Hello, You Beautiful Human. (Vers 3.) -**Unreleased.

Although I hadn't realized it at first, after that fight I wasn't the same, and though I somewhat quickly recovered morally, howeve somewhat defeated in the sense that my roommate did seem to have been overtaken my some demonic possession, perhaps even the devil himself as I knew it—as it didn't seem at as all provoking the situation as it had all turned out—and though I had won the fight, my soul had been thrashed about; what was it about my aura, or the soul itself that such a demon would continue to chase me? She had bitten me, enough to have left a bruise and actual bite marks reaching well below the skin, as it seemed her grinding teeth had torn into the muscle, but not quite broken the skin—and as she had attempted to crush my windpipe, digging into the skin of my neck, which had left a haunting bruise remarkably similar to the injury my ex husband had given me, leaving my throat sore and my windpipe somewhat crushed— luckily, not enough so that it hurt my vocal chords, which I carefully rested, as with the rest of my body…and though I had meant to return to training in the gym only one day-post battle, it had taken a striking four days of rest to recover, returning on the fifth day to a trial membership to a gym which included a sauna in downtown Brooklyn; I wished I would die, and wanted nothing more once again than for my life to end, and without means to such an end I had crawled into a deep depression—I had at the very least been making music, which was fulfilling, but not entirely lucrative—the fallbacks of being submerged the lower income black community being owed money and undermined as an artist —or person, in general— Of course, societally expected to return to work as a corporate slave, which I outright refused—I'd rather die, and hoped I soon would; I hated being black, being around such stereotypically ghetto people constantly, and having to adhere to the stereotypically black standard of living; a result of the Eurocentric corporate greed and still entirely racial society, materialism and of course ignorance—and though something in me was pushing forward to succeed, another part of me wanted to just lay down and die. I could no longer frequent a decent gym, or afford to look like a decent female—I wantdered about in tattered clothes, boarding busses and trains without being able to pay fare and praying for an understanding driver or lack of traffic patrol policemen—the only place I may have even considered taking employment would have been Equinox, if not just for the free membership—and the more I thought about rejoining corporate slavery, the more I thought about how there would be no time or energy left at all for making music or being a DJ; I was already becoming empathically, just as sic, tired and miserable as everyone else around me was, and therefore would not return to regular work; I chose instead to be slowly killed by the system, which seemed to be the only place for me—and I assumed just to spite me the winner of the discovery project would be a younger, hotter black female albeit with less talent but more marketable, the blue eyes of the world turning more quickly into demons than the black faces I was constantly surrounded by, and yet, still God sat on my shoulder in every since as a guiding force, though the light seemed otherwise overcome by shadows, I knew peace freedom now would either come from music or from death, either of which was welcome, as love seemed forbidden and out of sight entirely. So I fell into a deep depression With nothin left to learn but lessons Devil still won't let up, but it's nothin I don't got not love to love left Basic ass bitches With Marc jacobs tote bags Nothing is random I just don't care to be bad no more I don't care no, I just don't care about Nothing Glad I'm not as black as you Matter of fact Can't pass the paper bag test if I had to. Then again I could really flex. And encore the magician Just to get rid of you All that you do Just to put me through bullshit And drag me through hell with you Has to come back to you. Nothing to make me feel better No one to love me no more Nowhere to run It was the longest train ride possibly ever, and I couldn't seem to write, besides a few lines of what seemed ünextraordinary– and though I had work to do up to and out of my eyeballs, I was tired, angry, and drained. I knew it was only in my mind that I had been bitten by an actual vampire, there still seemed the remnants of some satanic curse lying about; the stench of the iron my estranged ex-husband used to perspire emu sting from the bodies around me; the subtle smell of cat piss in places I would frequent, and worst of all—not one, but two roommates with excruciating bruxism, which I concluded absolutely altogether could not be circumstance or coincidence if there ever were such either thