what I intended, which was almost nothing, and I hoped at the very least my senses and delicate nerves would be somehow put at ease. My iPhone microphone was sensitive enough to catch a song from a car waiting for the light halfway across the street— Freddie's Dead, Curtis Mayfield I crossed at the walk and kept my eyes to the ground, steadying my gait I into an awkward trot as not to appear to confident. I was right on time at the bus stop, and, within moments, not to my suprise, the 103 passed by me, even as I leaned against the stop waving my phone wirh the screen lit. “What a dick.” Perhaps I had fasted too long and worked out too hard; I had indeed left my clothes in a heap of heavy and drenched conglomerate of sweat and tears. I did have a headache, and didn't care much to return yet to my dwelling—in fact, there was something calling me out, and so out I went. Summoning a surprisingly inexpensive Über, I trotted begrudgingly to the WinCo behind me for a Pressed Coconjr Water—the world seemed to dysfunction a little too autonomously when I was running on empty, and with less stored fat supply than before, any triggered ketosis often resulted in a heavy cloud of thoughtless disability; I fumbled around clumsily, breathing shallow in the overstimulation of everything and everyone's aura—but that was exactly what I needed to see: Dillon had always glowed in brilliant shades of purple, but at one time, white—which startled me, especially because it was rare for anyone to glow that way. 120 calories of Coconut water wouldn't quite offset the caloric deficits Raul picked me up in a brand new Tesla, of course—which didn't feel like a coincidence, as nothing did; I had just earlier in the day been thinking of Lim Manuel Miranda, whose face was earned on the cover of a magazine as I purchased my coconut wate; I snapped a picture and hurried along to my whatever it was—instead of spending the next two hours on the bus, I'd get to collect the music from the warmup DJ, and since it was his job I wanted to aquire, it was probably in good taste and good fortune to support anyone whose name I didn't already know. As I arrived to the encore, my eyes were blurred and I was still a little woozy, but the headache was gone and replaced with an all-out bad attitude that didn't exactl come from out of nowhere. As easily distracted as I was, and out of place, I was surprisingly quick to lose self awareness; as I stopped to take a portrait for the festival project, security approached, assuming I was as trashed as anybody else hunched over the trash can—I explained I was working on an art project, and she seemed refreshed—I hadn't realized that how it looked wasn't at all out of the ordinary, remembering where I was, and suddenly, remembering where I was, I remembered the first time I was here, which had inspired the poem Red Velvet, which was lost to time and buried in the rubble of my endlessly infinite Google documents I never received my drink tickets—probably for the best, as k had been tempted this time to actually use them. My life was in actual shambles, with no direction whatsoever—and here I was, on the guestlist at Dillon Francis of all places, with nearly no other place to be. Maybe if I was vigilant I would be front and center at the rail—placing me back in the fandom instead of fiending for a reason or purpose any of this had happened. I'm not mad You're a man And an animal Can't help yourself can you you? Don't be mad at me I'm just a fan And an animal I can't help my attraction I'm second to last, Wirh my hand on the rail And I'm not here to dance (But the music's fantastic) Well, Dillon's front row is always a sight for sore eyes. This is hilarious. I'm laughing on the inside. Just, have a little drink with me. WHY DOES THE DJ KEEP PLAYING SIMMERTIME SADNESS!!! ITS NOT EVEN SUMMER. #SELFIE The club scene had changed much since the days of Red Velvet, but not much, also—vanity had always been the norm, but now more was allowable; at least Fat girls were allowed on the Dance floor without bogarting our way in—but now, the whole of the masses needed photographic evidence of everything; I wasn't in the least interested in taking photos of myself, or anything really hit the discarded rmknce of what had been a night of drinking and shenanigans, whatever the outcome; I never knew, but typically lately had made a habit of throwing away the trash after taking the photos for my project; tonight thiugh, something new caught my eye, as the warm up and caught my ears and I Shazammed every song for the taking—.Recycling bins at the foot of the rails—where, by the way, I had been pushed to front and center, looking quite like someone's Grandmother in my spectacles and too- long- for- the-club-dress—but I was comfortable, hadn't been given any trouble at the door, and, for the time being, was actually next to someone's grandparents. b€NZ (feat syaquis) Front row lit Finna get bent Imma get Imma get. I don't mind a white girl It's just for the night, girl But if you hit me with that ponytail one more time, girl We finnafight girl Go ahead Get it Get it Shake that bony ass Like we on skid row. Yas Go ahead. Front row lit Fin a get bent Imma get Imma get. I don't mind a white girl It's just for the night, girl But if you hit me with that ponytail one more time, girl We fin a fight girl Go ahead Get it Get it Front row lit Fin a get bent Imma get Imma get. I don't mind a white girl It's just for the night, girl But if you hit me with that ponytail one more time, girl We fin a fight girl Go ahead Get it Get it Shame that bony ass Like we on skid row. Where we gonna go In the morning Go ahead. The DJ's pace was picking up, so I knew that it had to be toward the end of his set—would I even make it to close—or did I want to? There wasn't much to see, but there might be more to write. I looked around myself, empathy giving way; now I wasn't myself, or anyone in particular—just a bystander in the crowd, drunk off the placebo of experience ‘What if this was your life every night for the last 10 years?' Uhhhh. I Shazamed another tune— What if this is your life for the next 10 years? Oh Fuxk. I'm getting too old for this. Or… just old enough. The night was moving forward, and so people were drunker, and I probably wouldn't stay at the front row too long; but I was right in the place where the bass hit just right, so it felt good enough— but you couldn't see the DJ's hands. Just so you know, When I'm bored at a show— I take out my notebook Oh no, You're not bothering me; No thanks, I'm not really lonely, I'm just Writing a novel Or album Or movie Or something “Are you in the industry?” The tallish blonde girl next to me asked, progressively more drunk than when she first had appeared next to me at the rail—the front row was now predominately female, which I supposed to be typical—what a life. I just shook my head and continued as I was. For the most part unamused, and even a little bored, as I always was at a club show. I wasn't behind the decks, so I wasn't really anywhere at all. Maybe it was the bass, but I had suddenly stopped craving a doughnut, however by 4 am I was probably just about going to be ready for one; Or half dozen, cause— And with a flash of steam and sweat, the man of the hour appeared, but I found it hard to lift my head— I probably should step back from this front row… The energy in your front row is everything; at least to a DJ like me… Okay Gerald, I'll get you a table— you can't tell anyone you're a piñata. Okay ?' okay. GERALD has permanently shapeshifted into a Human being. (To a hot girl) I'M ACTUALLY A PIÑATA. (Drunken hot girl) WHAT? I'M A PIÑATA! WHAT?! GERALD, NO. WHAT? She's drunk! So?! i told you already—don't tell anyone you're using magic—-or I'm using magic— But—Dillon—magic is real! You said so! I know that!!! DFR, Dillon Francis God dammit, I almost forgot about this album. No you didnt. (Shapeshifting) (Spellcasting) (Other Magic shit) Yeah, but I forgot about the album. Yeah, I bet SAVAGE>< Freek In The Ghetto, Skrillex No. No. No. Oh fuck, where is Skrillex? Oh yeah, huh?! OH YEAH, huh. — What the everlivingFUCK. Oh shit. WHAT are you doing? Just playing a game. WHATDIDITELLYOU— Oh shit, she's mad— Run, dude— Run!! OH SHIT. I THOUGHT I TOLD YOU Well— Well. Well, well, well— Suddenly, it seemed everyone in the front row Was alt right- and as always, all the hot white girls moved into VIP—it was a tired game; I would always be black, and I would always be ugly, and so it hurt less than made me think twice or three times who I was dealing with. I just so happened to look over my shoulder and be somewhat attracted to the girl behind me. ‘'maybe it's time to start dating women' …but that would never work. GERALD. WHAT?! I thought I told you— I know, I know— GIMME ANOTHER SHOT. What, Dillon—! I thought you weren't DRINKING! Gerald! It's me! I know it's you. No! It's me! Ū! SUPACREE?! NO' SHH! I'm Ū!!! Where's / Dillon Francis?! WHERE IS SKRILLEX? He's in your heart. Oh shit. I gave that to Dillon Francis. Well, then, you have your answer. Fuxk. Let it happen. Tame Impala Man, I love that kid. I love that kid. So what happened? It's a long story. —NOT THE TIME MACHINE —NOT THE BOX GET IN THE TIME MACHINE! NOT THE BOX—!!!!! UGH, not Dillon Francis. (Yes, Dillon Francis.) What's his deal?! Who's what, him!!? YES. Satan. Hm. Whats your deal with Dillon Francis? What?! I don't have a deal with Dillon Francis… What?! YOU DONT!? NO! Why not? Cause! Being honest..? The devil, being honest: (Psh) I owe him money. What!! Satan, no way. Yes way! Hod that happen?' Lost a bet. Damn. This set is getting good. What are you watching? Gerald's world The legend of supacree Enter the multiverse The infinite Skrillifiles What? Uh oh. What ñ 5) 3 time space time continuums just shattered CONFETTI BLAST OH SHIT, it just shattered twice. We gotta go. Where we going To the planet Which—ducking planet. The one with the ducks. QUACK oh shit. A duck DUCK DUCK!! DUCK—DUCK—DUCK— Damn, this game really has gone on forever— ITS EDM O CLOCK, BITCH—! GET UP!! Mmm. We better go. Yes. We better go ALI and AVICII are very, very drunk in Heaven. THEY FINALLY MADE IT?! —of course we made it! —We knew the way! But of course: GOD No, go back. WHAT ARE YOU serious? MARTY! MARTY MCFLY! DAWG, it's good to see you! Wait. What the Fuxk dimension is THIS?' It's the one with Dillon Francis That's— a —FUCK. Dillon Francis is in a lot of dimensions. Yeah but this is the right one. How do you know? That was the theme song for the TV show. What TV show? Damn. I'm fucked up. What! I thought you didn't drink. I don't I'm an empath. MEANWHILE SUPACREE and SUNNÍ BLŪ have collided in a para-dimensional reality OH, SHIT, it's ME OH FUCK—DAMN. Now what do we do? Drugs? Drugs. Yeaaaaaaaah. One More Time, Daft Punk My son's favorite song. It was the second time it had played today, and the first time it wasn't nearly as bad as the second — now i was glad for the cloud of cold steam, I couldn't hide my upset as much as I wanted to ‘'Just keep writing' Okay. They're trying to kill me With white girls, And memories And it just might work I'm trying to write myself out the box Oh my god And it just my work I'm trying to get lost But I'm all out of sauce This is not gonna work I see you went and hopped on the band wagon Somebody get that dragon. /$3/ Huh That's how much I paid for this You—what?! I paid $3 You paid $3 Yes. For this. Yes. I'm gonna kill you. Ū VS DILLON FRANCIS Uh oh. Here it goes. FIGHT. Oh shit. I've been waiting all season for this. Here it goes. KO. SUPACREE WINS. What. It's over already? This isn't possible. GAME OVER. What the Fuxk. This is insane. No fucking way #%%]!! Wait. What the fuck I thought it was Ū VS Dillon Francisz YeH! It was. What the fuck. So how did SUPACREE win? Huh. Wait, did anybody ever find Skrillex? Oh, My God. Just then, someone threw a Red Bull and it hit my foot enough that it actually distracted me from writing— THROW ANOTHER ONE! No, dont! Why, what's wrong? I have to take back these boots in the morning. Oh good, Jesus made it. What Jesus who! JESÚS CHRIST! What? What do you want? I didn't think you'd come! I had to. I thought you were on vacation. Exactly. Listen, Dillon—I have to tell you something. Uh huh. This isn't going to be easy. Chak Chel, what is it? I need you to listen. Uh, I'm kinda busy. It was at this point— Really, this point—? I had to stop and asses for myself what was really happening. I was writing up a storm, and it did seem to happen automatically, as it had before. I'm a looper Open the coupe up, Stupid, Who did you think I is This is the business Go listen to Skrillex And KILL YOURSELF Huh? JUST KILL YOURSELF. Ah, okay—but not because you said so. Listen, I'm finna spit this quick while you spin it Spit in it: clitoris I'm different bitch After this dinner I'm still in the kitchen With dishes, bitch Till it glistens While I listen To excision (I'm just kidding) Dammit, this is a lot of Skrillex What exactly did you say about Dillon Francis not being in the Illuminati First of all, the Illuminati isn't real. SUPACREE How did you get famous? SUNNÍ BLŪ I'm in the Illuminati. You? SUPACREE I AM the Illuminati. SUNNÍ BLŪ NIce. [Cheers] Hey. Hey. Anybody seen Gerald? … … … Zzz. Damn. Nodding off On the clock I'm on the floor, And yo this shit is toxic Turn the knob a bit; My foot starting to throb again I'm looking hot like Somebody's mom again Damn. I'm getting off On the wrong kind of drama This isn't long at all But it's all wrong, ya'll I dont belong here Lost My Mind, Alison Wonderland OHH THIS SHIT BE HITTING DIFFERENT It did hit different. Someone either vomited or spilled the rest of their drink on me, which took me out of my moment: the music was telling a story, at least to me—and I didn't feel like feeling right then, but it was all I could do ñ. I was surprised that I was still standing at all, Ugh. I don't understand my feelings. This was deeper than it seemed, bigger than it — Ugh. What do you want from me? All I've got is applause, and a cough drop It's just another night at the office I'm somebody's mom In a long lost thought; All zeros on the clock In a tick tock, or two, when you're off And you're long gone, I'll still be wandering Stuck at the mall Till the bus comes —trying to write myself out the box I'm a lost soul I'm a club kid I'm a lost cause But i'll stay till the end, Cause last time I walked off And my thoughts wandered back to the dance floor All that I wanted is A penny for gods thoughts And now she keeps dropping them —and more often then not, She's dropping the knowledge That I'm in the wrong, For just wanting you: But what can I do; I just want to be like you, and less of a primate Something saw right through me, and I felt invisible—now a doughnut sounded good, and I hoped that they would have vegan this early in the morning. There was about a half hour left of the set, and I was tired; I would stay until the end of the set, for some reason—-but now — Oh shit. Remember that one time/— Which TIME One time, I lost my mind and drove off of a bridge. That did happen. That did happen. I had at one point been unwell, and so— ugh, that's it Some smelly kid squeezed his way in between me and the next person over,,probably on molly or something—meanwhile the young white supremacists club of America was codeswitching up a storm, me pretending not to notice, but— he was dancing a little too hard, hitting me a little too much—and clearly not giving any kind of fuck: it wouldn't be my first panic attack on the dance floor, but it probably would be my last; it was the same story over and over again— only the next generation had even less of a Fuxk than I ever did. I left the dance floor and opted to stand behind VIP — DID ANYONE EVER FIND SKRILLEX? Wrf. He died. WHAT. No seriously, I watched him die. Okay. Then what? Then he got up. That's a twist. Now I can't sleep. That sounds traumatic. It was traumatic. How long's it been? I HAVE NOT SLEPT IN ONE HUNDRED THOUSAND YEARS. Great, the vampires are here, too. Good. I've been craving Vegan blood. Ihj. What. It's better for you. God dammit, Dillon Francis Why does this always happen? I can't remember half of what I did Before I napped, and landed back in this dimension Now, I'll give you my attention for a minute— But I'm worried about Skrillex Didnt I mention i needed permission (Or just a perscription) To get this ignition I didn't even want to come to this I hate this club It's filled will memories You won't remember me For half another century Cause I can't finish writing I'm too busy riding The bus To work And crying all the time Cause therapy doesn't And I used to love this stuff, but UHH 1–2–3 : BUN UP THE DANCE This is a lot of Skrillex. Is he okay? Is Dillon Francis Okay!? They're both okay. They're both millionaires. They'll be fine. huayayay!!!!. Fuck this. Fuck this. Alright, I'm leaving. Are we eating? If it's vegan. Ah man. What just happened? I'm definitely in the Illuminati. I have a tendency To pretend that You're friends with me Speeded I get it's a Fantasy But I had to see you In the flesh I digress I picture you're just as Obsessed with me Guess I'd regret to suggest that You should have Sex with me Directly but it's nestled in my head In the red Would you get into bed with me After everything I said Or I wrote, and you read Or am I just Better off dead Youre so far ahead, And I get that it's Just a test At best but I've yet to digest Breakfast Caught in a web of Heaven or or empathy Trying to empty my envy For whoever's holding your hand Instead of me Please, Forgive me— But, If you're reading this, It's too late; All triple sixes and Tipping the sinners With witless intentions Wet at the back of the ears But I've known you for years And I said I'd be here; I remembered the dress If a grown man can be a romantic, Like I am This is the promised land No looking back-- "I have to have that" Back to reality; I see now, how a woman's like a hat Just a thing, An unneeded accessory, Like jewelry; To wear it, It must be a match Not just average, Accentuates or masks Whatever it is what you have, And you have so many that It doesn't matter. What is he after? He has everything Most likely just using me to bring these Creatures to life If he needs a wife, she's Probably staring back at me, Through the back of the camera; Fantastic beasts and fucking fansasies A fallacy A back handed chance at a handsome Has been; But he'll never been had like that, He has everything, But he could have more than that, He can have anything, And he has, he's Magic or something or Mad at me for taking so long but, I've been in the world of monsters, Reeling; Oh what a horrible feeling I'm dealing with being unappealing and Peeling potatoes, which Remind me of me, cause Kenny Powers middle name is White, Like Walter, I'm just trying to find The alter to sell away something inside, I'm dying; Or at least I'd like to I've Tried a dozen times I'd smile if I had the time-- Remind me, what it is again It isn't comprehensive, But I'm out of my element-- And the elephant in the room is named Skrillex, Or Dillon Francis, Or Timmy Trumpet, Or, Fuck It-- I'll probably never be the DJ that I wanna be Cause I'm awfully ugly, And no one wants to play with me But hey, Maybe it's just a mistake Its just no one speaks my language Comunication is limited I'm sitting in the back of the short bus Discussing this with my imaginary elephant, But that's irrelevant to the White rinocerous in front of the bus with trust issues bigger than the rest of us https://gofund.me/7d3da4e5 {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2022 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -U.

Dillon Francis, I knew by now, was a very skilled sorcerer. I was fasting, and quickly shifting through times, realms, and dimensions as empty as ever as I knew myself to be; these days the shortest fasts seemed the longest—and by the look and feel of things, I was always still the biggest one in the room no matter where I went. ‘Let's see what this guy can do with half a moon.' If I had to go all the way to the dance floor to continue assessing my feelings for this man, it then had to be true that there were feelings at all—and there had to have been. Either way, I didn't care much; I wasn't expecting any outcome and at the very least and most simultaneously, I was there as a fan. I was, after all, as written, Dillon Francis's biggest fan—and though I didn't wear any apparel that made it obviously so, I sought to seek means to an end at some point for the saga I had written. I had hoped to potentially see Dillon's Kayla Lauren in the wings, as I thought surely for there to be one; it would be odd for any man, especially one that traveled as much as he did, to have two dogs of his own. Again, it didn't seem to matter, as I kept it in the forefront of my mind always that a man like Dillon Francis could have anyone he wanted in the world, most certainly anyone in the audience, If a world renowned DJ were ever to do such a thing as to sink as low as to converse with a peasant, such as I; at the very least, I would record, as always, Shazam, as always, and music mine as much as I possibly could, seeing as I wasn't there to dance or to drink at all, but simply just to observe; my soul acted in certain ways in this environment, and I wanted to know why, or what it was exactly that made it do so, quite unforgivingly. Still, there was magic in the air; and whether it was his, or mine, or neither I neither cared to know nor did, but knew it to be—there was just nothing to to do but submit, as I had learned; and rightfully so, as I was coming to him, it allowed him to assert his dominance, which I liked and needed anyhow, in any event. Allowing any potential anyone to become the master was a given; and though not yet at my beauty's peak of perfection, my sexuality was peaking enough for me to explore my innate attraction to him, as I allowed it. I wanted to be controlled, and so although it felt forced and always ridden with guilt, whatever had happened with Sonny had sent me through an infinite loop and then put Kayla Lauren on display at the worst possible time; and though rarely missing a gym day since, I credited my own perseverance for it rather than her sheer luck at the genetic lottery. I would never be a little white girl, and though at my worst they acted as kryptonite to my super powers, whatever they were—I still had whatever it was they didn't, and perhaps not the affluent white man's proper ideal, still something and someone at best, maybe. I hoped to see a girl he might belong to at the show; but then wondered of course who might stay with the dogs. Are you serious? Either way, I was going to write, and record, and align with whatever my purpose was—as regardless of how, it seemed to have something to do with Dillon Francis. I was fasting, of course, but it hadn't been long; I had fulfilled what would be my calorie deficit with a box of plant based Oreos just the night before departing LA full of grief, stress, and chocolate,'for whatever reason; I would have a vegan doughnut at pink box, I decided, before I left Vegas—maybe to make up for the one I had lost in the wind from the oncoming train just days before—I called it God's work, as nothing else could be so comical and devastating at the same time—but was also still craving a doughnut and, still fitting I to everything I owed that I had purchased in an extra small, very comfortably, thought to be allowed one, at one time or another. It didn't matter to me; the white women of the world were made to steal anything I wanted or needed; especially a Sonny or a Dillon Francis, but at the very least I could ease my grief with sweets and work off the stress whenever I was blessed enough to hold gym memberships. I didn't care much, but needed the processing speed of a wired brain and empty stomach to be able to compute whatever might be meant for me to grasp in the matrix; after all, I had once thought of Dillon Francis to be a computer-program himself; the most nonplahable character yet, but still a record breaking synchronicity or rather large group of them, now, in my book. .Red Hot Chili Peppers - These Are The Ways I can see It's not meant to be Cause I can't stop lying to you And you can't stop lying to me I just keep tying you up And you just keep letting me be So who are you to me A fantasy? Freedom? Sweet relief? Perhaps, just nothing But all comes from nothing All comes from nothing All comes from lusting I'm clutching the clutch with both my feet The break is stuck, Just like my feet in the styrupa, Good luck to me You're just fucking mad at me For having such vivid imaginary catastrophies Maybe it's everything Love is But fucking What? God, I'm lucky; I ought to be I run a Fortune 500 Maybe it's nothing But all comes from nothing All comes from nothing All comes from lusting I'm clutching the clutch with both my feet The break is stuck, Just like my feet in the styrupa, Good luck to me You're just fucking mad at me For having such vivid imaginary catastrophes (Don't forget the apostrophe, Since you'll be forging for me) I can see It's not meant to be Cause I can't stop lying to you And you can't stop lying to me I just keep tying you up And you just keep letting me be So who are you to me A fantasy? Freedom? Sweet relief? Perhaps, just nothing I should be parking my car in the lobby for washing Don't mind me, It's just natural distrust All turns to dust, And all comes from nothing God, I'm lucky I should be working on something (I should be resting on Sundays, the lord says) But take my time word for it, I'm the one writing it Monday Thru Sunday I can see It's not meant to be Cause I can't stop lying to you And you can't stop lying to me I just keep tying you up And you just keep letting me be So who are you to me A fantasy? Freedom? Sweet relief? Perhaps, just nothing ‘Just remember, that every girl you see that makes you sad, is the kind of girl he gets—and that's the reason for it.' , I thought to myself. As long as I remembered Instagram models and actresses existed, I couldn't continue to be hurt by it, but I was still, somehow even after 30 years, getting used to being the ugly fat black girl—and since I wasn't Lizzo or Megan The Stallion, I really wasn't anyboth; there was still no place for me at all in the world I wanted to belong to, and I was still as I represented as I would ever be. Maybe tonight I would use my two drink tickets; a sure recipe for disaster, as I had at least almost made it to the 48 hour mark fasting, If I was counting correctly. Perhaps a vegan doughnut could soak up the liquor and shame after leaving the encore at 3 am with nothing but a handful of words and some samples, and perhaps a podcast episode if there could be one. Dua Lipa, Hallucinate What happens after The Daisy swallows Dillon Francis?! Dillon HART Francis. That's a funny name! He's a funny guy. Sometimes. Sometimes. What was I to do? I just kept writing and had nowhere to send it; there was no pitch, there was no plot, and there was certainly no point. Enter The Multiverse and The Festival Project as a whole made up for everything I could have potentially been worth—which was nothing— and I hadn't a clue at all what I was purposed for; I seemed almost psychically robotic, remembering things as they happened within seconds, only enough to slightly offset a rebuttal that at any rate seemed scripted, but wasn't—at least yet. It seemed as if I was in a movie, but to any such ohaycologist of course this could have been considered mania, psychosis, or delusions of grandeur—or even— Dillusions of Granduer. I was funny too, sometimes. I didn't have to think Dillon Francis was shallow—I knew he was shallow, just as such with Sonny or any other man worth his salt, whatever that actually meant. But, just as I had harshly learned anything else, I was starting to understand why, as the smaller and more agile I became, the more I could do with my own body, and as such began to understand why men preferred slim and petite women. I was settling in well to my non-bianary status, and my celibacy—I could do more on my own or with myself than with any partner to date, and with the only human of interest being himself well over 300 pounds, I opted to keep to myself and simply observe human nature for the time being, rather than to take part in it. I wasn't eating, but for the first time in days I had slept, and pushing anything from the future or past far from my mind, I opted to remain present, and aloof; it wouldn't mean much to try to care at all about anything—the more I cared, the more the universe would subtract from my contentedness. Hear Me Now, Nicky Romero “If the doors of perception were cleansed every thing would appear to man as it is, Infinite. For man has closed himself up, till he sees all things thro' narrow chinks of his cavern.” —William Blake As if this isn't the greatest story ever told. I'm pretty sure that's The Passion of The Christ. This is The Passion Of The Christ. That's just blasphemous. It's The Passion of— Go on. I mean, it is infinite. Well, first there was infinite— —everything— —Everything. Now what. Oh, I know. What is it? It's The Passion of Dillon Francis. Why is that? Because, they're going to kill him. Why? Dillon Francis isn't in the Illuminati! Think twice before going there. But I've got a one track mind. A one track mind In a multitrack world Is a square peg to a round hole And a half-heart To a whole world And nothing's left but to give But to give is to get Just live, Try to forget that it's Infinite What's for dinner dear? I met you here, at the crossroads Like I said I would; And you said you wouldn't come, But here you are: A phenomenon Pardon my awful camaraderie Oh! I forgot all my manners Beg your hard on for hours, Till wilted, like later my flowers Oh, the debachery —better off watching your crotch, Than up on the cross, Like last that I saw you— Stop Look, I just want to watch; I just want to wash all the blood off my hands, From the Hog I put on the bonfire (Forgot what it's called in Oahu) Who are you? I died in a fire, you know In your eyes, Despite how I tried to avoid them They light up at night, sometimes No Divine or desire I'm just here to top off my tires, I'm tired, you know —better off watching, I'm novice Another day at the office, A shot gun in place of deposits, collateral Oh, I'm the asshole— I'm actually quite proud of it This is called something of consciousness, Writing a canon, But I'm quite forgetful; A madman, if you can imagine (Disasterous) Now you attack at your best, I'm un-vested Invested my time in unrest, Don't forget I'm just under your bed We mustn't forget how it started Intensive care Must be intense in the moment When you're Dillon Francis Ah yes. Leave A Trace, CHRCHES Tell me again how you're different; I exist just to wash dishes and watch DJs— I'm lazy; A patronage made just to let the white bitches forget all their privelege; In fact, it's a gift In fact, they're chosen— In fact, I'm just “Isn't” It's miserable Everyone Talks, Neon Trees | Three Pound Chicken Wing, deadmau5 | Paradise, Laidback Luke feat. Bright Lights Let me explain, How it's a vibration; I don't care what body you're in— It's all the same love, If it's all the same love, Then I love you I love you I love you, But I'm in a body It's torturous Let me explain how It's a vibration New word: It's Sapiosexual; Oh, I forgot how you Maddened me once, with your syntax and grammar Ah, now I'm sad as Hell ‘Might as well end it”, I thought to myself If looked as disheveled as I felt They would have stopped me from entering Even at ‘Envy' Let me explain, How I'm the villain This just happens over and over To poor Skrillex And Dillon Francis So much fame and fortune It turns into torture The girls on the rail A pecking order; Ready to devour, And be devoured by The man of the hour “ I might as well end it, then” I said. (But just for attention, I'm stuck in this body, Just rotting Cause nobody wants me at this damn party I've had enough of it I need some water and Probably a therapist Oh, ‘Stream of consciousness' There, I remembered it. Who could ever love me (No one does) Who could ever need me (No one does) Who would ever want me (No one does) Uh huh, I'm no fun at parties [Three knocks on the door] I ignore it (This part is important) [three more knocks] Ought to be something, But still, I assume that it's nothing No guts, and no glory Nobody to love me Uh huh I'm no fun at parties Who could ever love me (No one does) Who could ever need me (No one does) Who would ever want me (No one does) No wonder I used to cut myself “I can feel something” I once sung Now I just run; But— I'm still not small enough For somebody to want me I like to eat every now and again But— I guess that's my problem I just want someone to want me That doesn't remind me of Something i'm not But instead as in awe of my body As I am of Anything other than Tragedy Walk like an Egyptian, The Bangles I excused myself for the lackluster workout—after all, it had been days since my last real meal, and three now since my last solid anything; I had been happy with coconut water and alkaline, trying not to stay too far from the petite I was aiming for.; the plaid dress was a perfect match for the boots I had picked out, astonished that with the nearly 300-lb weight loss, my feet had also happened to shrink down a size and a half—I was dressed to impress, but prepared to be humiliated, and to top that—very eager to Google how long it would take me to get from XS, to Pink Box doughnuts—which was open 24 hours. At least I didn't exactly look like a prostitute—and, as an added bonus, might even could keep the dress for work or interviews; the boots walked nicely, at least for now, and I didn't mind the modesty, as I was already as out of place and forgotten as could be. Rather than opting for a coconut water, I stayed empty; not much was needed to do what I intended, which was almost nothing, and I hoped at the very least my senses and delicate nerves would be somehow put at ease. My iPhone microphone was sensitive enough to catch a song from a car waiting for the light halfway across the street— Freddie's Dead, Curtis Mayfield I crossed at the walk and kept my eyes to the ground, steadying my gait I into an awkward trot as not to appear to confident. I was right on time at the bus stop, and, within moments, not to my suprise, the 103 passed by me, even as I leaned against the stop waving my phone wirh the screen lit. “What a dick.” Perhaps I had fasted too long and worked out too hard; I had indeed left my clothes in a heap of heavy and drenched conglomerate of sweat and tears. I did have a headache, and didn't care much to return yet to my dwelling—in fact, there was something calling me out, and so out I went. Summoning a surprisingly inexpensive Über, I trotted begrudgingly to the WinCo behind me for a Pressed Coconjr Water—the world seemed to dysfunction a little too autonomously when I was running on empty, and with less stored fat supply than before, any triggered ketosis often resulted in a heavy cloud of thoughtless disability; I fumbled around clumsily, breathing shallow in the overstimulation of everything and everyone's aura—but that was exactly what I needed to see: Dillon had always glowed in brilliant shades of purple, but at one time, white—which startled me, especially because it was rare for anyone to glow that way. 120 calories of Coconut water wouldn't quite offset the caloric deficits Raul picked me up in a brand new Tesla, of course—which didn't feel like a coincidence, as nothing did; I had just earlier in the day been thinking of Lim Manuel Miranda, whose face was earned on the cover of a magazine as I purchased my coconut wate; I snapped a picture and hurried along to my whatever it was—instead of spending the next two hours on the bus, I'd get to collect the music from the warmup DJ, and since it was his job I wanted to aquire, it was probably in good taste and good fortune to support anyone whose name I didn't already know. As I arrived to the encore, my eyes were blurred and I was still a little woozy, but the headache was gone and replaced with an all-out bad attitude that didn't exactl come from out of nowhere. As easily distracted as I was, and out of place, I was surprisingly quick to lose self awareness; as I stopped to take a portrait for the festival project, security approached, assuming I was as trashed as anybody else hunched over the trash can—I explained I was working on an art project, and she seemed refreshed—I hadn't realized that how it looked wasn't at all out of the ordinary, remembering where I was, and suddenly, remembering where I was, I remembered the first time I was here, which had inspired the poem Red Velvet, which was lost to time and buried in the rubble of my endlessly infinite Google documents I never received my drink tickets—probably for the best, as k had been tempted this time to actually use them. My life was in actual shambles, with no direction whatsoever—and here I was, on the guestlist at Dillon Francis of all places, with nearly no other place to be. Maybe if I was vigilant I would be front and center at the rail—placing me back in the fandom instead of fiending for a reason or purpose any of this had happened. I'm not mad You're a man And an animal Can't help yourself can you you? Don't be mad at me I'm just a fan And an animal I can't help my attraction I'm second to last, Wirh my hand on the rail And I'm not here to dance (But the music's fantastic) Well, Dillon's front row is always a sight for sore eyes. This is hilarious. I'm laughing on the inside. Just, have a little drink with me. WHY DOES THE DJ KEEP PLAYING SIMMERTIME SADNESS!!! ITS NOT EVEN SUMMER. #SELFIE The club scene had changed much since the days of Red Velvet, but not much, also—vanity had always been the norm, but now more was allowable; at least Fat girls were allowed on the Dance floor without bogarting our way in—but now, the whole of the masses needed photographic evidence of everything; I wasn't in the least interested in taking photos of myself, or anything really hit the discarded rmknce of what had been a night of drinking and shenanigans, whatever the outcome; I never knew, but typically lately had made a habit of throwing away the trash after taking the photos for my project; tonight thiugh, something new caught my eye, as the warm up and caught my ears and I Shazammed every song for the taking—.Recycling bins at the foot of the rails—where, by the way, I had been pushed to front and center, looking quite like someone's Grandmother in my spectacles and too- long- for- the-club-dress—but I was comfortable, hadn't been given any trouble at the door, and, for the time being, was actually next to someone's grandparents. b€NZ (feat syaquis) Front row lit Finna get bent Imma get Imma get. I don't mind a white girl It's just for the night, girl But if you hit me with that ponytail one more time, girl We finnafight girl Go ahead Get it Get it Shake that bony ass Like we on skid row. Yas Go ahead. Front row lit Fin a get bent Imma get Imma get. I don't mind a white girl It's just for the night, girl But if you hit me with that ponytail one more time, girl We fin a fight girl Go ahead Get it Get it Front row lit Fin a get bent Imma get Imma get. I don't mind a white girl It's just for the night, girl But if you hit me with that ponytail one more time, girl We fin a fight girl Go ahead Get it Get it Shame that bony ass Like we on skid row. Where we gonna go In the morning Go ahead. The DJ's pace was picking up, so I knew that it had to be toward the end of his set—would I even make it to close—or did I want to? There wasn't much to see, but there might be more to write. I looked around myself, empathy giving way; now I wasn't myself, or anyone in particular—just a bystander in the crowd, drunk off the placebo of experience ‘What if this was your life every night for the last 10 years?' Uhhhh. I Shazamed another tune— What if this is your life for the next 10 years? Oh Fuxk. I'm getting too old for this. Or… just old enough. The night was moving forward, and so people were drunker, and I probably wouldn't stay at the front row too long; but I was right in the place where the bass hit just right, so it felt good enough— but you couldn't see the DJ's hands. Just so you know, When I'm bored at a show— I take out my notebook Oh no, You're not bothering me; No thanks, I'm not really lonely, I'm just Writing a novel Or album Or movie Or something “Are you in the industry?” The tallish blonde girl next to me asked, progressively more drunk than when she first had appeared next to me at the rail—the front row was now predominately female, which I supposed to be typical—what a life. I just shook my head and continued as I was. For the most part unamused, and even a little bored, as I always was at a club show. I wasn't behind the decks, so I wasn't really anywhere at all. Maybe it was the bass, but I had suddenly stopped craving a doughnut, however by 4 am I was probably just about going to be ready for one; Or half dozen, cause— And with a flash of steam and sweat, the man of the hour appeared, but I found it hard to lift my head— I probably should step back from this front row… The energy in your front row is everything; at least to a DJ like me… Okay Gerald, I'll get you a table— you can't tell anyone you're a piñata. Okay ?' okay. GERALD has permanently shapeshifted into a Human being. (To a hot girl) I'M ACTUALLY A PIÑATA. (Drunken hot girl) WHAT? I'M A PIÑATA! WHAT?! GERALD, NO. WHAT? She's drunk! So?! i told you already—don't tell anyone you're using magic—-or I'm using magic— But—Dillon—magic is real! You said so! I know that!!! DFR, Dillon Francis God dammit, I almost forgot about this album. No you didnt. (Shapeshifting) (Spellcasting) (Other Magic shit) Yeah, but I forgot about the album. Yeah, I bet SAVAGE>< Freek In The Ghetto, Skrillex No. No. No. Oh fuck, where is Skrillex? Oh yeah, huh?! OH YEAH, huh. — What the everlivingFUCK. Oh shit. WHAT are you doing? Just playing a game. WHATDIDITELLYOU— Oh shit, she's mad— Run, dude— Run!! OH SHIT. I THOUGHT I TOLD YOU Well— Well. Well, well, well— Suddenly, it seemed everyone in the front row Was alt right- and as always, all the hot white girls moved into VIP—it was a tired game; I would always be black, and I would always be ugly, and so it hurt less than made me think twice or three times who I was dealing with. I just so happened to look over my shoulder and be somewhat attracted to the girl behind me. ‘'maybe it's time to start dating women' …but that would never work. GERALD. WHAT?! I thought I told you— I know, I know— GIMME ANOTHER SHOT. What, Dillon—! I thought you weren't DRINKING! Gerald! It's me! I know it's you. No! It's me! Ū! SUPACREE?! NO' SHH! I'm Ū!!! Where's / Dillon Francis?! WHERE IS SKRILLEX? He's in your heart. Oh shit. I gave that to Dillon Francis. Well, then, you have your answer. Fuxk. Let it happen. Tame Impala Man, I love that kid. I love that kid. So what happened? It's a long story. —NOT THE TIME MACHINE —NOT THE BOX GET IN THE TIME MACHINE! NOT THE BOX—!!!!! UGH, not Dillon Francis. (Yes, Dillon Francis.) What's his deal?! Who's what, him!!? YES. Satan. Hm. Whats your deal with Dillon Francis? What?! I don't have a deal with Dillon Francis… What?! YOU DONT!? NO! Why not? Cause! Being honest..? The devil, being honest: (Psh) I owe him money. What!! Satan, no way. Yes way! Hod that happen?' Lost a bet. Damn. This set is getting good. What are you watching? Gerald's world The legend of supacree Enter the multiverse The infinite Skrillifiles What? Uh oh. What ñ 5) 3 time space time continuums just shattered CONFETTI BLAST OH SHIT, it just shattered twice. We gotta go. Where we going To the planet Which—ducking planet. The one with the ducks. QUACK oh shit. A duck DUCK DUCK!! DUCK—DUCK—DUCK— Damn, this game really has gone on forever— ITS EDM O CLOCK, BITCH—! GET UP!! Mmm. We better go. Yes. We better go ALI and AVICII are very, very drunk in Heaven. THEY FINALLY MADE IT?! —of course we made it! —We knew the way! But of course: GOD No, go back. WHAT ARE YOU serious? MARTY! MARTY MCFLY! DAWG, it's good to see you! Wait. What the Fuxk dimension is THIS?' It's the one with Dillon Francis That's— a —FUCK. Dillon Francis is in a lot of dimensions. Yeah but this is the right one. How do you know? That was the theme song for the TV show. What TV show? Damn. I'm fucked up. What! I thought you didn't drink. I don't I'm an empath. MEANWHILE SUPACREE and SUNNÍ BLŪ have collided in a para-dimensional reality OH, SHIT, it's ME OH FUCK—DAMN. Now what do we do? Drugs? Drugs. Yeaaaaaaaah. One More Time, Daft Punk My son's favorite song. It was the second time it had played today, and the first time it wasn't nearly as bad as the second — now i was glad for the cloud of cold steam, I couldn't hide my upset as much as I wanted to ‘'Just keep writing' Okay. They're trying to kill me With white girls, And memories And it just might work I'm trying to write myself out the box Oh my god And it just my work I'm trying to get lost But I'm all out of sauce This is not gonna work I see you went and hopped on the band wagon Somebody get that dragon. /$3/ Huh That's how much I paid for this You—what?! I paid $3 You paid $3 Yes. For this. Yes. I'm gonna kill you. Ū VS DILLON FRANCIS Uh oh. Here it goes. FIGHT. Oh shit. I've been waiting all season for this. Here it goes. KO. SUPACREE WINS. What. It's over already? This isn't possible. GAME OVER. What the Fuxk. This is insane. No fucking way #%%]!! Wait. What the fuck I thought it was Ū VS Dillon Francisz YeH! It was. What the fuck. So how did SUPACREE win? Huh. Wait, did anybody ever find Skrillex? Oh, My God. Just then, someone threw a Red Bull and it hit my foot enough that it actually distracted me from writing— THROW ANOTHER ONE! No, dont! Why, what's wrong? I have to take back these boots in the morning. Oh good, Jesus made it. What Jesus who! JESÚS CHRIST! What? What do you want? I didn't think you'd come! I had to. I thought you were on vacation. Exactly. Listen, Dillon—I have to tell you something. Uh huh. This isn't going to be easy. Chak Chel, what is it? I need you to listen. Uh, I'm kinda busy. It was at this point— Really, this point—? I had to stop and asses for myself what was really happening. I was writing up a storm, and it did seem to happen automatically, as it had before. I'm a looper Open the coupe up, Stupid, Who did you think I is This is the business Go listen to Skrillex And KILL YOURSELF Huh? JUST KILL YOURSELF. Ah, okay—but not because you said so. Listen, I'm finna spit this quick while you spin it Spit in it: clitoris I'm different bitch After this dinner I'm still in the kitchen With dishes, bitch Till it glistens While I listen To excision (I'm just kidding) Dammit, this is a lot of Skrillex What exactly did you say about Dillon Francis not being in the Illuminati First of all, the Illuminati isn't real. SUPACREE How did you get famous? SUNNÍ BLŪ I'm in the Illuminati. You? SUPACREE I AM the Illuminati. SUNNÍ BLŪ NIce. [Cheers] Hey. Hey. Anybody seen Gerald? … … … Zzz. Damn. Nodding off On the clock I'm on the floor, And yo this shit is toxic Turn the knob a bit; My foot starting to throb again I'm looking hot like Somebody's mom again Damn. I'm getting off On the wrong kind of drama This isn't long at all But it's all wrong, ya'll I dont belong here Lost My Mind, Alison Wonderland OHH THIS SHIT BE HITTING DIFFERENT It did hit different. Someone either vomited or spilled the rest of their drink on me, which took me out of my moment: the music was telling a story, at least to me—and I didn't feel like feeling right then, but it was all I could do ñ. I was surprised that I was still standing at all, Ugh. I don't understand my feelings. This was deeper than it seemed, bigger than it — Ugh. What do you want from me? All I've got is applause, and a cough drop It's just another night at the office I'm somebody's mom In a long lost thought; All zeros on the clock In a tick tock, or two, when you're off And you're long gone, I'll still be wandering Stuck at the mall Till the bus comes —trying to write myself out the box I'm a lost soul I'm a club kid I'm a lost cause But i'll stay till the end, Cause last time I walked off And my thoughts wandered back to the dance floor All that I wanted is A penny for gods thoughts And now she keeps dropping them —and more often then not, She's dropping the knowledge That I'm in the wrong, For just wanting you: But what can I do; I just want to be like you, and less of a primate Something saw right through me, and I felt invisible—now a doughnut sounded good, and I hoped that they would have vegan this early in the morning. There was about a half hour left of the set, and I was tired; I would stay until the end of the set, for some reason—-but now — Oh shit. Remember that one time/— Which TIME One time, I lost my mind and drove off of a bridge. That did happen. That did happen. I had at one point been unwell, and so— ugh, that's it Some smelly kid squeezed his way in between me and the next person over,,probably on molly or something—meanwhile the young white supremacists club of America was codeswitching up a storm, me pretending not to notice, but— he was dancing a little too hard, hitting me a little too much—and clearly not giving any kind of fuck: it wouldn't be my first panic attack on the dance floor, but it probably would be my last; it was the same story over and over again— only the next generation had even less of a Fuxk than I ever did. I left the dance floor and opted to stand behind VIP — DID ANYONE EVER FIND SKRILLEX? Wrf. He died. WHAT. No seriously, I watched him die. Okay. Then what? Then he got up. That's a twist. Now I can't sleep. That sounds traumatic. It was traumatic. How long's it been? I HAVE NOT SLEPT IN ONE HUNDRED THOUSAND YEARS. Great, the vampires are here, too. Good. I've been craving Vegan blood. Ihj. What. It's better for you. God dammit, Dillon Francis Why does this always happen? I can't remember half of what I did Before I napped, and landed back in this dimension Now, I'll give you my attention for a minute— But I'm worried about Skrillex Didnt I mention i needed permission (Or just a perscription) To get this ignition I didn't even want to come to this I hate this club It's filled will memories You won't remember me For half another century Cause I can't finish writing I'm too busy riding The bus To work And crying all the time Cause therapy doesn't And I used to love this stuff, but UHH 1–2–3 : BUN UP THE DANCE This is a lot of Skrillex. Is he okay? Is Dillon Francis Okay!? They're both okay. They're both millionaires. They'll be fine. huayayay!!!!. Fuck this. Fuck this. Alright, I'm leaving. Are we eating? If it's vegan. Ah man. What just happened? I'm definitely in the Illuminati. I have a tendency To pretend that You're friends with me Speeded I get it's a Fantasy But I had to see you In the flesh I digress I picture you're just as Obsessed with me Guess I'd regret to suggest that You should have Sex with me Directly but it's nestled in my head In the red Would you get into bed with me After everything I said Or I wrote, and you read Or am I just Better off dead Youre so far ahead, And I get that it's Just a test At best but I've yet to digest Breakfast Caught in a web of Heaven or or empathy Trying to empty my envy For whoever's holding your hand Instead of me Please, Forgive me— But, If you're reading this, It's too late; All triple sixes and Tipping the sinners With witless intentions Wet at the back of the ears But I've known you for years And I said I'd be here; I remembered the dress If a grown man can be a romantic, Like I am This is the promised land No looking back-- "I have to have that" Back to reality; I see now, how a woman's like a hat Just a thing, An unneeded accessory, Like jewelry; To wear it, It must be a match Not just average, Accentuates or masks Whatever it is what you have, And you have so many that It doesn't matter. What is he after? He has everything Most likely just using me to bring these Creatures to life If he needs a wife, she's Probably staring back at me, Through the back of the camera; Fantastic beasts and fucking fansasies A fallacy A back handed chance at a handsome Has been; But he'll never been had like that, He has everything, But he could have more than that, He can have anything, And he has, he's Magic or something or Mad at me for taking so long but, I've been in the world of monsters, Reeling; Oh what a horrible feeling I'm dealing with being unappealing and Peeling potatoes, which Remind me of me, cause Kenny Powers middle name is White, Like Walter, I'm just trying to find The alter to sell away something inside, I'm dying; Or at least I'd like to I've Tried a dozen times I'd smile if I had the time-- Remind me, what it is again It isn't comprehensive, But I'm out of my element-- And the elephant in the room is named Skrillex, Or Dillon Francis, Or Timmy Trumpet, Or, Fuck It-- I'll probably never be the DJ that I wanna be Cause I'm awfully ugly, And no one wants to play with me But hey, Maybe it's just a mistake Its just no one speaks my language Comunication is limited I'm sitting in the back of the short bus Discussing this with my imaginary elephant, But that's irrelevant to the White rinocerous in front of the bus with trust issues bigger than the rest of us https://gofund.me/7d3da4e5 {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2022 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -U.

When employers commit wage violations against their low-wage employees, recovery of those funds through a lawsuit or the administrative process is difficult and time consuming. No matter the outcome of the litigation, the result is a transfer of wealth from the victims of wage theft to the perpetrators. But what if there was a to ensure employees were paid up front for their lost wages? Author: Elizabeth Ford, Visiting Professor, Seattle University School of Law Host: Taylor Graham Technology Editors: Hiep Nguyen (Volume 111 Senior Technology Editor), Taylor Graham (Volume 111 Technology Editor), Benji Martinez (Volume 111 Technology Editor) Soundtrack: Composed and performed by Carter Jansen (Volume 110 Technology Editor) Article Abstract: Wage theft is rampant in the United States. It occurs so frequently because employers have much more power than workers. Worse, our main tool for preventing and remedying wage theft—charging government agencies with enforcing the law—has largely failed to mitigate this power differential. Enforcement agencies, overburdened by the magnitude of the wage theft crisis, often settle cases for nothing more than wages owed. The agency, acting as broker for the payment of the wages owed, voluntarily foregoes both interest and statutory penalties. This is a bad deal for workers, but not just because they do not get the benefit of the interest or penalties. Instead of making workers who have experienced wage theft whole, the enforcement agencies systematically broker no-interest loans from low-wage workers to their employers. The system, as it functions now, essentially transfers wealth from low wage workers to their employers. This is not the result of malicious intent: when forced to choose between recovering wages-only or waiting another six months for a still-uncertain recovery, workers themselves will choose the former. This Article proposes an elegant solution that will shift this paradigm: Wage Recovery Funds (WRFs). A WRF is a pool of funds housed at a government agency or community organization. Employees who are victims of wage theft could approach the WRF; if the WRF accepts the case, it would make the worker whole upfront—before the employer has paid—and then take assignment of the worker's claim. The WRF would then pursue wages, interest, and penalties through administrative enforcement proceedings. Money recovered from employers would then be returned to the fund to support the next case. Beyond aggregating interest and penalties for support of future workers, a Wage Recovery Fund would change the risk paradigm, placing the risk of delayed recovery on an entity that can more easily afford it, and eliminating the workers' immediate need for lost wages as a source of employer leverage in settlement.

https://youtu.be/7L4JnAuW00k Dillon Francis, I knew by now, was a very skilled sorcerer. I was fasting, and quickly shifting through times, realms, and dimensions as empty as ever as I knew myself to be; these days the shortest fasts seemed the longest—and by the look and feel of things, I was always still the biggest one in the room no matter where I went. ‘Let's see what this guy can do with half a moon.' If I had to go all the way to the dance floor to continue assessing my feelings for this man, it then had to be true that there were feelings at all—and there had to have been. Either way, I didn't care much; I wasn't expecting any outcome and at the very least and most simultaneously, I was there as a fan. I was, after all, as written, Dillon Francis's biggest fan—and though I didn't wear any apparel that made it obviously so, I sought to seek means to an end at some point for the saga I had written. I had hoped to potentially see Dillon's Kayla Lauren in the wings, as I thought surely for there to be one; it would be odd for any man, especially one that traveled as much as he did, to have two dogs of his own. Again, it didn't seem to matter, as I kept it in the forefront of my mind always that a man like Dillon Francis could have anyone he wanted in the world, most certainly anyone in the audience, If a world renowned DJ were ever to do such a thing as to sink as low as to converse with a peasant, such as I; at the very least, I would record, as always, Shazam, as always, and music mine as much as I possibly could, seeing as I wasn't there to dance or to drink at all, but simply just to observe; my soul acted in certain ways in this environment, and I wanted to know why, or what it was exactly that made it do so, quite unforgivingly. Still, there was magic in the air; and whether it was his, or mine, or neither I neither cared to know nor did, but knew it to be—there was just nothing to to do but submit, as I had learned; and rightfully so, as I was coming to him, it allowed him to assert his dominance, which I liked and needed anyhow, in any event. Allowing any potential anyone to become the master was a given; and though not yet at my beauty's peak of perfection, my sexuality was peaking enough for me to explore my innate attraction to him, as I allowed it. I wanted to be controlled, and so although it felt forced and always ridden with guilt, whatever had happened with Sonny had sent me through an infinite loop and then put Kayla Lauren on display at the worst possible time; and though rarely missing a gym day since, I credited my own perseverance for it rather than her sheer luck at the genetic lottery. I would never be a little white girl, and though at my worst they acted as kryptonite to my super powers, whatever they were—I still had whatever it was they didn't, and perhaps not the affluent white man's proper ideal, still something and someone at best, maybe. I hoped to see a girl he might belong to at the show; but then wondered of course who might stay with the dogs. Are you serious? Either way, I was going to write, and record, and align with whatever my purpose was—as regardless of how, it seemed to have something to do with Dillon Francis. I was fasting, of course, but it hadn't been long; I had fulfilled what would be my calorie deficit with a box of plant based Oreos just the night before departing LA full of grief, stress, and chocolate,'for whatever reason; I would have a vegan doughnut at pink box, I decided, before I left Vegas—maybe to make up for the one I had lost in the wind from the oncoming train just days before—I called it God's work, as nothing else could be so comical and devastating at the same time—but was also still craving a doughnut and, still fitting I to everything I owed that I had purchased in an extra small, very comfortably, thought to be allowed one, at one time or another. It didn't matter to me; the white women of the world were made to steal anything I wanted or needed; especially a Sonny or a Dillon Francis, but at the very least I could ease my grief with sweets and work off the stress whenever I was blessed enough to hold gym memberships. I didn't care much, but needed the processing speed of a wired brain and empty stomach to be able to compute whatever might be meant for me to grasp in the matrix; after all, I had once thought of Dillon Francis to be a computer-program himself; the most nonplahable character yet, but still a record breaking synchronicity or rather large group of them, now, in my book. .Red Hot Chili Peppers - These Are The Ways I can see It's not meant to be Cause I can't stop lying to you And you can't stop lying to me I just keep tying you up And you just keep letting me be So who are you to me A fantasy? Freedom? Sweet relief? Perhaps, just nothing But all comes from nothing All comes from nothing All comes from lusting I'm clutching the clutch with both my feet The break is stuck, Just like my feet in the styrupa, Good luck to me You're just fucking mad at me For having such vivid imaginary catastrophies Maybe it's everything Love is But fucking What? God, I'm lucky; I ought to be I run a Fortune 500 Maybe it's nothing But all comes from nothing All comes from nothing All comes from lusting I'm clutching the clutch with both my feet The break is stuck, Just like my feet in the styrupa, Good luck to me You're just fucking mad at me For having such vivid imaginary catastrophes (Don't forget the apostrophe, Since you'll be forging for me) I can see It's not meant to be Cause I can't stop lying to you And you can't stop lying to me I just keep tying you up And you just keep letting me be So who are you to me A fantasy? Freedom? Sweet relief? Perhaps, just nothing I should be parking my car in the lobby for washing Don't mind me, It's just natural distrust All turns to dust, And all comes from nothing God, I'm lucky I should be working on something (I should be resting on Sundays, the lord says) But take my time word for it, I'm the one writing it Monday Thru Sunday I can see It's not meant to be Cause I can't stop lying to you And you can't stop lying to me I just keep tying you up And you just keep letting me be So who are you to me A fantasy? Freedom? Sweet relief? Perhaps, just nothing ‘Just remember, that every girl you see that makes you sad, is the kind of girl he gets—and that's the reason for it.' , I thought to myself. As long as I remembered Instagram models and actresses existed, I couldn't continue to be hurt by it, but I was still, somehow even after 30 years, getting used to being the ugly fat black girl—and since I wasn't Lizzo or Megan The Stallion, I really wasn't anyboth; there was still no place for me at all in the world I wanted to belong to, and I was still as I represented as I would ever be. Maybe tonight I would use my two drink tickets; a sure recipe for disaster, as I had at least almost made it to the 48 hour mark fasting, If I was counting correctly. Perhaps a vegan doughnut could soak up the liquor and shame after leaving the encore at 3 am with nothing but a handful of words and some samples, and perhaps a podcast episode if there could be one. Dua Lipa, Hallucinate What happens after The Daisy swallows Dillon Francis?! Dillon HART Francis. That's a funny name! He's a funny guy. Sometimes. Sometimes. What was I to do? I just kept writing and had nowhere to send it; there was no pitch, there was no plot, and there was certainly no point. Enter The Multiverse and The Festival Project as a whole made up for everything I could have potentially been worth—which was nothing— and I hadn't a clue at all what I was purposed for; I seemed almost psychically robotic, remembering things as they happened within seconds, only enough to slightly offset a rebuttal that at any rate seemed scripted, but wasn't—at least yet. It seemed as if I was in a movie, but to any such ohaycologist of course this could have been considered mania, psychosis, or delusions of grandeur—or even— Dillusions of Granduer. I was funny too, sometimes. I didn't have to think Dillon Francis was shallow—I knew he was shallow, just as such with Sonny or any other man worth his salt, whatever that actually meant. But, just as I had harshly learned anything else, I was starting to understand why, as the smaller and more agile I became, the more I could do with my own body, and as such began to understand why men preferred slim and petite women. I was settling in well to my non-bianary status, and my celibacy—I could do more on my own or with myself than with any partner to date, and with the only human of interest being himself well over 300 pounds, I opted to keep to myself and simply observe human nature for the time being, rather than to take part in it. I wasn't eating, but for the first time in days I had slept, and pushing anything from the future or past far from my mind, I opted to remain present, and aloof; it wouldn't mean much to try to care at all about anything—the more I cared, the more the universe would subtract from my contentedness. Hear Me Now, Nicky Romero “If the doors of perception were cleansed every thing would appear to man as it is, Infinite. For man has closed himself up, till he sees all things thro' narrow chinks of his cavern.” —William Blake As if this isn't the greatest story ever told. I'm pretty sure that's The Passion of The Christ. This is The Passion Of The Christ. That's just blasphemous. It's The Passion of— Go on. I mean, it is infinite. Well, first there was infinite— —everything— —Everything. Now what. Oh, I know. What is it? It's The Passion of Dillon Francis. Why is that? Because, they're going to kill him. Why? Dillon Francis isn't in the Illuminati! Think twice before going there. But I've got a one track mind. A one track mind In a multitrack world Is a square peg to a round hole And a half-heart To a whole world And nothing's left but to give But to give is to get Just live, Try to forget that it's Infinite What's for dinner dear? I met you here, at the crossroads Like I said I would; And you said you wouldn't come, But here you are: A phenomenon Pardon my awful camaraderie Oh! I forgot all my manners Beg your hard on for hours, Till wilted, like later my flowers Oh, the debachery —better off watching your crotch, Than up on the cross, Like last that I saw you— Stop Look, I just want to watch; I just want to wash all the blood off my hands, From the Hog I put on the bonfire (Forgot what it's called in Oahu) Who are you? I died in a fire, you know In your eyes, Despite how I tried to avoid them They light up at night, sometimes No Divine or desire I'm just here to top off my tires, I'm tired, you know —better off watching, I'm novice Another day at the office, A shot gun in place of deposits, collateral Oh, I'm the asshole— I'm actually quite proud of it This is called something of consciousness, Writing a canon, But I'm quite forgetful; A madman, if you can imagine (Disasterous) Now you attack at your best, I'm un-vested Invested my time in unrest, Don't forget I'm just under your bed We mustn't forget how it started Intensive care Must be intense in the moment When you're Dillon Francis Ah yes. Leave A Trace, CHRCHES Tell me again how you're different; I exist just to wash dishes and watch DJs— I'm lazy; A patronage made just to let the white bitches forget all their privelege; In fact, it's a gift In fact, they're chosen— In fact, I'm just “Isn't” It's miserable Everyone Talks, Neon Trees | Three Pound Chicken Wing, deadmau5 | Paradise, Laidback Luke feat. Bright Lights Let me explain, How it's a vibration; I don't care what body you're in— It's all the same love, If it's all the same love, Then I love you I love you I love you, But I'm in a body It's torturous Let me explain how It's a vibration New word: It's Sapiosexual; Oh, I forgot how you Maddened me once, with your syntax and grammar Ah, now I'm sad as Hell ‘Might as well end it”, I thought to myself If looked as disheveled as I felt They would have stopped me from entering Even at ‘Envy' Let me explain, How I'm the villain This just happens over and over To poor Skrillex And Dillon Francis So much fame and fortune It turns into torture The girls on the rail A pecking order; Ready to devour, And be devoured by The man of the hour “ I might as well end it, then” I said. (But just for attention, I'm stuck in this body, Just rotting Cause nobody wants me at this damn party I've had enough of it I need some water and Probably a therapist Oh, ‘Stream of consciousness' There, I remembered it. Who could ever love me (No one does) Who could ever need me (No one does) Who would ever want me (No one does) Uh huh, I'm no fun at parties [Three knocks on the door] I ignore it (This part is important) [three more knocks] Ought to be something, But still, I assume that it's nothing No guts, and no glory Nobody to love me Uh huh I'm no fun at parties Who could ever love me (No one does) Who could ever need me (No one does) Who would ever want me (No one does) No wonder I used to cut myself “I can feel something” I once sung Now I just run; But— I'm still not small enough For somebody to want me I like to eat every now and again But— I guess that's my problem I just want someone to want me That doesn't remind me of Something i'm not But instead as in awe of my body As I am of Anything other than Tragedy Walk like an Egyptian, The Bangles I excused myself for the lackluster workout—after all, it had been days since my last real meal, and three now since my last solid anything; I had been happy with coconut water and alkaline, trying not to stay too far from the petite I was aiming for.; the plaid dress was a perfect match for the boots I had picked out, astonished that with the nearly 300-lb weight loss, my feet had also happened to shrink down a size and a half—I was dressed to impress, but prepared to be humiliated, and to top that—very eager to Google how long it would take me to get from XS, to Pink Box doughnuts—which was open 24 hours. At least I didn't exactly look like a prostitute—and, as an added bonus, might even could keep the dress for work or interviews; the boots walked nicely, at least for now, and I didn't mind the modesty, as I was already as out of place and forgotten as could be. Rather than opting for a coconut water, I stayed empty; not much was needed to do what I intended, which was almost nothing, and I hoped at the very least my senses and delicate nerves would be somehow put at ease. My iPhone microphone was sensitive enough to catch a song from a car waiting for the light halfway across the street— Freddie's Dead, Curtis Mayfield I crossed at the walk and kept my eyes to the ground, steadying my gait I into an awkward trot as not to appear to confident. I was right on time at the bus stop, and, within moments, not to my suprise, the 103 passed by me, even as I leaned against the stop waving my phone wirh the screen lit. “What a dick.” Perhaps I had fasted too long and worked out too hard; I had indeed left my clothes in a heap of heavy and drenched conglomerate of sweat and tears. I did have a headache, and didn't care much to return yet to my dwelling—in fact, there was something calling me out, and so out I went. Summoning a surprisingly inexpensive Über, I trotted begrudgingly to the WinCo behind me for a Pressed Coconjr Water—the world seemed to dysfunction a little too autonomously when I was running on empty, and with less stored fat supply than before, any triggered ketosis often resulted in a heavy cloud of thoughtless disability; I fumbled around clumsily, breathing shallow in the overstimulation of everything and everyone's aura—but that was exactly what I needed to see: Dillon had always glowed in brilliant shades of purple, but at one time, white—which startled me, especially because it was rare for anyone to glow that way. 120 calories of Coconut water wouldn't quite offset the caloric deficits Raul picked me up in a brand new Tesla, of course—which didn't feel like a coincidence, as nothing did; I had just earlier in the day been thinking of Lim Manuel Miranda, whose face was earned on the cover of a magazine as I purchased my coconut wate; I snapped a picture and hurried along to my whatever it was—instead of spending the next two hours on the bus, I'd get to collect the music from the warmup DJ, and since it was his job I wanted to aquire, it was probably in good taste and good fortune to support anyone whose name I didn't already know. As I arrived to the encore, my eyes were blurred and I was still a little woozy, but the headache was gone and replaced with an all-out bad attitude that didn't exactl come from out of nowhere. As easily distracted as I was, and out of place, I was surprisingly quick to lose self awareness; as I stopped to take a portrait for the festival project, security approached, assuming I was as trashed as anybody else hunched over the trash can—I explained I was working on an art project, and she seemed refreshed—I hadn't realized that how it looked wasn't at all out of the ordinary, remembering where I was, and suddenly, remembering where I was, I remembered the first time I was here, which had inspired the poem Red Velvet, which was lost to time and buried in the rubble of my endlessly infinite Google documents I never received my drink tickets—probably for the best, as k had been tempted this time to actually use them. My life was in actual shambles, with no direction whatsoever—and here I was, on the guestlist at Dillon Francis of all places, with nearly no other place to be. Maybe if I was vigilant I would be front and center at the rail—placing me back in the fandom instead of fiending for a reason or purpose any of this had happened. I'm not mad You're a man And an animal Can't help yourself can you you? Don't be mad at me I'm just a fan And an animal I can't help my attraction I'm second to last, Wirh my hand on the rail And I'm not here to dance (But the music's fantastic) Well, Dillon's front row is always a sight for sore eyes. This is hilarious. I'm laughing on the inside. Just, have a little drink with me. WHY DOES THE DJ KEEP PLAYING SIMMERTIME SADNESS!!! ITS NOT EVEN SUMMER. #SELFIE The club scene had changed much since the days of Red Velvet, but not much, also—vanity had always been the norm, but now more was allowable; at least Fat girls were allowed on the Dance floor without bogarting our way in—but now, the whole of the masses needed photographic evidence of everything; I wasn't in the least interested in taking photos of myself, or anything really hit the discarded rmknce of what had been a night of drinking and shenanigans, whatever the outcome; I never knew, but typically lately had made a habit of throwing away the trash after taking the photos for my project; tonight thiugh, something new caught my eye, as the warm up and caught my ears and I Shazammed every song for the taking—.Recycling bins at the foot of the rails—where, by the way, I had been pushed to front and center, looking quite like someone's Grandmother in my spectacles and too- long- for- the-club-dress—but I was comfortable, hadn't been given any trouble at the door, and, for the time being, was actually next to someone's grandparents. b€NZ (feat syaquis) Front row lit Finna get bent Imma get Imma get. I don't mind a white girl It's just for the night, girl But if you hit me with that ponytail one more time, girl We finnafight girl Go ahead Get it Get it Shake that bony ass Like we on skid row. Yas Go ahead. Front row lit Fin a get bent Imma get Imma get. I don't mind a white girl It's just for the night, girl But if you hit me with that ponytail one more time, girl We fin a fight girl Go ahead Get it Get it Front row lit Fin a get bent Imma get Imma get. I don't mind a white girl It's just for the night, girl But if you hit me with that ponytail one more time, girl We fin a fight girl Go ahead Get it Get it Shame that bony ass Like we on skid row. Where we gonna go In the morning Go ahead. The DJ's pace was picking up, so I knew that it had to be toward the end of his set—would I even make it to close—or did I want to? There wasn't much to see, but there might be more to write. I looked around myself, empathy giving way; now I wasn't myself, or anyone in particular—just a bystander in the crowd, drunk off the placebo of experience ‘What if this was your life every night for the last 10 years?' Uhhhh. I Shazamed another tune— What if this is your life for the next 10 years? Oh Fuxk. I'm getting too old for this. Or… just old enough. The night was moving forward, and so people were drunker, and I probably wouldn't stay at the front row too long; but I was right in the place where the bass hit just right, so it felt good enough— but you couldn't see the DJ's hands. Just so you know, When I'm bored at a show— I take out my notebook Oh no, You're not bothering me; No thanks, I'm not really lonely, I'm just Writing a novel Or album Or movie Or something “Are you in the industry?” The tallish blonde girl next to me asked, progressively more drunk than when she first had appeared next to me at the rail—the front row was now predominately female, which I supposed to be typical—what a life. I just shook my head and continued as I was. For the most part unamused, and even a little bored, as I always was at a club show. I wasn't behind the decks, so I wasn't really anywhere at all. Maybe it was the bass, but I had suddenly stopped craving a doughnut, however by 4 am I was probably just about going to be ready for one; Or half dozen, cause— And with a flash of steam and sweat, the man of the hour appeared, but I found it hard to lift my head— I probably should step back from this front row… The energy in your front row is everything; at least to a DJ like me… Okay Gerald, I'll get you a table— you can't tell anyone you're a piñata. Okay ?' okay. GERALD has permanently shapeshifted into a Human being. (To a hot girl) I'M ACTUALLY A PIÑATA. (Drunken hot girl) WHAT? I'M A PIÑATA! WHAT?! GERALD, NO. WHAT? She's drunk! So?! i told you already—don't tell anyone you're using magic—-or I'm using magic— But—Dillon—magic is real! You said so! I know that!!! DFR, Dillon Francis God dammit, I almost forgot about this album. No you didnt. (Shapeshifting) (Spellcasting) (Other Magic shit) Yeah, but I forgot about the album. Yeah, I bet SAVAGE>< Freek In The Ghetto, Skrillex No. No. No. Oh fuck, where is Skrillex? Oh yeah, huh?! OH YEAH, huh. — What the everlivingFUCK. Oh shit. WHAT are you doing? Just playing a game. WHATDIDITELLYOU— Oh shit, she's mad— Run, dude— Run!! OH SHIT. I THOUGHT I TOLD YOU Well— Well. Well, well, well— Suddenly, it seemed everyone in the front row Was alt right- and as always, all the hot white girls moved into VIP—it was a tired game; I would always be black, and I would always be ugly, and so it hurt less than made me think twice or three times who I was dealing with. I just so happened to look over my shoulder and be somewhat attracted to the girl behind me. ‘'maybe it's time to start dating women' …but that would never work. GERALD. WHAT?! I thought I told you— I know, I know— GIMME ANOTHER SHOT. What, Dillon—! I thought you weren't DRINKING! Gerald! It's me! I know it's you. No! It's me! Ū! SUPACREE?! NO' SHH! I'm Ū!!! Where's / Dillon Francis?! WHERE IS SKRILLEX? He's in your heart. Oh shit. I gave that to Dillon Francis. Well, then, you have your answer. Fuxk. Let it happen. Tame Impala Man, I love that kid. I love that kid. So what happened? It's a long story. —NOT THE TIME MACHINE —NOT THE BOX GET IN THE TIME MACHINE! NOT THE BOX—!!!!! UGH, not Dillon Francis. (Yes, Dillon Francis.) What's his deal?! Who's what, him!!? YES. Satan. Hm. Whats your deal with Dillon Francis? What?! I don't have a deal with Dillon Francis… What?! YOU DONT!? NO! Why not? Cause! Being honest..? The devil, being honest: (Psh) I owe him money. What!! Satan, no way. Yes way! Hod that happen?' Lost a bet. Damn. This set is getting good. What are you watching? Gerald's world The legend of supacree Enter the multiverse The infinite Skrillifiles What? Uh oh. What ñ 5) 3 time space time continuums just shattered CONFETTI BLAST OH SHIT, it just shattered twice. We gotta go. Where we going To the planet Which—ducking planet. The one with the ducks. QUACK oh shit. A duck DUCK DUCK!! DUCK—DUCK—DUCK— Damn, this game really has gone on forever— ITS EDM O CLOCK, BITCH—! GET UP!! Mmm. We better go. Yes. We better go ALI and AVICII are very, very drunk in Heaven. THEY FINALLY MADE IT?! —of course we made it! —We knew the way! But of course: GOD No, go back. WHAT ARE YOU serious? MARTY! MARTY MCFLY! DAWG, it's good to see you! Wait. What the Fuxk dimension is THIS?' It's the one with Dillon Francis That's— a —FUCK. Dillon Francis is in a lot of dimensions. Yeah but this is the right one. How do you know? That was the theme song for the TV show. What TV show? Damn. I'm fucked up. What! I thought you didn't drink. I don't I'm an empath. MEANWHILE SUPACREE and SUNNÍ BLŪ have collided in a para-dimensional reality OH, SHIT, it's ME OH FUCK—DAMN. Now what do we do? Drugs? Drugs. Yeaaaaaaaah. One More Time, Daft Punk My son's favorite song. It was the second time it had played today, and the first time it wasn't nearly as bad as the second — now i was glad for the cloud of cold steam, I couldn't hide my upset as much as I wanted to ‘'Just keep writing' Okay. They're trying to kill me With white girls, And memories And it just might work I'm trying to write myself out the box Oh my god And it just my work I'm trying to get lost But I'm all out of sauce This is not gonna work I see you went and hopped on the band wagon Somebody get that dragon. /$3/ Huh That's how much I paid for this You—what?! I paid $3 You paid $3 Yes. For this. Yes. I'm gonna kill you. Ū VS DILLON FRANCIS Uh oh. Here it goes. FIGHT. Oh shit. I've been waiting all season for this. Here it goes. KO. SUPACREE WINS. What. It's over already? This isn't possible. GAME OVER. What the Fuxk. This is insane. No fucking way #%%]!! Wait. What the fuck I thought it was Ū VS Dillon Francisz YeH! It was. What the fuck. So how did SUPACREE win? Huh. Wait, did anybody ever find Skrillex? Oh, My God. Just then, someone threw a Red Bull and it hit my foot enough that it actually distracted me from writing— THROW ANOTHER ONE! No, dont! Why, what's wrong? I have to take back these boots in the morning. Oh good, Jesus made it. What Jesus who! JESÚS CHRIST! What? What do you want? I didn't think you'd come! I had to. I thought you were on vacation. Exactly. Listen, Dillon—I have to tell you something. Uh huh. This isn't going to be easy. Chak Chel, what is it? I need you to listen. Uh, I'm kinda busy. It was at this point— Really, this point—? I had to stop and asses for myself what was really happening. I was writing up a storm, and it did seem to happen automatically, as it had before. I'm a looper Open the coupe up, Stupid, Who did you think I is This is the business Go listen to Skrillex And KILL YOURSELF Huh? JUST KILL YOURSELF. Ah, okay—but not because you said so. Listen, I'm finna spit this quick while you spin it Spit in it: clitoris I'm different bitch After this dinner I'm still in the kitchen With dishes, bitch Till it glistens While I listen To excision (I'm just kidding) Dammit, this is a lot of Skrillex What exactly did you say about Dillon Francis not being in the Illuminati First of all, the Illuminati isn't real. SUPACREE How did you get famous? SUNNÍ BLŪ I'm in the Illuminati. You? SUPACREE I AM the Illuminati. SUNNÍ BLŪ NIce. [Cheers] Hey. Hey. Anybody seen Gerald? … … … Zzz. Damn. Nodding off On the clock I'm on the floor, And yo this shit is toxic Turn the knob a bit; My foot starting to throb again I'm looking hot like Somebody's mom again Damn. I'm getting off On the wrong kind of drama This isn't long at all But it's all wrong, ya'll I dont belong here Lost My Mind, Alison Wonderland OHH THIS SHIT BE HITTING DIFFERENT It did hit different. Someone either vomited or spilled the rest of their drink on me, which took me out of my moment: the music was telling a story, at least to me—and I didn't feel like feeling right then, but it was all I could do ñ. I was surprised that I was still standing at all, Ugh. I don't understand my feelings. This was deeper than it seemed, bigger than it — Ugh. What do you want from me? All I've got is applause, and a cough drop It's just another night at the office I'm somebody's mom In a long lost thought; All zeros on the clock In a tick tock, or two, when you're off And you're long gone, I'll still be wandering Stuck at the mall Till the bus comes —trying to write myself out the box I'm a lost soul I'm a club kid I'm a lost cause But i'll stay till the end, Cause last time I walked off And my thoughts wandered back to the dance floor All that I wanted is A penny for gods thoughts And now she keeps dropping them —and more often then not, She's dropping the knowledge That I'm in the wrong, For just wanting you: But what can I do; I just want to be like you, and less of a primate Something saw right through me, and I felt invisible—now a doughnut sounded good, and I hoped that they would have vegan this early in the morning. There was about a half hour left of the set, and I was tired; I would stay until the end of the set, for some reason—-but now — Oh shit. Remember that one time/— Which TIME One time, I lost my mind and drove off of a bridge. That did happen. That did happen. I had at one point been unwell, and so— ugh, that's it Some smelly kid squeezed his way in between me and the next person over,,probably on molly or something—meanwhile the young white supremacists club of America was codeswitching up a storm, me pretending not to notice, but— he was dancing a little too hard, hitting me a little too much—and clearly not giving any kind of fuck: it wouldn't be my first panic attack on the dance floor, but it probably would be my last; it was the same story over and over again— only the next generation had even less of a Fuxk than I ever did. I left the dance floor and opted to stand behind VIP — DID ANYONE EVER FIND SKRILLEX? Wrf. He died. WHAT. No seriously, I watched him die. Okay. Then what? Then he got up. That's a twist. Now I can't sleep. That sounds traumatic. It was traumatic. How long's it been? I HAVE NOT SLEPT IN ONE HUNDRED THOUSAND YEARS. Great, the vampires are here, too. Good. I've been craving Vegan blood. Ihj. What. It's better for you. God dammit, Dillon Francis Why does this always happen? I can't remember half of what I did Before I napped, and landed back in this dimension Now, I'll give you my attention for a minute— But I'm worried about Skrillex Didnt I mention i needed permission (Or just a perscription) To get this ignition I didn't even want to come to this I hate this club It's filled will memories You won't remember me For half another century Cause I can't finish writing I'm too busy riding The bus To work And crying all the time Cause therapy doesn't And I used to love this stuff, but UHH 1–2–3 : BUN UP THE DANCE This is a lot of Skrillex. Is he okay? Is Dillon Francis Okay!? They're both okay. They're both millionaires. They'll be fine. huayayay!!!!. Fuck this. Fuck this. Alright, I'm leaving. Are we eating? If it's vegan. Ah man. What just happened? I'm definitely in the Illuminati. I have a tendency To pretend that You're friends with me Speeded I get it's a Fantasy But I had to see you In the flesh I digress I picture you're just as Obsessed with me Guess I'd regret to suggest that You should have Sex with me Directly but it's nestled in my head In the red Would you get into bed with me After everything I said Or I wrote, and you read Or am I just Better off dead Youre so far ahead, And I get that it's Just a test At best but I've yet to digest Breakfast Caught in a web of Heaven or or empathy Trying to empty my envy For whoever's holding your hand Instead of me Please, Forgive me— But, If you're reading this, It's too late; All triple sixes and Tipping the sinners With witless intentions Wet at the back of the ears But I've known you for years And I said I'd be here; I remembered the dress {Enter The Multiverse}

https://youtu.be/7L4JnAuW00k Dillon Francis, I knew by now, was a very skilled sorcerer. I was fasting, and quickly shifting through times, realms, and dimensions as empty as ever as I knew myself to be; these days the shortest fasts seemed the longest—and by the look and feel of things, I was always still the biggest one in the room no matter where I went. ‘Let's see what this guy can do with half a moon.' If I had to go all the way to the dance floor to continue assessing my feelings for this man, it then had to be true that there were feelings at all—and there had to have been. Either way, I didn't care much; I wasn't expecting any outcome and at the very least and most simultaneously, I was there as a fan. I was, after all, as written, Dillon Francis's biggest fan—and though I didn't wear any apparel that made it obviously so, I sought to seek means to an end at some point for the saga I had written. I had hoped to potentially see Dillon's Kayla Lauren in the wings, as I thought surely for there to be one; it would be odd for any man, especially one that traveled as much as he did, to have two dogs of his own. Again, it didn't seem to matter, as I kept it in the forefront of my mind always that a man like Dillon Francis could have anyone he wanted in the world, most certainly anyone in the audience, If a world renowned DJ were ever to do such a thing as to sink as low as to converse with a peasant, such as I; at the very least, I would record, as always, Shazam, as always, and music mine as much as I possibly could, seeing as I wasn't there to dance or to drink at all, but simply just to observe; my soul acted in certain ways in this environment, and I wanted to know why, or what it was exactly that made it do so, quite unforgivingly. Still, there was magic in the air; and whether it was his, or mine, or neither I neither cared to know nor did, but knew it to be—there was just nothing to to do but submit, as I had learned; and rightfully so, as I was coming to him, it allowed him to assert his dominance, which I liked and needed anyhow, in any event. Allowing any potential anyone to become the master was a given; and though not yet at my beauty's peak of perfection, my sexuality was peaking enough for me to explore my innate attraction to him, as I allowed it. I wanted to be controlled, and so although it felt forced and always ridden with guilt, whatever had happened with Sonny had sent me through an infinite loop and then put Kayla Lauren on display at the worst possible time; and though rarely missing a gym day since, I credited my own perseverance for it rather than her sheer luck at the genetic lottery. I would never be a little white girl, and though at my worst they acted as kryptonite to my super powers, whatever they were—I still had whatever it was they didn't, and perhaps not the affluent white man's proper ideal, still something and someone at best, maybe. I hoped to see a girl he might belong to at the show; but then wondered of course who might stay with the dogs. Are you serious? Either way, I was going to write, and record, and align with whatever my purpose was—as regardless of how, it seemed to have something to do with Dillon Francis. I was fasting, of course, but it hadn't been long; I had fulfilled what would be my calorie deficit with a box of plant based Oreos just the night before departing LA full of grief, stress, and chocolate,'for whatever reason; I would have a vegan doughnut at pink box, I decided, before I left Vegas—maybe to make up for the one I had lost in the wind from the oncoming train just days before—I called it God's work, as nothing else could be so comical and devastating at the same time—but was also still craving a doughnut and, still fitting I to everything I owed that I had purchased in an extra small, very comfortably, thought to be allowed one, at one time or another. It didn't matter to me; the white women of the world were made to steal anything I wanted or needed; especially a Sonny or a Dillon Francis, but at the very least I could ease my grief with sweets and work off the stress whenever I was blessed enough to hold gym memberships. I didn't care much, but needed the processing speed of a wired brain and empty stomach to be able to compute whatever might be meant for me to grasp in the matrix; after all, I had once thought of Dillon Francis to be a computer-program himself; the most nonplahable character yet, but still a record breaking synchronicity or rather large group of them, now, in my book. .Red Hot Chili Peppers - These Are The Ways I can see It's not meant to be Cause I can't stop lying to you And you can't stop lying to me I just keep tying you up And you just keep letting me be So who are you to me A fantasy? Freedom? Sweet relief? Perhaps, just nothing But all comes from nothing All comes from nothing All comes from lusting I'm clutching the clutch with both my feet The break is stuck, Just like my feet in the styrupa, Good luck to me You're just fucking mad at me For having such vivid imaginary catastrophies Maybe it's everything Love is But fucking What? God, I'm lucky; I ought to be I run a Fortune 500 Maybe it's nothing But all comes from nothing All comes from nothing All comes from lusting I'm clutching the clutch with both my feet The break is stuck, Just like my feet in the styrupa, Good luck to me You're just fucking mad at me For having such vivid imaginary catastrophes (Don't forget the apostrophe, Since you'll be forging for me) I can see It's not meant to be Cause I can't stop lying to you And you can't stop lying to me I just keep tying you up And you just keep letting me be So who are you to me A fantasy? Freedom? Sweet relief? Perhaps, just nothing I should be parking my car in the lobby for washing Don't mind me, It's just natural distrust All turns to dust, And all comes from nothing God, I'm lucky I should be working on something (I should be resting on Sundays, the lord says) But take my time word for it, I'm the one writing it Monday Thru Sunday I can see It's not meant to be Cause I can't stop lying to you And you can't stop lying to me I just keep tying you up And you just keep letting me be So who are you to me A fantasy? Freedom? Sweet relief? Perhaps, just nothing ‘Just remember, that every girl you see that makes you sad, is the kind of girl he gets—and that's the reason for it.' , I thought to myself. As long as I remembered Instagram models and actresses existed, I couldn't continue to be hurt by it, but I was still, somehow even after 30 years, getting used to being the ugly fat black girl—and since I wasn't Lizzo or Megan The Stallion, I really wasn't anyboth; there was still no place for me at all in the world I wanted to belong to, and I was still as I represented as I would ever be. Maybe tonight I would use my two drink tickets; a sure recipe for disaster, as I had at least almost made it to the 48 hour mark fasting, If I was counting correctly. Perhaps a vegan doughnut could soak up the liquor and shame after leaving the encore at 3 am with nothing but a handful of words and some samples, and perhaps a podcast episode if there could be one. Dua Lipa, Hallucinate What happens after The Daisy swallows Dillon Francis?! Dillon HART Francis. That's a funny name! He's a funny guy. Sometimes. Sometimes. What was I to do? I just kept writing and had nowhere to send it; there was no pitch, there was no plot, and there was certainly no point. Enter The Multiverse and The Festival Project as a whole made up for everything I could have potentially been worth—which was nothing— and I hadn't a clue at all what I was purposed for; I seemed almost psychically robotic, remembering things as they happened within seconds, only enough to slightly offset a rebuttal that at any rate seemed scripted, but wasn't—at least yet. It seemed as if I was in a movie, but to any such ohaycologist of course this could have been considered mania, psychosis, or delusions of grandeur—or even— Dillusions of Granduer. I was funny too, sometimes. I didn't have to think Dillon Francis was shallow—I knew he was shallow, just as such with Sonny or any other man worth his salt, whatever that actually meant. But, just as I had harshly learned anything else, I was starting to understand why, as the smaller and more agile I became, the more I could do with my own body, and as such began to understand why men preferred slim and petite women. I was settling in well to my non-bianary status, and my celibacy—I could do more on my own or with myself than with any partner to date, and with the only human of interest being himself well over 300 pounds, I opted to keep to myself and simply observe human nature for the time being, rather than to take part in it. I wasn't eating, but for the first time in days I had slept, and pushing anything from the future or past far from my mind, I opted to remain present, and aloof; it wouldn't mean much to try to care at all about anything—the more I cared, the more the universe would subtract from my contentedness. Hear Me Now, Nicky Romero “If the doors of perception were cleansed every thing would appear to man as it is, Infinite. For man has closed himself up, till he sees all things thro' narrow chinks of his cavern.” —William Blake As if this isn't the greatest story ever told. I'm pretty sure that's The Passion of The Christ. This is The Passion Of The Christ. That's just blasphemous. It's The Passion of— Go on. I mean, it is infinite. Well, first there was infinite— —everything— —Everything. Now what. Oh, I know. What is it? It's The Passion of Dillon Francis. Why is that? Because, they're going to kill him. Why? Dillon Francis isn't in the Illuminati! Think twice before going there. But I've got a one track mind. A one track mind In a multitrack world Is a square peg to a round hole And a half-heart To a whole world And nothing's left but to give But to give is to get Just live, Try to forget that it's Infinite What's for dinner dear? I met you here, at the crossroads Like I said I would; And you said you wouldn't come, But here you are: A phenomenon Pardon my awful camaraderie Oh! I forgot all my manners Beg your hard on for hours, Till wilted, like later my flowers Oh, the debachery —better off watching your crotch, Than up on the cross, Like last that I saw you— Stop Look, I just want to watch; I just want to wash all the blood off my hands, From the Hog I put on the bonfire (Forgot what it's called in Oahu) Who are you? I died in a fire, you know In your eyes, Despite how I tried to avoid them They light up at night, sometimes No Divine or desire I'm just here to top off my tires, I'm tired, you know —better off watching, I'm novice Another day at the office, A shot gun in place of deposits, collateral Oh, I'm the asshole— I'm actually quite proud of it This is called something of consciousness, Writing a canon, But I'm quite forgetful; A madman, if you can imagine (Disasterous) Now you attack at your best, I'm un-vested Invested my time in unrest, Don't forget I'm just under your bed We mustn't forget how it started Intensive care Must be intense in the moment When you're Dillon Francis Ah yes. Leave A Trace, CHRCHES Tell me again how you're different; I exist just to wash dishes and watch DJs— I'm lazy; A patronage made just to let the white bitches forget all their privelege; In fact, it's a gift In fact, they're chosen— In fact, I'm just “Isn't” It's miserable Everyone Talks, Neon Trees | Three Pound Chicken Wing, deadmau5 | Paradise, Laidback Luke feat. Bright Lights Let me explain, How it's a vibration; I don't care what body you're in— It's all the same love, If it's all the same love, Then I love you I love you I love you, But I'm in a body It's torturous Let me explain how It's a vibration New word: It's Sapiosexual; Oh, I forgot how you Maddened me once, with your syntax and grammar Ah, now I'm sad as Hell ‘Might as well end it”, I thought to myself If looked as disheveled as I felt They would have stopped me from entering Even at ‘Envy' Let me explain, How I'm the villain This just happens over and over To poor Skrillex And Dillon Francis So much fame and fortune It turns into torture The girls on the rail A pecking order; Ready to devour, And be devoured by The man of the hour “ I might as well end it, then” I said. (But just for attention, I'm stuck in this body, Just rotting Cause nobody wants me at this damn party I've had enough of it I need some water and Probably a therapist Oh, ‘Stream of consciousness' There, I remembered it. Who could ever love me (No one does) Who could ever need me (No one does) Who would ever want me (No one does) Uh huh, I'm no fun at parties [Three knocks on the door] I ignore it (This part is important) [three more knocks] Ought to be something, But still, I assume that it's nothing No guts, and no glory Nobody to love me Uh huh I'm no fun at parties Who could ever love me (No one does) Who could ever need me (No one does) Who would ever want me (No one does) No wonder I used to cut myself “I can feel something” I once sung Now I just run; But— I'm still not small enough For somebody to want me I like to eat every now and again But— I guess that's my problem I just want someone to want me That doesn't remind me of Something i'm not But instead as in awe of my body As I am of Anything other than Tragedy Walk like an Egyptian, The Bangles I excused myself for the lackluster workout—after all, it had been days since my last real meal, and three now since my last solid anything; I had been happy with coconut water and alkaline, trying not to stay too far from the petite I was aiming for.; the plaid dress was a perfect match for the boots I had picked out, astonished that with the nearly 300-lb weight loss, my feet had also happened to shrink down a size and a half—I was dressed to impress, but prepared to be humiliated, and to top that—very eager to Google how long it would take me to get from XS, to Pink Box doughnuts—which was open 24 hours. At least I didn't exactly look like a prostitute—and, as an added bonus, might even could keep the dress for work or interviews; the boots walked nicely, at least for now, and I didn't mind the modesty, as I was already as out of place and forgotten as could be. Rather than opting for a coconut water, I stayed empty; not much was needed to do what I intended, which was almost nothing, and I hoped at the very least my senses and delicate nerves would be somehow put at ease. My iPhone microphone was sensitive enough to catch a song from a car waiting for the light halfway across the street— Freddie's Dead, Curtis Mayfield I crossed at the walk and kept my eyes to the ground, steadying my gait I into an awkward trot as not to appear to confident. I was right on time at the bus stop, and, within moments, not to my suprise, the 103 passed by me, even as I leaned against the stop waving my phone wirh the screen lit. “What a dick.” Perhaps I had fasted too long and worked out too hard; I had indeed left my clothes in a heap of heavy and drenched conglomerate of sweat and tears. I did have a headache, and didn't care much to return yet to my dwelling—in fact, there was something calling me out, and so out I went. Summoning a surprisingly inexpensive Über, I trotted begrudgingly to the WinCo behind me for a Pressed Coconjr Water—the world seemed to dysfunction a little too autonomously when I was running on empty, and with less stored fat supply than before, any triggered ketosis often resulted in a heavy cloud of thoughtless disability; I fumbled around clumsily, breathing shallow in the overstimulation of everything and everyone's aura—but that was exactly what I needed to see: Dillon had always glowed in brilliant shades of purple, but at one time, white—which startled me, especially because it was rare for anyone to glow that way. 120 calories of Coconut water wouldn't quite offset the caloric deficits Raul picked me up in a brand new Tesla, of course—which didn't feel like a coincidence, as nothing did; I had just earlier in the day been thinking of Lim Manuel Miranda, whose face was earned on the cover of a magazine as I purchased my coconut wate; I snapped a picture and hurried along to my whatever it was—instead of spending the next two hours on the bus, I'd get to collect the music from the warmup DJ, and since it was his job I wanted to aquire, it was probably in good taste and good fortune to support anyone whose name I didn't already know. As I arrived to the encore, my eyes were blurred and I was still a little woozy, but the headache was gone and replaced with an all-out bad attitude that didn't exactl come from out of nowhere. As easily distracted as I was, and out of place, I was surprisingly quick to lose self awareness; as I stopped to take a portrait for the festival project, security approached, assuming I was as trashed as anybody else hunched over the trash can—I explained I was working on an art project, and she seemed refreshed—I hadn't realized that how it looked wasn't at all out of the ordinary, remembering where I was, and suddenly, remembering where I was, I remembered the first time I was here, which had inspired the poem Red Velvet, which was lost to time and buried in the rubble of my endlessly infinite Google documents I never received my drink tickets—probably for the best, as k had been tempted this time to actually use them. My life was in actual shambles, with no direction whatsoever—and here I was, on the guestlist at Dillon Francis of all places, with nearly no other place to be. Maybe if I was vigilant I would be front and center at the rail—placing me back in the fandom instead of fiending for a reason or purpose any of this had happened. I'm not mad You're a man And an animal Can't help yourself can you you? Don't be mad at me I'm just a fan And an animal I can't help my attraction I'm second to last, Wirh my hand on the rail And I'm not here to dance (But the music's fantastic) Well, Dillon's front row is always a sight for sore eyes. This is hilarious. I'm laughing on the inside. Just, have a little drink with me. WHY DOES THE DJ KEEP PLAYING SIMMERTIME SADNESS!!! ITS NOT EVEN SUMMER. #SELFIE The club scene had changed much since the days of Red Velvet, but not much, also—vanity had always been the norm, but now more was allowable; at least Fat girls were allowed on the Dance floor without bogarting our way in—but now, the whole of the masses needed photographic evidence of everything; I wasn't in the least interested in taking photos of myself, or anything really hit the discarded rmknce of what had been a night of drinking and shenanigans, whatever the outcome; I never knew, but typically lately had made a habit of throwing away the trash after taking the photos for my project; tonight thiugh, something new caught my eye, as the warm up and caught my ears and I Shazammed every song for the taking—.Recycling bins at the foot of the rails—where, by the way, I had been pushed to front and center, looking quite like someone's Grandmother in my spectacles and too- long- for- the-club-dress—but I was comfortable, hadn't been given any trouble at the door, and, for the time being, was actually next to someone's grandparents. b€NZ (feat syaquis) Front row lit Finna get bent Imma get Imma get. I don't mind a white girl It's just for the night, girl But if you hit me with that ponytail one more time, girl We finnafight girl Go ahead Get it Get it Shake that bony ass Like we on skid row. Yas Go ahead. Front row lit Fin a get bent Imma get Imma get. I don't mind a white girl It's just for the night, girl But if you hit me with that ponytail one more time, girl We fin a fight girl Go ahead Get it Get it Front row lit Fin a get bent Imma get Imma get. I don't mind a white girl It's just for the night, girl But if you hit me with that ponytail one more time, girl We fin a fight girl Go ahead Get it Get it Shame that bony ass Like we on skid row. Where we gonna go In the morning Go ahead. The DJ's pace was picking up, so I knew that it had to be toward the end of his set—would I even make it to close—or did I want to? There wasn't much to see, but there might be more to write. I looked around myself, empathy giving way; now I wasn't myself, or anyone in particular—just a bystander in the crowd, drunk off the placebo of experience ‘What if this was your life every night for the last 10 years?' Uhhhh. I Shazamed another tune— What if this is your life for the next 10 years? Oh Fuxk. I'm getting too old for this. Or… just old enough. The night was moving forward, and so people were drunker, and I probably wouldn't stay at the front row too long; but I was right in the place where the bass hit just right, so it felt good enough— but you couldn't see the DJ's hands. Just so you know, When I'm bored at a show— I take out my notebook Oh no, You're not bothering me; No thanks, I'm not really lonely, I'm just Writing a novel Or album Or movie Or something “Are you in the industry?” The tallish blonde girl next to me asked, progressively more drunk than when she first had appeared next to me at the rail—the front row was now predominately female, which I supposed to be typical—what a life. I just shook my head and continued as I was. For the most part unamused, and even a little bored, as I always was at a club show. I wasn't behind the decks, so I wasn't really anywhere at all. Maybe it was the bass, but I had suddenly stopped craving a doughnut, however by 4 am I was probably just about going to be ready for one; Or half dozen, cause— And with a flash of steam and sweat, the man of the hour appeared, but I found it hard to lift my head— I probably should step back from this front row… The energy in your front row is everything; at least to a DJ like me… Okay Gerald, I'll get you a table— you can't tell anyone you're a piñata. Okay ?' okay. GERALD has permanently shapeshifted into a Human being. (To a hot girl) I'M ACTUALLY A PIÑATA. (Drunken hot girl) WHAT? I'M A PIÑATA! WHAT?! GERALD, NO. WHAT? She's drunk! So?! i told you already—don't tell anyone you're using magic—-or I'm using magic— But—Dillon—magic is real! You said so! I know that!!! DFR, Dillon Francis God dammit, I almost forgot about this album. No you didnt. (Shapeshifting) (Spellcasting) (Other Magic shit) Yeah, but I forgot about the album. Yeah, I bet SAVAGE>< Freek In The Ghetto, Skrillex No. No. No. Oh fuck, where is Skrillex? Oh yeah, huh?! OH YEAH, huh. — What the everlivingFUCK. Oh shit. WHAT are you doing? Just playing a game. WHATDIDITELLYOU— Oh shit, she's mad— Run, dude— Run!! OH SHIT. I THOUGHT I TOLD YOU Well— Well. Well, well, well— Suddenly, it seemed everyone in the front row Was alt right- and as always, all the hot white girls moved into VIP—it was a tired game; I would always be black, and I would always be ugly, and so it hurt less than made me think twice or three times who I was dealing with. I just so happened to look over my shoulder and be somewhat attracted to the girl behind me. ‘'maybe it's time to start dating women' …but that would never work. GERALD. WHAT?! I thought I told you— I know, I know— GIMME ANOTHER SHOT. What, Dillon—! I thought you weren't DRINKING! Gerald! It's me! I know it's you. No! It's me! Ū! SUPACREE?! NO' SHH! I'm Ū!!! Where's / Dillon Francis?! WHERE IS SKRILLEX? He's in your heart. Oh shit. I gave that to Dillon Francis. Well, then, you have your answer. Fuxk. Let it happen. Tame Impala Man, I love that kid. I love that kid. So what happened? It's a long story. —NOT THE TIME MACHINE —NOT THE BOX GET IN THE TIME MACHINE! NOT THE BOX—!!!!! UGH, not Dillon Francis. (Yes, Dillon Francis.) What's his deal?! Who's what, him!!? YES. Satan. Hm. Whats your deal with Dillon Francis? What?! I don't have a deal with Dillon Francis… What?! YOU DONT!? NO! Why not? Cause! Being honest..? The devil, being honest: (Psh) I owe him money. What!! Satan, no way. Yes way! Hod that happen?' Lost a bet. Damn. This set is getting good. What are you watching? Gerald's world The legend of supacree Enter the multiverse The infinite Skrillifiles What? Uh oh. What ñ 5) 3 time space time continuums just shattered CONFETTI BLAST OH SHIT, it just shattered twice. We gotta go. Where we going To the planet Which—ducking planet. The one with the ducks. QUACK oh shit. A duck DUCK DUCK!! DUCK—DUCK—DUCK— Damn, this game really has gone on forever— ITS EDM O CLOCK, BITCH—! GET UP!! Mmm. We better go. Yes. We better go ALI and AVICII are very, very drunk in Heaven. THEY FINALLY MADE IT?! —of course we made it! —We knew the way! But of course: GOD No, go back. WHAT ARE YOU serious? MARTY! MARTY MCFLY! DAWG, it's good to see you! Wait. What the Fuxk dimension is THIS?' It's the one with Dillon Francis That's— a —FUCK. Dillon Francis is in a lot of dimensions. Yeah but this is the right one. How do you know? That was the theme song for the TV show. What TV show? Damn. I'm fucked up. What! I thought you didn't drink. I don't I'm an empath. MEANWHILE SUPACREE and SUNNÍ BLŪ have collided in a para-dimensional reality OH, SHIT, it's ME OH FUCK—DAMN. Now what do we do? Drugs? Drugs. Yeaaaaaaaah. One More Time, Daft Punk My son's favorite song. It was the second time it had played today, and the first time it wasn't nearly as bad as the second — now i was glad for the cloud of cold steam, I couldn't hide my upset as much as I wanted to ‘'Just keep writing' Okay. They're trying to kill me With white girls, And memories And it just might work I'm trying to write myself out the box Oh my god And it just my work I'm trying to get lost But I'm all out of sauce This is not gonna work I see you went and hopped on the band wagon Somebody get that dragon. /$3/ Huh That's how much I paid for this You—what?! I paid $3 You paid $3 Yes. For this. Yes. I'm gonna kill you. Ū VS DILLON FRANCIS Uh oh. Here it goes. FIGHT. Oh shit. I've been waiting all season for this. Here it goes. KO. SUPACREE WINS. What. It's over already? This isn't possible. GAME OVER. What the Fuxk. This is insane. No fucking way #%%]!! Wait. What the fuck I thought it was Ū VS Dillon Francisz YeH! It was. What the fuck. So how did SUPACREE win? Huh. Wait, did anybody ever find Skrillex? Oh, My God. Just then, someone threw a Red Bull and it hit my foot enough that it actually distracted me from writing— THROW ANOTHER ONE! No, dont! Why, what's wrong? I have to take back these boots in the morning. Oh good, Jesus made it. What Jesus who! JESÚS CHRIST! What? What do you want? I didn't think you'd come! I had to. I thought you were on vacation. Exactly. Listen, Dillon—I have to tell you something. Uh huh. This isn't going to be easy. Chak Chel, what is it? I need you to listen. Uh, I'm kinda busy. It was at this point— Really, this point—? I had to stop and asses for myself what was really happening. I was writing up a storm, and it did seem to happen automatically, as it had before. I'm a looper Open the coupe up, Stupid, Who did you think I is This is the business Go listen to Skrillex And KILL YOURSELF Huh? JUST KILL YOURSELF. Ah, okay—but not because you said so. Listen, I'm finna spit this quick while you spin it Spit in it: clitoris I'm different bitch After this dinner I'm still in the kitchen With dishes, bitch Till it glistens While I listen To excision (I'm just kidding) Dammit, this is a lot of Skrillex What exactly did you say about Dillon Francis not being in the Illuminati First of all, the Illuminati isn't real. SUPACREE How did you get famous? SUNNÍ BLŪ I'm in the Illuminati. You? SUPACREE I AM the Illuminati. SUNNÍ BLŪ NIce. [Cheers] Hey. Hey. Anybody seen Gerald? … … … Zzz. Damn. Nodding off On the clock I'm on the floor, And yo this shit is toxic Turn the knob a bit; My foot starting to throb again I'm looking hot like Somebody's mom again Damn. I'm getting off On the wrong kind of drama This isn't long at all But it's all wrong, ya'll I dont belong here Lost My Mind, Alison Wonderland OHH THIS SHIT BE HITTING DIFFERENT It did hit different. Someone either vomited or spilled the rest of their drink on me, which took me out of my moment: the music was telling a story, at least to me—and I didn't feel like feeling right then, but it was all I could do ñ. I was surprised that I was still standing at all, Ugh. I don't understand my feelings. This was deeper than it seemed, bigger than it — Ugh. What do you want from me? All I've got is applause, and a cough drop It's just another night at the office I'm somebody's mom In a long lost thought; All zeros on the clock In a tick tock, or two, when you're off And you're long gone, I'll still be wandering Stuck at the mall Till the bus comes —trying to write myself out the box I'm a lost soul I'm a club kid I'm a lost cause But i'll stay till the end, Cause last time I walked off And my thoughts wandered back to the dance floor All that I wanted is A penny for gods thoughts And now she keeps dropping them —and more often then not, She's dropping the knowledge That I'm in the wrong, For just wanting you: But what can I do; I just want to be like you, and less of a primate Something saw right through me, and I felt invisible—now a doughnut sounded good, and I hoped that they would have vegan this early in the morning. There was about a half hour left of the set, and I was tired; I would stay until the end of the set, for some reason—-but now — Oh shit. Remember that one time/— Which TIME One time, I lost my mind and drove off of a bridge. That did happen. That did happen. I had at one point been unwell, and so— ugh, that's it Some smelly kid squeezed his way in between me and the next person over,,probably on molly or something—meanwhile the young white supremacists club of America was codeswitching up a storm, me pretending not to notice, but— he was dancing a little too hard, hitting me a little too much—and clearly not giving any kind of fuck: it wouldn't be my first panic attack on the dance floor, but it probably would be my last; it was the same story over and over again— only the next generation had even less of a Fuxk than I ever did. I left the dance floor and opted to stand behind VIP — DID ANYONE EVER FIND SKRILLEX? Wrf. He died. WHAT. No seriously, I watched him die. Okay. Then what? Then he got up. That's a twist. Now I can't sleep. That sounds traumatic. It was traumatic. How long's it been? I HAVE NOT SLEPT IN ONE HUNDRED THOUSAND YEARS. Great, the vampires are here, too. Good. I've been craving Vegan blood. Ihj. What. It's better for you. God dammit, Dillon Francis Why does this always happen? I can't remember half of what I did Before I napped, and landed back in this dimension Now, I'll give you my attention for a minute— But I'm worried about Skrillex Didnt I mention i needed permission (Or just a perscription) To get this ignition I didn't even want to come to this I hate this club It's filled will memories You won't remember me For half another century Cause I can't finish writing I'm too busy riding The bus To work And crying all the time Cause therapy doesn't And I used to love this stuff, but UHH 1–2–3 : BUN UP THE DANCE This is a lot of Skrillex. Is he okay? Is Dillon Francis Okay!? They're both okay. They're both millionaires. They'll be fine. huayayay!!!!. Fuck this. Fuck this. Alright, I'm leaving. Are we eating? If it's vegan. Ah man. What just happened? I'm definitely in the Illuminati. I have a tendency To pretend that You're friends with me Speeded I get it's a Fantasy But I had to see you In the flesh I digress I picture you're just as Obsessed with me Guess I'd regret to suggest that You should have Sex with me Directly but it's nestled in my head In the red Would you get into bed with me After everything I said Or I wrote, and you read Or am I just Better off dead Youre so far ahead, And I get that it's Just a test At best but I've yet to digest Breakfast Caught in a web of Heaven or or empathy Trying to empty my envy For whoever's holding your hand Instead of me Please, Forgive me— But, If you're reading this, It's too late; All triple sixes and Tipping the sinners With witless intentions Wet at the back of the ears But I've known you for years And I said I'd be here; I remembered the dress {Enter The Multiverse}

https://youtu.be/7L4JnAuW00k Dillon Francis, I knew by now, was a very skilled sorcerer. I was fasting, and quickly shifting through times, realms, and dimensions as empty as ever as I knew myself to be; these days the shortest fasts seemed the longest—and by the look and feel of things, I was always still the biggest one in the room no matter where I went. ‘Let's see what this guy can do with half a moon.' If I had to go all the way to the dance floor to continue assessing my feelings for this man, it then had to be true that there were feelings at all—and there had to have been. Either way, I didn't care much; I wasn't expecting any outcome and at the very least and most simultaneously, I was there as a fan. I was, after all, as written, Dillon Francis's biggest fan—and though I didn't wear any apparel that made it obviously so, I sought to seek means to an end at some point for the saga I had written. I had hoped to potentially see Dillon's Kayla Lauren in the wings, as I thought surely for there to be one; it would be odd for any man, especially one that traveled as much as he did, to have two dogs of his own. Again, it didn't seem to matter, as I kept it in the forefront of my mind always that a man like Dillon Francis could have anyone he wanted in the world, most certainly anyone in the audience, If a world renowned DJ were ever to do such a thing as to sink as low as to converse with a peasant, such as I; at the very least, I would record, as always, Shazam, as always, and music mine as much as I possibly could, seeing as I wasn't there to dance or to drink at all, but simply just to observe; my soul acted in certain ways in this environment, and I wanted to know why, or what it was exactly that made it do so, quite unforgivingly. Still, there was magic in the air; and whether it was his, or mine, or neither I neither cared to know nor did, but knew it to be—there was just nothing to to do but submit, as I had learned; and rightfully so, as I was coming to him, it allowed him to assert his dominance, which I liked and needed anyhow, in any event. Allowing any potential anyone to become the master was a given; and though not yet at my beauty's peak of perfection, my sexuality was peaking enough for me to explore my innate attraction to him, as I allowed it. I wanted to be controlled, and so although it felt forced and always ridden with guilt, whatever had happened with Sonny had sent me through an infinite loop and then put Kayla Lauren on display at the worst possible time; and though rarely missing a gym day since, I credited my own perseverance for it rather than her sheer luck at the genetic lottery. I would never be a little white girl, and though at my worst they acted as kryptonite to my super powers, whatever they were—I still had whatever it was they didn't, and perhaps not the affluent white man's proper ideal, still something and someone at best, maybe. I hoped to see a girl he might belong to at the show; but then wondered of course who might stay with the dogs. Are you serious? Either way, I was going to write, and record, and align with whatever my purpose was—as regardless of how, it seemed to have something to do with Dillon Francis. I was fasting, of course, but it hadn't been long; I had fulfilled what would be my calorie deficit with a box of plant based Oreos just the night before departing LA full of grief, stress, and chocolate,'for whatever reason; I would have a vegan doughnut at pink box, I decided, before I left Vegas—maybe to make up for the one I had lost in the wind from the oncoming train just days before—I called it God's work, as nothing else could be so comical and devastating at the same time—but was also still craving a doughnut and, still fitting I to everything I owed that I had purchased in an extra small, very comfortably, thought to be allowed one, at one time or another. It didn't matter to me; the white women of the world were made to steal anything I wanted or needed; especially a Sonny or a Dillon Francis, but at the very least I could ease my grief with sweets and work off the stress whenever I was blessed enough to hold gym memberships. I didn't care much, but needed the processing speed of a wired brain and empty stomach to be able to compute whatever might be meant for me to grasp in the matrix; after all, I had once thought of Dillon Francis to be a computer-program himself; the most nonplahable character yet, but still a record breaking synchronicity or rather large group of them, now, in my book. .Red Hot Chili Peppers - These Are The Ways I can see It's not meant to be Cause I can't stop lying to you And you can't stop lying to me I just keep tying you up And you just keep letting me be So who are you to me A fantasy? Freedom? Sweet relief? Perhaps, just nothing But all comes from nothing All comes from nothing All comes from lusting I'm clutching the clutch with both my feet The break is stuck, Just like my feet in the styrupa, Good luck to me You're just fucking mad at me For having such vivid imaginary catastrophies Maybe it's everything Love is But fucking What? God, I'm lucky; I ought to be I run a Fortune 500 Maybe it's nothing But all comes from nothing All comes from nothing All comes from lusting I'm clutching the clutch with both my feet The break is stuck, Just like my feet in the styrupa, Good luck to me You're just fucking mad at me For having such vivid imaginary catastrophes (Don't forget the apostrophe, Since you'll be forging for me) I can see It's not meant to be Cause I can't stop lying to you And you can't stop lying to me I just keep tying you up And you just keep letting me be So who are you to me A fantasy? Freedom? Sweet relief? Perhaps, just nothing I should be parking my car in the lobby for washing Don't mind me, It's just natural distrust All turns to dust, And all comes from nothing God, I'm lucky I should be working on something (I should be resting on Sundays, the lord says) But take my time word for it, I'm the one writing it Monday Thru Sunday I can see It's not meant to be Cause I can't stop lying to you And you can't stop lying to me I just keep tying you up And you just keep letting me be So who are you to me A fantasy? Freedom? Sweet relief? Perhaps, just nothing ‘Just remember, that every girl you see that makes you sad, is the kind of girl he gets—and that's the reason for it.' , I thought to myself. As long as I remembered Instagram models and actresses existed, I couldn't continue to be hurt by it, but I was still, somehow even after 30 years, getting used to being the ugly fat black girl—and since I wasn't Lizzo or Megan The Stallion, I really wasn't anyboth; there was still no place for me at all in the world I wanted to belong to, and I was still as I represented as I would ever be. Maybe tonight I would use my two drink tickets; a sure recipe for disaster, as I had at least almost made it to the 48 hour mark fasting, If I was counting correctly. Perhaps a vegan doughnut could soak up the liquor and shame after leaving the encore at 3 am with nothing but a handful of words and some samples, and perhaps a podcast episode if there could be one. Dua Lipa, Hallucinate What happens after The Daisy swallows Dillon Francis?! Dillon HART Francis. That's a funny name! He's a funny guy. Sometimes. Sometimes. What was I to do? I just kept writing and had nowhere to send it; there was no pitch, there was no plot, and there was certainly no point. Enter The Multiverse and The Festival Project as a whole made up for everything I could have potentially been worth—which was nothing— and I hadn't a clue at all what I was purposed for; I seemed almost psychically robotic, remembering things as they happened within seconds, only enough to slightly offset a rebuttal that at any rate seemed scripted, but wasn't—at least yet. It seemed as if I was in a movie, but to any such ohaycologist of course this could have been considered mania, psychosis, or delusions of grandeur—or even— Dillusions of Granduer. I was funny too, sometimes. I didn't have to think Dillon Francis was shallow—I knew he was shallow, just as such with Sonny or any other man worth his salt, whatever that actually meant. But, just as I had harshly learned anything else, I was starting to understand why, as the smaller and more agile I became, the more I could do with my own body, and as such began to understand why men preferred slim and petite women. I was settling in well to my non-bianary status, and my celibacy—I could do more on my own or with myself than with any partner to date, and with the only human of interest being himself well over 300 pounds, I opted to keep to myself and simply observe human nature for the time being, rather than to take part in it. I wasn't eating, but for the first time in days I had slept, and pushing anything from the future or past far from my mind, I opted to remain present, and aloof; it wouldn't mean much to try to care at all about anything—the more I cared, the more the universe would subtract from my contentedness. Hear Me Now, Nicky Romero “If the doors of perception were cleansed every thing would appear to man as it is, Infinite. For man has closed himself up, till he sees all things thro' narrow chinks of his cavern.” —William Blake As if this isn't the greatest story ever told. I'm pretty sure that's The Passion of The Christ. This is The Passion Of The Christ. That's just blasphemous. It's The Passion of— Go on. I mean, it is infinite. Well, first there was infinite— —everything— —Everything. Now what. Oh, I know. What is it? It's The Passion of Dillon Francis. Why is that? Because, they're going to kill him. Why? Dillon Francis isn't in the Illuminati! Think twice before going there. But I've got a one track mind. A one track mind In a multitrack world Is a square peg to a round hole And a half-heart To a whole world And nothing's left but to give But to give is to get Just live, Try to forget that it's Infinite What's for dinner dear? I met you here, at the crossroads Like I said I would; And you said you wouldn't come, But here you are: A phenomenon Pardon my awful camaraderie Oh! I forgot all my manners Beg your hard on for hours, Till wilted, like later my flowers Oh, the debachery —better off watching your crotch, Than up on the cross, Like last that I saw you— Stop Look, I just want to watch; I just want to wash all the blood off my hands, From the Hog I put on the bonfire (Forgot what it's called in Oahu) Who are you? I died in a fire, you know In your eyes, Despite how I tried to avoid them They light up at night, sometimes No Divine or desire I'm just here to top off my tires, I'm tired, you know —better off watching, I'm novice Another day at the office, A shot gun in place of deposits, collateral Oh, I'm the asshole— I'm actually quite proud of it This is called something of consciousness, Writing a canon, But I'm quite forgetful; A madman, if you can imagine (Disasterous) Now you attack at your best, I'm un-vested Invested my time in unrest, Don't forget I'm just under your bed We mustn't forget how it started Intensive care Must be intense in the moment When you're Dillon Francis Ah yes. Leave A Trace, CHRCHES Tell me again how you're different; I exist just to wash dishes and watch DJs— I'm lazy; A patronage made just to let the white bitches forget all their privelege; In fact, it's a gift In fact, they're chosen— In fact, I'm just “Isn't” It's miserable Everyone Talks, Neon Trees | Three Pound Chicken Wing, deadmau5 | Paradise, Laidback Luke feat. Bright Lights Let me explain, How it's a vibration; I don't care what body you're in— It's all the same love, If it's all the same love, Then I love you I love you I love you, But I'm in a body It's torturous Let me explain how It's a vibration New word: It's Sapiosexual; Oh, I forgot how you Maddened me once, with your syntax and grammar Ah, now I'm sad as Hell ‘Might as well end it”, I thought to myself If looked as disheveled as I felt They would have stopped me from entering Even at ‘Envy' Let me explain, How I'm the villain This just happens over and over To poor Skrillex And Dillon Francis So much fame and fortune It turns into torture The girls on the rail A pecking order; Ready to devour, And be devoured by The man of the hour “ I might as well end it, then” I said. (But just for attention, I'm stuck in this body, Just rotting Cause nobody wants me at this damn party I've had enough of it I need some water and Probably a therapist Oh, ‘Stream of consciousness' There, I remembered it. Who could ever love me (No one does) Who could ever need me (No one does) Who would ever want me (No one does) Uh huh, I'm no fun at parties [Three knocks on the door] I ignore it (This part is important) [three more knocks] Ought to be something, But still, I assume that it's nothing No guts, and no glory Nobody to love me Uh huh I'm no fun at parties Who could ever love me (No one does) Who could ever need me (No one does) Who would ever want me (No one does) No wonder I used to cut myself “I can feel something” I once sung Now I just run; But— I'm still not small enough For somebody to want me I like to eat every now and again But— I guess that's my problem I just want someone to want me That doesn't remind me of Something i'm not But instead as in awe of my body As I am of Anything other than Tragedy Walk like an Egyptian, The Bangles I excused myself for the lackluster workout—after all, it had been days since my last real meal, and three now since my last solid anything; I had been happy with coconut water and alkaline, trying not to stay too far from the petite I was aiming for.; the plaid dress was a perfect match for the boots I had picked out, astonished that with the nearly 300-lb weight loss, my feet had also happened to shrink down a size and a half—I was dressed to impress, but prepared to be humiliated, and to top that—very eager to Google how long it would take me to get from XS, to Pink Box doughnuts—which was open 24 hours. At least I didn't exactly look like a prostitute—and, as an added bonus, might even could keep the dress for work or interviews; the boots walked nicely, at least for now, and I didn't mind the modesty, as I was already as out of place and forgotten as could be. Rather than opting for a coconut water, I stayed empty; not much was needed to do what I intended, which was almost nothing, and I hoped at the very least my senses and delicate nerves would be somehow put at ease. My iPhone microphone was sensitive enough to catch a song from a car waiting for the light halfway across the street— Freddie's Dead, Curtis Mayfield I crossed at the walk and kept my eyes to the ground, steadying my gait I into an awkward trot as not to appear to confident. I was right on time at the bus stop, and, within moments, not to my suprise, the 103 passed by me, even as I leaned against the stop waving my phone wirh the screen lit. “What a dick.” Perhaps I had fasted too long and worked out too hard; I had indeed left my clothes in a heap of heavy and drenched conglomerate of sweat and tears. I did have a headache, and didn't care much to return yet to my dwelling—in fact, there was something calling me out, and so out I went. Summoning a surprisingly inexpensive Über, I trotted begrudgingly to the WinCo behind me for a Pressed Coconjr Water—the world seemed to dysfunction a little too autonomously when I was running on empty, and with less stored fat supply than before, any triggered ketosis often resulted in a heavy cloud of thoughtless disability; I fumbled around clumsily, breathing shallow in the overstimulation of everything and everyone's aura—but that was exactly what I needed to see: Dillon had always glowed in brilliant shades of purple, but at one time, white—which startled me, especially because it was rare for anyone to glow that way. 120 calories of Coconut water wouldn't quite offset the caloric deficits Raul picked me up in a brand new Tesla, of course—which didn't feel like a coincidence, as nothing did; I had just earlier in the day been thinking of Lim Manuel Miranda, whose face was earned on the cover of a magazine as I purchased my coconut wate; I snapped a picture and hurried along to my whatever it was—instead of spending the next two hours on the bus, I'd get to collect the music from the warmup DJ, and since it was his job I wanted to aquire, it was probably in good taste and good fortune to support anyone whose name I didn't already know. As I arrived to the encore, my eyes were blurred and I was still a little woozy, but the headache was gone and replaced with an all-out bad attitude that didn't exactl come from out of nowhere. As easily distracted as I was, and out of place, I was surprisingly quick to lose self awareness; as I stopped to take a portrait for the festival project, security approached, assuming I was as trashed as anybody else hunched over the trash can—I explained I was working on an art project, and she seemed refreshed—I hadn't realized that how it looked wasn't at all out of the ordinary, remembering where I was, and suddenly, remembering where I was, I remembered the first time I was here, which had inspired the poem Red Velvet, which was lost to time and buried in the rubble of my endlessly infinite Google documents I never received my drink tickets—probably for the best, as k had been tempted this time to actually use them. My life was in actual shambles, with no direction whatsoever—and here I was, on the guestlist at Dillon Francis of all places, with nearly no other place to be. Maybe if I was vigilant I would be front and center at the rail—placing me back in the fandom instead of fiending for a reason or purpose any of this had happened. I'm not mad You're a man And an animal Can't help yourself can you you? Don't be mad at me I'm just a fan And an animal I can't help my attraction I'm second to last, Wirh my hand on the rail And I'm not here to dance (But the music's fantastic) Well, Dillon's front row is always a sight for sore eyes. This is hilarious. I'm laughing on the inside. Just, have a little drink with me. WHY DOES THE DJ KEEP PLAYING SIMMERTIME SADNESS!!! ITS NOT EVEN SUMMER. #SELFIE The club scene had changed much since the days of Red Velvet, but not much, also—vanity had always been the norm, but now more was allowable; at least Fat girls were allowed on the Dance floor without bogarting our way in—but now, the whole of the masses needed photographic evidence of everything; I wasn't in the least interested in taking photos of myself, or anything really hit the discarded rmknce of what had been a night of drinking and shenanigans, whatever the outcome; I never knew, but typically lately had made a habit of throwing away the trash after taking the photos for my project; tonight thiugh, something new caught my eye, as the warm up and caught my ears and I Shazammed every song for the taking—.Recycling bins at the foot of the rails—where, by the way, I had been pushed to front and center, looking quite like someone's Grandmother in my spectacles and too- long- for- the-club-dress—but I was comfortable, hadn't been given any trouble at the door, and, for the time being, was actually next to someone's grandparents. b€NZ (feat syaquis) Front row lit Finna get bent Imma get Imma get. I don't mind a white girl It's just for the night, girl But if you hit me with that ponytail one more time, girl We finnafight girl Go ahead Get it Get it Shake that bony ass Like we on skid row. Yas Go ahead. Front row lit Fin a get bent Imma get Imma get. I don't mind a white girl It's just for the night, girl But if you hit me with that ponytail one more time, girl We fin a fight girl Go ahead Get it Get it Front row lit Fin a get bent Imma get Imma get. I don't mind a white girl It's just for the night, girl But if you hit me with that ponytail one more time, girl We fin a fight girl Go ahead Get it Get it Shame that bony ass Like we on skid row. Where we gonna go In the morning Go ahead. The DJ's pace was picking up, so I knew that it had to be toward the end of his set—would I even make it to close—or did I want to? There wasn't much to see, but there might be more to write. I looked around myself, empathy giving way; now I wasn't myself, or anyone in particular—just a bystander in the crowd, drunk off the placebo of experience ‘What if this was your life every night for the last 10 years?' Uhhhh. I Shazamed another tune— What if this is your life for the next 10 years? Oh Fuxk. I'm getting too old for this. Or… just old enough. The night was moving forward, and so people were drunker, and I probably wouldn't stay at the front row too long; but I was right in the place where the bass hit just right, so it felt good enough— but you couldn't see the DJ's hands. Just so you know, When I'm bored at a show— I take out my notebook Oh no, You're not bothering me; No thanks, I'm not really lonely, I'm just Writing a novel Or album Or movie Or something “Are you in the industry?” The tallish blonde girl next to me asked, progressively more drunk than when she first had appeared next to me at the rail—the front row was now predominately female, which I supposed to be typical—what a life. I just shook my head and continued as I was. For the most part unamused, and even a little bored, as I always was at a club show. I wasn't behind the decks, so I wasn't really anywhere at all. Maybe it was the bass, but I had suddenly stopped craving a doughnut, however by 4 am I was probably just about going to be ready for one; Or half dozen, cause— And with a flash of steam and sweat, the man of the hour appeared, but I found it hard to lift my head— I probably should step back from this front row… The energy in your front row is everything; at least to a DJ like me… Okay Gerald, I'll get you a table— you can't tell anyone you're a piñata. Okay ?' okay. GERALD has permanently shapeshifted into a Human being. (To a hot girl) I'M ACTUALLY A PIÑATA. (Drunken hot girl) WHAT? I'M A PIÑATA! WHAT?! GERALD, NO. WHAT? She's drunk! So?! i told you already—don't tell anyone you're using magic—-or I'm using magic— But—Dillon—magic is real! You said so! I know that!!! DFR, Dillon Francis God dammit, I almost forgot about this album. No you didnt. (Shapeshifting) (Spellcasting) (Other Magic shit) Yeah, but I forgot about the album. Yeah, I bet SAVAGE>< Freek In The Ghetto, Skrillex No. No. No. Oh fuck, where is Skrillex? Oh yeah, huh?! OH YEAH, huh. — What the everlivingFUCK. Oh shit. WHAT are you doing? Just playing a game. WHATDIDITELLYOU— Oh shit, she's mad— Run, dude— Run!! OH SHIT. I THOUGHT I TOLD YOU Well— Well. Well, well, well— Suddenly, it seemed everyone in the front row Was alt right- and as always, all the hot white girls moved into VIP—it was a tired game; I would always be black, and I would always be ugly, and so it hurt less than made me think twice or three times who I was dealing with. I just so happened to look over my shoulder and be somewhat attracted to the girl behind me. ‘'maybe it's time to start dating women' …but that would never work. GERALD. WHAT?! I thought I told you— I know, I know— GIMME ANOTHER SHOT. What, Dillon—! I thought you weren't DRINKING! Gerald! It's me! I know it's you. No! It's me! Ū! SUPACREE?! NO' SHH! I'm Ū!!! Where's / Dillon Francis?! WHERE IS SKRILLEX? He's in your heart. Oh shit. I gave that to Dillon Francis. Well, then, you have your answer. Fuxk. Let it happen. Tame Impala Man, I love that kid. I love that kid. So what happened? It's a long story. —NOT THE TIME MACHINE —NOT THE BOX GET IN THE TIME MACHINE! NOT THE BOX—!!!!! UGH, not Dillon Francis. (Yes, Dillon Francis.) What's his deal?! Who's what, him!!? YES. Satan. Hm. Whats your deal with Dillon Francis? What?! I don't have a deal with Dillon Francis… What?! YOU DONT!? NO! Why not? Cause! Being honest..? The devil, being honest: (Psh) I owe him money. What!! Satan, no way. Yes way! Hod that happen?' Lost a bet. Damn. This set is getting good. What are you watching? Gerald's world The legend of supacree Enter the multiverse The infinite Skrillifiles What? Uh oh. What ñ 5) 3 time space time continuums just shattered CONFETTI BLAST OH SHIT, it just shattered twice. We gotta go. Where we going To the planet Which—ducking planet. The one with the ducks. QUACK oh shit. A duck DUCK DUCK!! DUCK—DUCK—DUCK— Damn, this game really has gone on forever— ITS EDM O CLOCK, BITCH—! GET UP!! Mmm. We better go. Yes. We better go ALI and AVICII are very, very drunk in Heaven. THEY FINALLY MADE IT?! —of course we made it! —We knew the way! But of course: GOD No, go back. WHAT ARE YOU serious? MARTY! MARTY MCFLY! DAWG, it's good to see you! Wait. What the Fuxk dimension is THIS?' It's the one with Dillon Francis That's— a —FUCK. Dillon Francis is in a lot of dimensions. Yeah but this is the right one. How do you know? That was the theme song for the TV show. What TV show? Damn. I'm fucked up. What! I thought you didn't drink. I don't I'm an empath. MEANWHILE SUPACREE and SUNNÍ BLŪ have collided in a para-dimensional reality OH, SHIT, it's ME OH FUCK—DAMN. Now what do we do? Drugs? Drugs. Yeaaaaaaaah. One More Time, Daft Punk My son's favorite song. It was the second time it had played today, and the first time it wasn't nearly as bad as the second — now i was glad for the cloud of cold steam, I couldn't hide my upset as much as I wanted to ‘'Just keep writing' Okay. They're trying to kill me With white girls, And memories And it just might work I'm trying to write myself out the box Oh my god And it just my work I'm trying to get lost But I'm all out of sauce This is not gonna work I see you went and hopped on the band wagon Somebody get that dragon. /$3/ Huh That's how much I paid for this You—what?! I paid $3 You paid $3 Yes. For this. Yes. I'm gonna kill you. Ū VS DILLON FRANCIS Uh oh. Here it goes. FIGHT. Oh shit. I've been waiting all season for this. Here it goes. KO. SUPACREE WINS. What. It's over already? This isn't possible. GAME OVER. What the Fuxk. This is insane. No fucking way #%%]!! Wait. What the fuck I thought it was Ū VS Dillon Francisz YeH! It was. What the fuck. So how did SUPACREE win? Huh. Wait, did anybody ever find Skrillex? Oh, My God. Just then, someone threw a Red Bull and it hit my foot enough that it actually distracted me from writing— THROW ANOTHER ONE! No, dont! Why, what's wrong? I have to take back these boots in the morning. Oh good, Jesus made it. What Jesus who! JESÚS CHRIST! What? What do you want? I didn't think you'd come! I had to. I thought you were on vacation. Exactly. Listen, Dillon—I have to tell you something. Uh huh. This isn't going to be easy. Chak Chel, what is it? I need you to listen. Uh, I'm kinda busy. It was at this point— Really, this point—? I had to stop and asses for myself what was really happening. I was writing up a storm, and it did seem to happen automatically, as it had before. I'm a looper Open the coupe up, Stupid, Who did you think I is This is the business Go listen to Skrillex And KILL YOURSELF Huh? JUST KILL YOURSELF. Ah, okay—but not because you said so. Listen, I'm finna spit this quick while you spin it Spit in it: clitoris I'm different bitch After this dinner I'm still in the kitchen With dishes, bitch Till it glistens While I listen To excision (I'm just kidding) Dammit, this is a lot of Skrillex What exactly did you say about Dillon Francis not being in the Illuminati First of all, the Illuminati isn't real. SUPACREE How did you get famous? SUNNÍ BLŪ I'm in the Illuminati. You? SUPACREE I AM the Illuminati. SUNNÍ BLŪ NIce. [Cheers] Hey. Hey. Anybody seen Gerald? … … … Zzz. Damn. Nodding off On the clock I'm on the floor, And yo this shit is toxic Turn the knob a bit; My foot starting to throb again I'm looking hot like Somebody's mom again Damn. I'm getting off On the wrong kind of drama This isn't long at all But it's all wrong, ya'll I dont belong here Lost My Mind, Alison Wonderland OHH THIS SHIT BE HITTING DIFFERENT It did hit different. Someone either vomited or spilled the rest of their drink on me, which took me out of my moment: the music was telling a story, at least to me—and I didn't feel like feeling right then, but it was all I could do ñ. I was surprised that I was still standing at all, Ugh. I don't understand my feelings. This was deeper than it seemed, bigger than it — Ugh. What do you want from me? All I've got is applause, and a cough drop It's just another night at the office I'm somebody's mom In a long lost thought; All zeros on the clock In a tick tock, or two, when you're off And you're long gone, I'll still be wandering Stuck at the mall Till the bus comes —trying to write myself out the box I'm a lost soul I'm a club kid I'm a lost cause But i'll stay till the end, Cause last time I walked off And my thoughts wandered back to the dance floor All that I wanted is A penny for gods thoughts And now she keeps dropping them —and more often then not, She's dropping the knowledge That I'm in the wrong, For just wanting you: But what can I do; I just want to be like you, and less of a primate Something saw right through me, and I felt invisible—now a doughnut sounded good, and I hoped that they would have vegan this early in the morning. There was about a half hour left of the set, and I was tired; I would stay until the end of the set, for some reason—-but now — Oh shit. Remember that one time/— Which TIME One time, I lost my mind and drove off of a bridge. That did happen. That did happen. I had at one point been unwell, and so— ugh, that's it Some smelly kid squeezed his way in between me and the next person over,,probably on molly or something—meanwhile the young white supremacists club of America was codeswitching up a storm, me pretending not to notice, but— he was dancing a little too hard, hitting me a little too much—and clearly not giving any kind of fuck: it wouldn't be my first panic attack on the dance floor, but it probably would be my last; it was the same story over and over again— only the next generation had even less of a Fuxk than I ever did. I left the dance floor and opted to stand behind VIP — DID ANYONE EVER FIND SKRILLEX? Wrf. He died. WHAT. No seriously, I watched him die. Okay. Then what? Then he got up. That's a twist. Now I can't sleep. That sounds traumatic. It was traumatic. How long's it been? I HAVE NOT SLEPT IN ONE HUNDRED THOUSAND YEARS. Great, the vampires are here, too. Good. I've been craving Vegan blood. Ihj. What. It's better for you. God dammit, Dillon Francis Why does this always happen? I can't remember half of what I did Before I napped, and landed back in this dimension Now, I'll give you my attention for a minute— But I'm worried about Skrillex Didnt I mention i needed permission (Or just a perscription) To get this ignition I didn't even want to come to this I hate this club It's filled will memories You won't remember me For half another century Cause I can't finish writing I'm too busy riding The bus To work And crying all the time Cause therapy doesn't And I used to love this stuff, but UHH 1–2–3 : BUN UP THE DANCE This is a lot of Skrillex. Is he okay? Is Dillon Francis Okay!? They're both okay. They're both millionaires. They'll be fine. huayayay!!!!. Fuck this. Fuck this. Alright, I'm leaving. Are we eating? If it's vegan. Ah man. What just happened? I'm definitely in the Illuminati. I have a tendency To pretend that You're friends with me Speeded I get it's a Fantasy But I had to see you In the flesh I digress I picture you're just as Obsessed with me Guess I'd regret to suggest that You should have Sex with me Directly but it's nestled in my head In the red Would you get into bed with me After everything I said Or I wrote, and you read Or am I just Better off dead Youre so far ahead, And I get that it's Just a test At best but I've yet to digest Breakfast Caught in a web of Heaven or or empathy Trying to empty my envy For whoever's holding your hand Instead of me Please, Forgive me— But, If you're reading this, It's too late; All triple sixes and Tipping the sinners With witless intentions Wet at the back of the ears But I've known you for years And I said I'd be here; I remembered the dress {Enter The Multiverse}

https://youtu.be/7L4JnAuW00k Dillon Francis, I knew by now, was a very skilled sorcerer. I was fasting, and quickly shifting through times, realms, and dimensions as empty as ever as I knew myself to be; these days the shortest fasts seemed the longest—and by the look and feel of things, I was always still the biggest one in the room no matter where I went. ‘Let's see what this guy can do with half a moon.' If I had to go all the way to the dance floor to continue assessing my feelings for this man, it then had to be true that there were feelings at all—and there had to have been. Either way, I didn't care much; I wasn't expecting any outcome and at the very least and most simultaneously, I was there as a fan. I was, after all, as written, Dillon Francis's biggest fan—and though I didn't wear any apparel that made it obviously so, I sought to seek means to an end at some point for the saga I had written. I had hoped to potentially see Dillon's Kayla Lauren in the wings, as I thought surely for there to be one; it would be odd for any man, especially one that traveled as much as he did, to have two dogs of his own. Again, it didn't seem to matter, as I kept it in the forefront of my mind always that a man like Dillon Francis could have anyone he wanted in the world, most certainly anyone in the audience, If a world renowned DJ were ever to do such a thing as to sink as low as to converse with a peasant, such as I; at the very least, I would record, as always, Shazam, as always, and music mine as much as I possibly could, seeing as I wasn't there to dance or to drink at all, but simply just to observe; my soul acted in certain ways in this environment, and I wanted to know why, or what it was exactly that made it do so, quite unforgivingly. Still, there was magic in the air; and whether it was his, or mine, or neither I neither cared to know nor did, but knew it to be—there was just nothing to to do but submit, as I had learned; and rightfully so, as I was coming to him, it allowed him to assert his dominance, which I liked and needed anyhow, in any event. Allowing any potential anyone to become the master was a given; and though not yet at my beauty's peak of perfection, my sexuality was peaking enough for me to explore my innate attraction to him, as I allowed it. I wanted to be controlled, and so although it felt forced and always ridden with guilt, whatever had happened with Sonny had sent me through an infinite loop and then put Kayla Lauren on display at the worst possible time; and though rarely missing a gym day since, I credited my own perseverance for it rather than her sheer luck at the genetic lottery. I would never be a little white girl, and though at my worst they acted as kryptonite to my super powers, whatever they were—I still had whatever it was they didn't, and perhaps not the affluent white man's proper ideal, still something and someone at best, maybe. I hoped to see a girl he might belong to at the show; but then wondered of course who might stay with the dogs. Are you serious? Either way, I was going to write, and record, and align with whatever my purpose was—as regardless of how, it seemed to have something to do with Dillon Francis. I was fasting, of course, but it hadn't been long; I had fulfilled what would be my calorie deficit with a box of plant based Oreos just the night before departing LA full of grief, stress, and chocolate,'for whatever reason; I would have a vegan doughnut at pink box, I decided, before I left Vegas—maybe to make up for the one I had lost in the wind from the oncoming train just days before—I called it God's work, as nothing else could be so comical and devastating at the same time—but was also still craving a doughnut and, still fitting I to everything I owed that I had purchased in an extra small, very comfortably, thought to be allowed one, at one time or another. It didn't matter to me; the white women of the world were made to steal anything I wanted or needed; especially a Sonny or a Dillon Francis, but at the very least I could ease my grief with sweets and work off the stress whenever I was blessed enough to hold gym memberships. I didn't care much, but needed the processing speed of a wired brain and empty stomach to be able to compute whatever might be meant for me to grasp in the matrix; after all, I had once thought of Dillon Francis to be a computer-program himself; the most nonplahable character yet, but still a record breaking synchronicity or rather large group of them, now, in my book. .Red Hot Chili Peppers - These Are The Ways I can see It's not meant to be Cause I can't stop lying to you And you can't stop lying to me I just keep tying you up And you just keep letting me be So who are you to me A fantasy? Freedom? Sweet relief? Perhaps, just nothing But all comes from nothing All comes from nothing All comes from lusting I'm clutching the clutch with both my feet The break is stuck, Just like my feet in the styrupa, Good luck to me You're just fucking mad at me For having such vivid imaginary catastrophies Maybe it's everything Love is But fucking What? God, I'm lucky; I ought to be I run a Fortune 500 Maybe it's nothing But all comes from nothing All comes from nothing All comes from lusting I'm clutching the clutch with both my feet The break is stuck, Just like my feet in the styrupa, Good luck to me You're just fucking mad at me For having such vivid imaginary catastrophes (Don't forget the apostrophe, Since you'll be forging for me) I can see It's not meant to be Cause I can't stop lying to you And you can't stop lying to me I just keep tying you up And you just keep letting me be So who are you to me A fantasy? Freedom? Sweet relief? Perhaps, just nothing I should be parking my car in the lobby for washing Don't mind me, It's just natural distrust All turns to dust, And all comes from nothing God, I'm lucky I should be working on something (I should be resting on Sundays, the lord says) But take my time word for it, I'm the one writing it Monday Thru Sunday I can see It's not meant to be Cause I can't stop lying to you And you can't stop lying to me I just keep tying you up And you just keep letting me be So who are you to me A fantasy? Freedom? Sweet relief? Perhaps, just nothing ‘Just remember, that every girl you see that makes you sad, is the kind of girl he gets—and that's the reason for it.' , I thought to myself. As long as I remembered Instagram models and actresses existed, I couldn't continue to be hurt by it, but I was still, somehow even after 30 years, getting used to being the ugly fat black girl—and since I wasn't Lizzo or Megan The Stallion, I really wasn't anyboth; there was still no place for me at all in the world I wanted to belong to, and I was still as I represented as I would ever be. Maybe tonight I would use my two drink tickets; a sure recipe for disaster, as I had at least almost made it to the 48 hour mark fasting, If I was counting correctly. Perhaps a vegan doughnut could soak up the liquor and shame after leaving the encore at 3 am with nothing but a handful of words and some samples, and perhaps a podcast episode if there could be one. Dua Lipa, Hallucinate What happens after The Daisy swallows Dillon Francis?! Dillon HART Francis. That's a funny name! He's a funny guy. Sometimes. Sometimes. What was I to do? I just kept writing and had nowhere to send it; there was no pitch, there was no plot, and there was certainly no point. Enter The Multiverse and The Festival Project as a whole made up for everything I could have potentially been worth—which was nothing— and I hadn't a clue at all what I was purposed for; I seemed almost psychically robotic, remembering things as they happened within seconds, only enough to slightly offset a rebuttal that at any rate seemed scripted, but wasn't—at least yet. It seemed as if I was in a movie, but to any such ohaycologist of course this could have been considered mania, psychosis, or delusions of grandeur—or even— Dillusions of Granduer. I was funny too, sometimes. I didn't have to think Dillon Francis was shallow—I knew he was shallow, just as such with Sonny or any other man worth his salt, whatever that actually meant. But, just as I had harshly learned anything else, I was starting to understand why, as the smaller and more agile I became, the more I could do with my own body, and as such began to understand why men preferred slim and petite women. I was settling in well to my non-bianary status, and my celibacy—I could do more on my own or with myself than with any partner to date, and with the only human of interest being himself well over 300 pounds, I opted to keep to myself and simply observe human nature for the time being, rather than to take part in it. I wasn't eating, but for the first time in days I had slept, and pushing anything from the future or past far from my mind, I opted to remain present, and aloof; it wouldn't mean much to try to care at all about anything—the more I cared, the more the universe would subtract from my contentedness. Hear Me Now, Nicky Romero “If the doors of perception were cleansed every thing would appear to man as it is, Infinite. For man has closed himself up, till he sees all things thro' narrow chinks of his cavern.” —William Blake As if this isn't the greatest story ever told. I'm pretty sure that's The Passion of The Christ. This is The Passion Of The Christ. That's just blasphemous. It's The Passion of— Go on. I mean, it is infinite. Well, first there was infinite— —everything— —Everything. Now what. Oh, I know. What is it? It's The Passion of Dillon Francis. Why is that? Because, they're going to kill him. Why? Dillon Francis isn't in the Illuminati! Think twice before going there. But I've got a one track mind. A one track mind In a multitrack world Is a square peg to a round hole And a half-heart To a whole world And nothing's left but to give But to give is to get Just live, Try to forget that it's Infinite What's for dinner dear? I met you here, at the crossroads Like I said I would; And you said you wouldn't come, But here you are: A phenomenon Pardon my awful camaraderie Oh! I forgot all my manners Beg your hard on for hours, Till wilted, like later my flowers Oh, the debachery —better off watching your crotch, Than up on the cross, Like last that I saw you— Stop Look, I just want to watch; I just want to wash all the blood off my hands, From the Hog I put on the bonfire (Forgot what it's called in Oahu) Who are you? I died in a fire, you know In your eyes, Despite how I tried to avoid them They light up at night, sometimes No Divine or desire I'm just here to top off my tires, I'm tired, you know —better off watching, I'm novice Another day at the office, A shot gun in place of deposits, collateral Oh, I'm the asshole— I'm actually quite proud of it This is called something of consciousness, Writing a canon, But I'm quite forgetful; A madman, if you can imagine (Disasterous) Now you attack at your best, I'm un-vested Invested my time in unrest, Don't forget I'm just under your bed We mustn't forget how it started Intensive care Must be intense in the moment When you're Dillon Francis Ah yes. Leave A Trace, CHRCHES Tell me again how you're different; I exist just to wash dishes and watch DJs— I'm lazy; A patronage made just to let the white bitches forget all their privelege; In fact, it's a gift In fact, they're chosen— In fact, I'm just “Isn't” It's miserable Everyone Talks, Neon Trees | Three Pound Chicken Wing, deadmau5 | Paradise, Laidback Luke feat. Bright Lights Let me explain, How it's a vibration; I don't care what body you're in— It's all the same love, If it's all the same love, Then I love you I love you I love you, But I'm in a body It's torturous Let me explain how It's a vibration New word: It's Sapiosexual; Oh, I forgot how you Maddened me once, with your syntax and grammar Ah, now I'm sad as Hell ‘Might as well end it”, I thought to myself If looked as disheveled as I felt They would have stopped me from entering Even at ‘Envy' Let me explain, How I'm the villain This just happens over and over To poor Skrillex And Dillon Francis So much fame and fortune It turns into torture The girls on the rail A pecking order; Ready to devour, And be devoured by The man of the hour “ I might as well end it, then” I said. (But just for attention, I'm stuck in this body, Just rotting Cause nobody wants me at this damn party I've had enough of it I need some water and Probably a therapist Oh, ‘Stream of consciousness' There, I remembered it. Who could ever love me (No one does) Who could ever need me (No one does) Who would ever want me (No one does) Uh huh, I'm no fun at parties [Three knocks on the door] I ignore it (This part is important) [three more knocks] Ought to be something, But still, I assume that it's nothing No guts, and no glory Nobody to love me Uh huh I'm no fun at parties Who could ever love me (No one does) Who could ever need me (No one does) Who would ever want me (No one does) No wonder I used to cut myself “I can feel something” I once sung Now I just run; But— I'm still not small enough For somebody to want me I like to eat every now and again But— I guess that's my problem I just want someone to want me That doesn't remind me of Something i'm not But instead as in awe of my body As I am of Anything other than Tragedy Walk like an Egyptian, The Bangles I excused myself for the lackluster workout—after all, it had been days since my last real meal, and three now since my last solid anything; I had been happy with coconut water and alkaline, trying not to stay too far from the petite I was aiming for.; the plaid dress was a perfect match for the boots I had picked out, astonished that with the nearly 300-lb weight loss, my feet had also happened to shrink down a size and a half—I was dressed to impress, but prepared to be humiliated, and to top that—very eager to Google how long it would take me to get from XS, to Pink Box doughnuts—which was open 24 hours. At least I didn't exactly look like a prostitute—and, as an added bonus, might even could keep the dress for work or interviews; the boots walked nicely, at least for now, and I didn't mind the modesty, as I was already as out of place and forgotten as could be. Rather than opting for a coconut water, I stayed empty; not much was needed to do what I intended, which was almost nothing, and I hoped at the very least my senses and delicate nerves would be somehow put at ease. My iPhone microphone was sensitive enough to catch a song from a car waiting for the light halfway across the street— Freddie's Dead, Curtis Mayfield I crossed at the walk and kept my eyes to the ground, steadying my gait I into an awkward trot as not to appear to confident. I was right on time at the bus stop, and, within moments, not to my suprise, the 103 passed by me, even as I leaned against the stop waving my phone wirh the screen lit. “What a dick.” Perhaps I had fasted too long and worked out too hard; I had indeed left my clothes in a heap of heavy and drenched conglomerate of sweat and tears. I did have a headache, and didn't care much to return yet to my dwelling—in fact, there was something calling me out, and so out I went. Summoning a surprisingly inexpensive Über, I trotted begrudgingly to the WinCo behind me for a Pressed Coconjr Water—the world seemed to dysfunction a little too autonomously when I was running on empty, and with less stored fat supply than before, any triggered ketosis often resulted in a heavy cloud of thoughtless disability; I fumbled around clumsily, breathing shallow in the overstimulation of everything and everyone's aura—but that was exactly what I needed to see: Dillon had always glowed in brilliant shades of purple, but at one time, white—which startled me, especially because it was rare for anyone to glow that way. 120 calories of Coconut water wouldn't quite offset the caloric deficits Raul picked me up in a brand new Tesla, of course—which didn't feel like a coincidence, as nothing did; I had just earlier in the day been thinking of Lim Manuel Miranda, whose face was earned on the cover of a magazine as I purchased my coconut wate; I snapped a picture and hurried along to my whatever it was—instead of spending the next two hours on the bus, I'd get to collect the music from the warmup DJ, and since it was his job I wanted to aquire, it was probably in good taste and good fortune to support anyone whose name I didn't already know. As I arrived to the encore, my eyes were blurred and I was still a little woozy, but the headache was gone and replaced with an all-out bad attitude that didn't exactl come from out of nowhere. As easily distracted as I was, and out of place, I was surprisingly quick to lose self awareness; as I stopped to take a portrait for the festival project, security approached, assuming I was as trashed as anybody else hunched over the trash can—I explained I was working on an art project, and she seemed refreshed—I hadn't realized that how it looked wasn't at all out of the ordinary, remembering where I was, and suddenly, remembering where I was, I remembered the first time I was here, which had inspired the poem Red Velvet, which was lost to time and buried in the rubble of my endlessly infinite Google documents I never received my drink tickets—probably for the best, as k had been tempted this time to actually use them. My life was in actual shambles, with no direction whatsoever—and here I was, on the guestlist at Dillon Francis of all places, with nearly no other place to be. Maybe if I was vigilant I would be front and center at the rail—placing me back in the fandom instead of fiending for a reason or purpose any of this had happened. I'm not mad You're a man And an animal Can't help yourself can you you? Don't be mad at me I'm just a fan And an animal I can't help my attraction I'm second to last, Wirh my hand on the rail And I'm not here to dance (But the music's fantastic) Well, Dillon's front row is always a sight for sore eyes. This is hilarious. I'm laughing on the inside. Just, have a little drink with me. WHY DOES THE DJ KEEP PLAYING SIMMERTIME SADNESS!!! ITS NOT EVEN SUMMER. #SELFIE The club scene had changed much since the days of Red Velvet, but not much, also—vanity had always been the norm, but now more was allowable; at least Fat girls were allowed on the Dance floor without bogarting our way in—but now, the whole of the masses needed photographic evidence of everything; I wasn't in the least interested in taking photos of myself, or anything really hit the discarded rmknce of what had been a night of drinking and shenanigans, whatever the outcome; I never knew, but typically lately had made a habit of throwing away the trash after taking the photos for my project; tonight thiugh, something new caught my eye, as the warm up and caught my ears and I Shazammed every song for the taking—.Recycling bins at the foot of the rails—where, by the way, I had been pushed to front and center, looking quite like someone's Grandmother in my spectacles and too- long- for- the-club-dress—but I was comfortable, hadn't been given any trouble at the door, and, for the time being, was actually next to someone's grandparents. b€NZ (feat syaquis) Front row lit Finna get bent Imma get Imma get. I don't mind a white girl It's just for the night, girl But if you hit me with that ponytail one more time, girl We finnafight girl Go ahead Get it Get it Shake that bony ass Like we on skid row. Yas Go ahead. Front row lit Fin a get bent Imma get Imma get. I don't mind a white girl It's just for the night, girl But if you hit me with that ponytail one more time, girl We fin a fight girl Go ahead Get it Get it Front row lit Fin a get bent Imma get Imma get. I don't mind a white girl It's just for the night, girl But if you hit me with that ponytail one more time, girl We fin a fight girl Go ahead Get it Get it Shame that bony ass Like we on skid row. Where we gonna go In the morning Go ahead. The DJ's pace was picking up, so I knew that it had to be toward the end of his set—would I even make it to close—or did I want to? There wasn't much to see, but there might be more to write. I looked around myself, empathy giving way; now I wasn't myself, or anyone in particular—just a bystander in the crowd, drunk off the placebo of experience ‘What if this was your life every night for the last 10 years?' Uhhhh. I Shazamed another tune— What if this is your life for the next 10 years? Oh Fuxk. I'm getting too old for this. Or… just old enough. The night was moving forward, and so people were drunker, and I probably wouldn't stay at the front row too long; but I was right in the place where the bass hit just right, so it felt good enough— but you couldn't see the DJ's hands. Just so you know, When I'm bored at a show— I take out my notebook Oh no, You're not bothering me; No thanks, I'm not really lonely, I'm just Writing a novel Or album Or movie Or something “Are you in the industry?” The tallish blonde girl next to me asked, progressively more drunk than when she first had appeared next to me at the rail—the front row was now predominately female, which I supposed to be typical—what a life. I just shook my head and continued as I was. For the most part unamused, and even a little bored, as I always was at a club show. I wasn't behind the decks, so I wasn't really anywhere at all. Maybe it was the bass, but I had suddenly stopped craving a doughnut, however by 4 am I was probably just about going to be ready for one; Or half dozen, cause— And with a flash of steam and sweat, the man of the hour appeared, but I found it hard to lift my head— I probably should step back from this front row… The energy in your front row is everything; at least to a DJ like me… Okay Gerald, I'll get you a table— you can't tell anyone you're a piñata. Okay ?' okay. GERALD has permanently shapeshifted into a Human being. (To a hot girl) I'M ACTUALLY A PIÑATA. (Drunken hot girl) WHAT? I'M A PIÑATA! WHAT?! GERALD, NO. WHAT? She's drunk! So?! i told you already—don't tell anyone you're using magic—-or I'm using magic— But—Dillon—magic is real! You said so! I know that!!! DFR, Dillon Francis God dammit, I almost forgot about this album. No you didnt. (Shapeshifting) (Spellcasting) (Other Magic shit) Yeah, but I forgot about the album. Yeah, I bet SAVAGE>< Freek In The Ghetto, Skrillex No. No. No. Oh fuck, where is Skrillex? Oh yeah, huh?! OH YEAH, huh. — What the everlivingFUCK. Oh shit. WHAT are you doing? Just playing a game. WHATDIDITELLYOU— Oh shit, she's mad— Run, dude— Run!! OH SHIT. I THOUGHT I TOLD YOU Well— Well. Well, well, well— Suddenly, it seemed everyone in the front row Was alt right- and as always, all the hot white girls moved into VIP—it was a tired game; I would always be black, and I would always be ugly, and so it hurt less than made me think twice or three times who I was dealing with. I just so happened to look over my shoulder and be somewhat attracted to the girl behind me. ‘'maybe it's time to start dating women' …but that would never work. GERALD. WHAT?! I thought I told you— I know, I know— GIMME ANOTHER SHOT. What, Dillon—! I thought you weren't DRINKING! Gerald! It's me! I know it's you. No! It's me! Ū! SUPACREE?! NO' SHH! I'm Ū!!! Where's / Dillon Francis?! WHERE IS SKRILLEX? He's in your heart. Oh shit. I gave that to Dillon Francis. Well, then, you have your answer. Fuxk. Let it happen. Tame Impala Man, I love that kid. I love that kid. So what happened? It's a long story. —NOT THE TIME MACHINE —NOT THE BOX GET IN THE TIME MACHINE! NOT THE BOX—!!!!! UGH, not Dillon Francis. (Yes, Dillon Francis.) What's his deal?! Who's what, him!!? YES. Satan. Hm. Whats your deal with Dillon Francis? What?! I don't have a deal with Dillon Francis… What?! YOU DONT!? NO! Why not? Cause! Being honest..? The devil, being honest: (Psh) I owe him money. What!! Satan, no way. Yes way! Hod that happen?' Lost a bet. Damn. This set is getting good. What are you watching? Gerald's world The legend of supacree Enter the multiverse The infinite Skrillifiles What? Uh oh. What ñ 5) 3 time space time continuums just shattered CONFETTI BLAST OH SHIT, it just shattered twice. We gotta go. Where we going To the planet Which—ducking planet. The one with the ducks. QUACK oh shit. A duck DUCK DUCK!! DUCK—DUCK—DUCK— Damn, this game really has gone on forever— ITS EDM O CLOCK, BITCH—! GET UP!! Mmm. We better go. Yes. We better go ALI and AVICII are very, very drunk in Heaven. THEY FINALLY MADE IT?! —of course we made it! —We knew the way! But of course: GOD No, go back. WHAT ARE YOU serious? MARTY! MARTY MCFLY! DAWG, it's good to see you! Wait. What the Fuxk dimension is THIS?' It's the one with Dillon Francis That's— a —FUCK. Dillon Francis is in a lot of dimensions. Yeah but this is the right one. How do you know? That was the theme song for the TV show. What TV show? Damn. I'm fucked up. What! I thought you didn't drink. I don't I'm an empath. MEANWHILE SUPACREE and SUNNÍ BLŪ have collided in a para-dimensional reality OH, SHIT, it's ME OH FUCK—DAMN. Now what do we do? Drugs? Drugs. Yeaaaaaaaah. One More Time, Daft Punk My son's favorite song. It was the second time it had played today, and the first time it wasn't nearly as bad as the second — now i was glad for the cloud of cold steam, I couldn't hide my upset as much as I wanted to ‘'Just keep writing' Okay. They're trying to kill me With white girls, And memories And it just might work I'm trying to write myself out the box Oh my god And it just my work I'm trying to get lost But I'm all out of sauce This is not gonna work I see you went and hopped on the band wagon Somebody get that dragon. /$3/ Huh That's how much I paid for this You—what?! I paid $3 You paid $3 Yes. For this. Yes. I'm gonna kill you. Ū VS DILLON FRANCIS Uh oh. Here it goes. FIGHT. Oh shit. I've been waiting all season for this. Here it goes. KO. SUPACREE WINS. What. It's over already? This isn't possible. GAME OVER. What the Fuxk. This is insane. No fucking way #%%]!! Wait. What the fuck I thought it was Ū VS Dillon Francisz YeH! It was. What the fuck. So how did SUPACREE win? Huh. Wait, did anybody ever find Skrillex? Oh, My God. Just then, someone threw a Red Bull and it hit my foot enough that it actually distracted me from writing— THROW ANOTHER ONE! No, dont! Why, what's wrong? I have to take back these boots in the morning. Oh good, Jesus made it. What Jesus who! JESÚS CHRIST! What? What do you want? I didn't think you'd come! I had to. I thought you were on vacation. Exactly. Listen, Dillon—I have to tell you something. Uh huh. This isn't going to be easy. Chak Chel, what is it? I need you to listen. Uh, I'm kinda busy. It was at this point— Really, this point—? I had to stop and asses for myself what was really happening. I was writing up a storm, and it did seem to happen automatically, as it had before. I'm a looper Open the coupe up, Stupid, Who did you think I is This is the business Go listen to Skrillex And KILL YOURSELF Huh? JUST KILL YOURSELF. Ah, okay—but not because you said so. Listen, I'm finna spit this quick while you spin it Spit in it: clitoris I'm different bitch After this dinner I'm still in the kitchen With dishes, bitch Till it glistens While I listen To excision (I'm just kidding) Dammit, this is a lot of Skrillex What exactly did you say about Dillon Francis not being in the Illuminati First of all, the Illuminati isn't real. SUPACREE How did you get famous? SUNNÍ BLŪ I'm in the Illuminati. You? SUPACREE I AM the Illuminati. SUNNÍ BLŪ NIce. [Cheers] Hey. Hey. Anybody seen Gerald? … … … Zzz. Damn. Nodding off On the clock I'm on the floor, And yo this shit is toxic Turn the knob a bit; My foot starting to throb again I'm looking hot like Somebody's mom again Damn. I'm getting off On the wrong kind of drama This isn't long at all But it's all wrong, ya'll I dont belong here Lost My Mind, Alison Wonderland OHH THIS SHIT BE HITTING DIFFERENT It did hit different. Someone either vomited or spilled the rest of their drink on me, which took me out of my moment: the music was telling a story, at least to me—and I didn't feel like feeling right then, but it was all I could do ñ. I was surprised that I was still standing at all, Ugh. I don't understand my feelings. This was deeper than it seemed, bigger than it — Ugh. What do you want from me? All I've got is applause, and a cough drop It's just another night at the office I'm somebody's mom In a long lost thought; All zeros on the clock In a tick tock, or two, when you're off And you're long gone, I'll still be wandering Stuck at the mall Till the bus comes —trying to write myself out the box I'm a lost soul I'm a club kid I'm a lost cause But i'll stay till the end, Cause last time I walked off And my thoughts wandered back to the dance floor All that I wanted is A penny for gods thoughts And now she keeps dropping them —and more often then not, She's dropping the knowledge That I'm in the wrong, For just wanting you: But what can I do; I just want to be like you, and less of a primate Something saw right through me, and I felt invisible—now a doughnut sounded good, and I hoped that they would have vegan this early in the morning. There was about a half hour left of the set, and I was tired; I would stay until the end of the set, for some reason—-but now — Oh shit. Remember that one time/— Which TIME One time, I lost my mind and drove off of a bridge. That did happen. That did happen. I had at one point been unwell, and so— ugh, that's it Some smelly kid squeezed his way in between me and the next person over,,probably on molly or something—meanwhile the young white supremacists club of America was codeswitching up a storm, me pretending not to notice, but— he was dancing a little too hard, hitting me a little too much—and clearly not giving any kind of fuck: it wouldn't be my first panic attack on the dance floor, but it probably would be my last; it was the same story over and over again— only the next generation had even less of a Fuxk than I ever did. I left the dance floor and opted to stand behind VIP — DID ANYONE EVER FIND SKRILLEX? Wrf. He died. WHAT. No seriously, I watched him die. Okay. Then what? Then he got up. That's a twist. Now I can't sleep. That sounds traumatic. It was traumatic. How long's it been? I HAVE NOT SLEPT IN ONE HUNDRED THOUSAND YEARS. Great, the vampires are here, too. Good. I've been craving Vegan blood. Ihj. What. It's better for you. God dammit, Dillon Francis Why does this always happen? I can't remember half of what I did Before I napped, and landed back in this dimension Now, I'll give you my attention for a minute— But I'm worried about Skrillex Didnt I mention i needed permission (Or just a perscription) To get this ignition I didn't even want to come to this I hate this club It's filled will memories You won't remember me For half another century Cause I can't finish writing I'm too busy riding The bus To work And crying all the time Cause therapy doesn't And I used to love this stuff, but UHH 1–2–3 : BUN UP THE DANCE This is a lot of Skrillex. Is he okay? Is Dillon Francis Okay!? They're both okay. They're both millionaires. They'll be fine. huayayay!!!!. Fuck this. Fuck this. Alright, I'm leaving. Are we eating? If it's vegan. Ah man. What just happened? I'm definitely in the Illuminati. I have a tendency To pretend that You're friends with me Speeded I get it's a Fantasy But I had to see you In the flesh I digress I picture you're just as Obsessed with me Guess I'd regret to suggest that You should have Sex with me Directly but it's nestled in my head In the red Would you get into bed with me After everything I said Or I wrote, and you read Or am I just Better off dead Youre so far ahead, And I get that it's Just a test At best but I've yet to digest Breakfast Caught in a web of Heaven or or empathy Trying to empty my envy For whoever's holding your hand Instead of me Please, Forgive me— But, If you're reading this, It's too late; All triple sixes and Tipping the sinners With witless intentions Wet at the back of the ears But I've known you for years And I said I'd be here; I remembered the dress {Enter The Mumtiverse}

WHAT WILL THE AUDIENCE LEARN?Learn about WRF and understand that more needs to be done to help our veterans and first responders. If they love their freedom, they should listen and appreciate who gives that freedom to them.EPISODE SUMMARY:About Eileen: - Study horses for 20 years- Television Production Business since 1984- Began WRF in 2016- Love my country and love horses.About WRF: America's Heroes Rescuing America's Icon, giving a second chance to human and horse.Warrior Ranch Foundation envisions a world where veterans and rehabilitated horses realize theirproductive future in society.Name of your organization: Warrior Ranch FoundationWebsite: www.warriorranchfoundation.orgFacebook: www.facebook.com/WarriorRanchFoundationInstagram: www.instagram.com/warriorranchfoundationLinkedIn: https://www.linkedin.com/company/28985329/admin/EPISODE QUOTE: Do what you can, with what you have, where you are.  Tune in for this sensible conversation at TalkRadio.nyc or watch the Facebook Livestream by Clicking Here.

On this week’s episode, our host Saya’Ka catches up with Shahaadah Morell, who has showcased with WRF in our first virtual event back in November 2020. Shahaadah is a multidisciplinary visual artist who is often spiritually driven to create. Shahaadah’s artwork, mainly consisting of narrative self-portraits, reveals self-reflective themes, and encourages collective and generational healing. Today, the conversation revolves around self-reflection, learning through negativity, and growth. Shahaadah's Instagram: instagram.com/hadaahs_art Shahadaah's Art: https://msha.ke/haadahsart WRF Instagram: instagram.com/weroamfreely Artist Showcase Submission Form: https://docs.google.com/forms/d/e/1FAIpQLSfDbA_Efxbr8RnG9dkmxUtqHy28bnKPvPybrhggt1tSFICILQ/viewform?usp=sf_link Donate: weroamfreely.org/donate Feature your work on our podcast: https://docs.google.com/forms/d/e/1FAIpQLScxBzVWLXxaQVc233MQPuj81tjIKN9fCuFyC8Zvtw3F4hMcTQ/viewform?usp=sf_link Podcast Host Saya'Ka: instagram.com/sayakanotdoyouhaveanickname Email us! hello@weroamfreely.org

Marooned in Florida in 1528, four Spanish colonists made an extraordinary journey across the unexplored continent. Their experiences changed their conception of the New World and its people. In this week's episode of the Futility Closet podcast we'll describe the remarkable odyssey of Álvar Núñez Cabeza de Vaca and his reformed perspective on the Spanish conquest. We'll also copy the Mona Lisa and puzzle over a deficient pinball machine. Intro: The Russian navy built two circular warships in 1871. When shaken, a certain chemical solution will change from yellow to red to green. Sources for our feature on Álvar Núñez Cabeza de Vaca: Andrés Reséndez, A Land So Strange: The Epic Journey of Cabeza de Vaca, 2009. Robin Varnum, Álvar Núñez Cabeza de Vaca: American Trailblazer, 2014. Donald E. Chipman, Álvar Núñez Cabeza de Vaca: The 'Great Pedestrian' of North and South America, 2014. Alex D. Krieger, We Came Naked and Barefoot: The Journey of Cabeza de Vaca Across North America, 2010. Peter Stern, "Alvar Núñez Cabeza de Vaca: Conquistador and Sojourner," in Ian Kenneth Steele and Nancy Lee Rhoden, eds., The Human Tradition in Colonial America, 1999. Rolena Adorno, "The Negotiation of Fear in Cabeza de Vaca's Naufragios," in Stephen Greenblatt, ed., New World Encounters, 1993. Alvar Núñez Cabeza de Vaca, The Journey of Alvar Nuñez Cabeza de Vaca and His Companions From Florida to the Pacific, 1528-1536, 1542. Andrés Reséndez, "A Desperate Trek Across America," American Heritage 58:5 (Fall 2008), 19-21. Nancy P. Hickerson, "How Cabeza De Vaca Lived With, Worked Among, and Finally Left the Indians of Texas," Journal of Anthropological Research 54:2 (Summer 1998), 199-218. Donald E. Chipman, "In Search of Cabeza de Vaca's Route Across Texas: An Historiographical Survey," Southwestern Historical Quarterly 91:2 (October 1987), 127-148. Paul E. Hoffman, "A Land So Strange: The Epic Journey of Cabeza de Vaca, the Extraordinary Tale of a Shipwrecked Spaniard Who Walked Across America in the Sixteenth Century," Journal of American History 95:2 (September 2008), 496-497. R.T.C. Goodwin, "Alvar Nunez Cabeza de Vaca and the Textual Travels of an American Miracle," Journal of Iberian & Latin American Studies 14:1 (April 2008), 1-12. John L. Kessell, "A Land So Strange: The Epic Journey of Cabeza de Vaca," American Historical Review 113:5 (December 2008), 1519-1520. Robert Wilson, "A Long Walk in the New World," American Scholar 77:1 (Winter 2008), 137-139. Nan Goodman, "Mercantilism and Cultural Difference in Cabeza de Vaca's Relación," Early American Literature 40:2 (2005), 229-250, 405. Ali Shehzad Zaidi, "The Spiritual Evolution of Cabeza de Vaca in Shipwrecks," Theory in Action 7:3 (July 2014), 109-117. Kun Jong Lee, "Pauline Typology in Cabeza De Vaca's Naufragios," Early American Literature 34:3 (1999), 241-262. "How Cabeza de Vaca, Explorer, Came by His Strange Name," New York Times, March 9, 1930. Donald E. Chipman, "Cabeza de Vaca, Álvar Núñez," Texas State Historical Association (accessed July 12, 2020). "The Journey of Alvar Nuñez Cabeza de Vaca," American Journeys Collection, Wisconsin Historical Society Digital Library and Archives, 2003. Listener mail: Wikipedia, "City of Death" (accessed July 17, 2020). Encyclopaedia Britannica, "Cloud Seeding" (accessed July 17, 2020). Wikipedia, "Cloud Seeding" (accessed July 17, 2020). Andrew Moseman, "Does Cloud Seeding Work?", Scientific American, Feb. 19, 2009. Janet Pelley, "Does Cloud Seeding Really Work?", Chemical & Engineering News 94:22 (May 30, 2016), 18-21. Lulin Xue, Sarah A. Tessendorf, Eric Nelson, Roy Rasmussen, Daniel Breed, et al., "Implementation of a Silver Iodide Cloud-Seeding Parameterization in WRF. Part II: 3D Simulations of Actual Seeding Events and Sensitivity Tests," Journal of Applied Meteorology and Climatology 52:6 (June 2013), 1458-1476. Rachel Hager, "Idaho Power Can Make It Snow — Increasing Water Reserves, Powering Homes. But Is It Safe?", Idaho Statesman, July 25, 2019. This week's lateral thinking puzzle was contributed by listener Eric Waldow. You can listen using the player above, download this episode directly, or subscribe on Google Podcasts, on Apple Podcasts, or via the RSS feed at https://futilitycloset.libsyn.com/rss. Please consider becoming a patron of Futility Closet -- you can choose the amount you want to pledge, and we've set up some rewards to help thank you for your support. You can also make a one-time donation on the Support Us page of the Futility Closet website. Many thanks to Doug Ross for the music in this episode. If you have any questions or comments you can reach us at podcast@futilitycloset.com. Thanks for listening!

On this weeks episode of On The Floor with Wayne and Rob they have an entertaining discussion about current events, the ability to adapt, and the importance of a business mindset.

Murph and Lassiter interview Bart Cole from the Warrior Reunion Foundation (WRF) and Chad Cole, Author of the Book "The Dirty Little Wars: A Marine in the Los Angeles Riot and Somalia." Links to make a donation to WRF and to buy Chad's awesome book are included below: Make a Donation to WRF: https://www.warriorreunionfoundation.org/ Buy Chad's Book: https://www.amazon.com/Dirty-Little-Wars-Angeles-Somalia-ebook/dp/B07WJJN2Q1

 SC19 Student Cluster Round UpThe show starts in the usual way, with Henry complaining about snow and us laughing at him. Our special guest, student clusterer extraordinaire Jessi Lanum, complains about recording again with Henry in a definite shot across his bow, to everyone’s amusement.The group discusses their annual SC19 dinner and the new Henry/Dan bet about the future of RISC-V – check out our last show for the specifics.We talk about our experiences at SC19, including Henry having to give 19 different presentations in a two-day span, which was a very solid performance. Shahin touches on his annual Dead Architecture Society meeting and the great attendance. We also discuss how many active listeners of Radio Free HPC came up to us – and none of them were armed or threatening at all!The meat of the show is our discussion of the SC19 Student Cluster Competition. We talk about the student configurations, kicked around the pros and cons of the “small is beautiful” movement in the student cluster competition world. "Does the trend towards fewer-bigger nodes mean a re-emergence and eventual re-victory of SMP over MPP?" wonders Shahin. No records in HPL or HPCG, but some good scores regardless. (It's not proven that the high altitude in Denver was not a factor!)You’ll have to listen to the show or read Dan’s articles in HPCwire or on www.studentclustercomp.com to get the details – it’s probably a good idea to do both just to make sure you’re fully up to speed.Why No One Should Ever be Online. Ever.Henry talks with real anger and sadness about a horrific story of a chain of nursing homes that was attacked by ransomware. These nursing homes now don’t know what medication should go to which patient along with a lot of other problems. Everyone agrees that these malicious criminal idiots are getting worse and that something needs to be done about it pronto.New Feature Alert!Things That People Think They Know, But Maybe Don’tJessi Lanum’s “Things that people think they know, but maybe don’t” is a new feature on the big broadcast. In this inaugural edition, Jessi asks “What is Exascale and why is it important?” The guys all respond and cover her question like ants on a dead possum.Catch of the WeekHenry:  Notes that the new Star Wars script was almost sold on Ebay after being filched from a careless actor. Sheesh, is nothing private anymore?Jessi:  Found a company that is using HPC, AI and WRF to help fight forest fires, which is great, given the wildfire season we’ve seen this year. Shahin also highlights the work at UC San Diego.Shahin:  The newest Crypto500 ranking is out! Bitcoin has taken over the crypto currency world by latest count, see the white paper here, the slides here, and the Medium article here.Dan:  Dan’s Catch of the Week is dedicated to you, our faithful set of 16 listeners. He lets you know we’d love it if you reach out to us via Twitter or email to let us know what you like, what you don’t like and what we should cover in the future.Along those lines, right now, before listening to the episode, open up a new tab on your browser and follow us on Twitter. We’re @RadioFreeHPC and as you know, our email address really should be ears@radiofreehpc.com, because we're all ears you see, but for now it is podcast@radio... We'd love to hear from you. Oh, and you can now find us on Spotify and Google Play in addition to iTunes! See below for all the links.Listen in to hear the full conversation* Download the MP3 * Sign up for the insideHPC Newsletter* Follow us on Twitter * Subscribe on Spotify * Subscribe on Google Play * Subscribe on iTunes * RSS Feed * eMail us

Something different on WRF... A Polish Fairy Tale - Princess Miranda and Prince Hero...Far away, in the wide ocean there was once a green island where lived the most beautiful princess in the world, named Miranda. She had lived there ever since her birth, and was queen of the island. Nobody knew who were her parents, or how she had come there. But she was not alone; for there were twelve beautiful maidens, who had grown up with her on the island, and were her ladies-in-waiting....... Enjoy this wonderful Polish fairy tale by A. J. Glinski. Translated into English by Maud Ashhurst-Biggs and read by Dawn Leary

WRF proudly presents a Special Review Programme of “Travelling Inside Out”. "Travelling Inside Out" is a fantastic Anchor podcast celebrating it’s first year anniversary at the end of August 2019. I’m reviewing this podcast’s first year and giving you the opportunity to join me in celebrating Alina’s first 12 months of podcasting.

Searching for your ancestors? Me too. Damned interesting isn't it? I got into the car this evening and decided to tell you my recent foray into finding out about my family. If you want to leave a comment please head over to my website and listen and comment there: https://wrf-podcast.blogspot.com/ Thank you for listening and your continued support & laughter. The whole team here at WRF really do appreciate all you WRFers out there :)

So I arrived in Los Angeles after three long days on a Greyhound Bus. What a journey that was! (You'll have to go back to Part One to listen about that). Now it was time to experience the Land Of Fruit & Nuts - sunny California and all it had to offer. What happens in this show? I changed my name once (nearly twice!), almost get ripped to pieces, and find myself in the Beverly Hills Yacht Club! All good fun. Listen here, comment and enjoy: https://wrf-podcast.blogspot.com/ And in the true spirit of keeping it free. Here's a few tracks I used from the Free Music Archive : This one I used in all it's entirety: The Balloon by Oblivian Substanshall And here's a few that I used bits from: American Dream by Cletus Got Shot Stranger Danger by Thee Irma & Louise Irish Washerwoman by Howie & Ann Mitchell Drunken Sailor by Roger McGuinn The End by Happy Elf Please come back real soon to WRF. You'll find me here: https://wrf-podcast.blogspot.com/ - Listen, comment and enjoy.

Jennifer Huffstetler, VP and GM for Data Center Product Management at Intel, joins Chip Chat for a deep dive into the capabilities of a new class of processors: future Intel® Xeon® Scalable processors codenamed Cascade Lake advanced performance. Architected to deliver performance leadership across the widest range of demanding workloads[1], future Intel Xeon Scalable processors codenamed Cascade Lake advanced performance deliver unprecedented memory bandwidth[2] with more memory channels than any other CPU. These processors are expected to offer superior performance (results estimated based on pre-production hardware) in comparison to AMD EPYC on many demanding applications including: • Physics -- MILC up to 1.5X [quantum chromodynamics] [3] • Weather – WRF up to 1.6X [weather research and forecasting model] [4] • Manufacturing – OpenFOAM up to 1.6X [open source CFD] [5] • Life/material sciences – NAMD (APOA1) up to 2.1X [Nanoscale Molecular Dynamics] [6] • Energy – YASK (ISO3DFD) up to 3.1X [stencil benchmark] [7] For more information, please follow Jennifer on Twitter at https://twitter.com/jenhuffstetler and visit https://intel.com/hpc. Software and workloads used in performance tests may have been optimized for performance only on Intel microprocessors. Performance tests, such as SYSmark and MobileMark, are measured using specific computer systems, components, software, operations and functions. Any change to any of those factors may cause the results to vary. You should consult other information and performance tests to assist you in fully evaluating your contemplated purchases, including the performance of that product when combined with other products. For more information go to www.intel.com/benchmarks. Performance results are based on testing or projections as of 6/2017 to 11/7/2018 and may not reflect all publicly available security updates. See configuration disclosure in https://intel.ly/2VUvY2I for details. No product can be absolutely secure. [1] Performance leadership across the widest array of demanding workloads based on https://intel.ly/2VUvY2I. [2] Native DDR memory bandwidth. [3] Future Intel Xeon Scalable processors codenamed Cascade Lake advanced performance provide up to 1.5x MILC performance in comparison to AMD EPYC 7601 (2S configuration), for details see https://intel.ly/2VUvY2I. [4] Future Intel Xeon Scalable processors codenamed Cascade Lake advanced performance provide up to 1.6x WRF performance in comparison to AMD EPYC 7601 (2S configuration), for details see https://intel.ly/2VUvY2I. [5] Future Intel Xeon Scalable processors codenamed Cascade Lake advanced performance provide up to 1.6x OpenFOAM performance in comparison to AMD EPYC 7601 (2S configuration), for details see https://intel.ly/2VUvY2I. Data collected with OpenFOAM® Foundation v5.0. This offering is not approved or endorsed by OpenCFDLimited, producer and distributor of the OpenFOAM software via www.openfoam.com, and owner of the OPENFOAM® and OpenCFD® trademarks. [6] Future Intel Xeon Scalable processors codenamed Cascade Lake advanced performance provide up to 2.1x NAMD (APOA1) performance in comparison to AMD EPYC 7601 (2S configuration), for details see https://intel.ly/2VUvY2I. [7] Future Intel Xeon Scalable processors codenamed Cascade Lake advanced performance provide up to 3.1x YASK (ISO3DFD) performance in comparison to AMD EPYC 7601 (2S configuration), for details see https://intel.ly/2VUvY2I.

Everyone was talking about doing podcasts on YouTube and saving the audio and blah, blah, blah. And I thought - "Wait a minute - I've got loads of Facebook Livefeed videos where I'm just wandering around describing things. They'd make cool little podcasts?!" So, this is the first one from a business trip to a small market town called Stamford up in the county of Lincolnshire, England back in the Winter of 2016. The "back story" behind this is that I'd just finished dinner in my hotel, and I went out to find a shop to purchase a bottle of water (at a much cheaper price than in the hotel). I also wanted to get out and discover the town. As it happens... well... you'll listen to what happens. Note: Throughout the audio you you'll hear me pause and then answer someone or make a comment to someone - that's me reading the comments on my iPhone from people who were viewing the live video. This podcast also hails the introduction of my new rebranded intro and intro - "WRF". Please go over to my website and leave a comment there: https://wrf-podcast.blogspot.com/ - let me know what you think. And thanks for listening :)

In this week's episode of GradCast, we present Part 1 of our 2 part series from the Western Research Forum, Western University's largest interdisciplinary showcase of research. Every year, the Society of Graduate Students presents a day-long conference filled with talks from faculties around campus, all associated with the theme of the year. WRF 2018 is all about Controversy. Navaneeth and Yimin chat with WRF 2018 organizer Emily Carlisle, about Controversy and how it is to organize such a big event. We also chat with keynote speaker Dr. Shelley McKellar from History of Medicine at Western. Dr. McKellar gave an engaging talk about the controversy-laden and boundary-breaking invention, the artificial heart, a topic of her new book "Artificial Hearts: The Allure and Ambivalence of a Controversial Medical technology".  Hosts: Yimin Chen & Navaneeth Mohan Produced by: Susan Anthony

Tarrasque na Bota apresenta... A Mina Perdida de Phandelver, uma aventura do RPG Dungeons and Dragons 5ª edição - Episódio 47 – A Morte Perfeita. Nesse episódio os aventureiros encaram a morte uma segunda vez consecutiva.      ATENÇÃO: Esse podcast é recomendado para maiores de 14 anos.   "Dá para dizer que nem é um cast, mas um storytelling, um os melhores do RPG Brasil na web."  - Raphael Lamour (ouvinte) - "(...) sempre boas risadas, me deixam felizes de dizer que, juntamente com o pessoal do Crônicas De Mentes (outro podcast nesses moldes, mas que usam FATE) são, para mim, os melhores da podosfera." - Thiago Dante (ouvinte) - "Parabéns pelo cast."; "RPG Next de volta a todo vapor!"; "imagino que deve ser muito trabalhoso fazer a edição, mas o produto final é de qualidade parabéns." - Joseph Mugiwara (ouvinte) - "Adorei a nova temporada, agora com mais personagens e mais tempo de aventura para nós conhecermos melhor cada personagem."  - Gustavo PL (ouvinte) - "O melhor podcast no quesito RPG - Muito bom esse podcast, obrigatório para todo jogador de RPG e simpatizante dessa cultura. Narrador e jogadores de parabéns pelo trabalho.  - Mugiwarajoe (ouvinte) - "Um amigo me recomendou os podcasts do jovem nerd a respeito de rpg, bem não desmerecendo o trabalho deles pois tbm adoro os casts deles , mais em relação a rpg vocês são sem duvidas os melhores , melhores interpretações, é melhor edição de áudio, continuem com esse trabalho excepcional." - Heitor Reis (ouvinte) -   Calendário da Costa da Espada, no Reino de Faerûn, no mundo de Toril:   19/7/1491 Décimo nono dia do sétimo mês - Flamerule (Summertide - Maré do Verão) no ano 1491 DR.   Calendário da aventura:   14º dia de aventura (noite)   Com a participação de:   Dungeon Master, o DM (por Rafael 47); Klank, um Guerreiro Anão (interpretado por Fernando Moura); Vern Verón, um Bardo Meio-Elfo (interpretado por Pedro Quitete); Sandoval Miels, um Feiticeiro Humano (interpretado por Luis Olavo Dantas); Erevan Brisa Noturna, um Druida e Elfo da Floresta (interpretado por Tiago Andre dos Santos). NPCs, interpretados por Vinicius Watzl.   Uma produção RPG Next.   Imagem do Maptool - Erevan em forma de Tigrão   SUPORTE NOSSA CAUSA! Nossa Campanha do PADRIM está no AR! Acesse e veja nossas Metas e Recompensas para os Padrinhos. https://www.padrim.com.br/rpgnext   FOTOS E ARTES DOS FÃS   App de criação de personagem   WRF 2017     LINKS COMENTADOS 8º Guerreiros do Bem   RPG: Tales from the Loop   Podcast Miserável e Medíocre - http://www.miseravelemediocre.com.br/ Miserável e Medíocre 092 – Vida de Adulto: http://www.miseravelemediocre.com.br/2017/09/28/092-vida-de-adulto/    PADRINHOS E MADRINHAS QUE APOIARAM O RPG NEXT - SETEMBRO DE 2017: https://rpgnext.com.br/doadores/   COMPARTILHE! Se você gostou desse Podcast de RPG, então não se esqueça de compartilhar! Nosso site é rpgnext.com.br, Nossa Campanha do PADRIM: https://www.padrim.com.br/rpgnext Facebook RpgNextPage, Grupo do Facebook RPGNext Group, Twitter @RPG_Next,  Google Plus, Canal do YouTube,  Vote no iTunes do Tarrasque na Bota e no iTunes do RPG Next Podcast com 5 estrelas para também ajudar na divulgação!   DEIXE SEU FEEDBACK! Se quiser deixar seu feedback, nos envie um e-mail em contato@rpgnext.com.br ou faça um comentário nesse post logo abaixo. Seu comentário é muito importante para a melhoria dos próximos episódios. Beleza? Muito obrigado pelo suporte, pessoal!   Links para MÚSICAS e SFX sob a licença Creative Commons Freesounds.org - https://www.freesound.org/ Tabletop Audio - http://tabletopaudio.com/ Kevin MacLeod em Incompetech - http://incompetech.com/music/royalty-free Contato Facebook / Twitter / Google+ / YouTube  

Matt DeCample sits down with Dr. Sherece West-Scantlebury, President and CEO of the Winthrop Rockefeller Foundation, to talk about her life in non-profit work, living through Hurricane Katrina, finding Arkansas, and how the WRF is fighting the root causes of problems facing Arkansans.

Matt DeCample sits down with Dr. Sherece West-Scantlebury, President and CEO of the Winthrop Rockefeller Foundation, to talk about her life in non-profit work, living through Hurricane Katrina, finding Arkansas, and how the WRF is fighting the root causes of problems facing Arkansans.

Rob Renner, the Executive Director of the Water Research Foundation (WRF), joins us for a discussion about the work of the WRF. The WRF is a research cooperative, as described by Rob, and pools the resources of 1,000 utilities to focus on researching issues of common concern. Rob provides great perspective on how utilities are dealing with issues like climate change, source of supply challenges, and declining water use.

Rob Renner, the Executive Director of the Water Research Foundation (WRF), joins us for a discussion about the work of the WRF. The WRF is a research cooperative, as described by Rob, and pools the resources of 1,000 utilities to focus on researching issues of common concern. Rob provides great perspective on how utilities are dealing with issues like climate change, source of supply challenges, and declining water use.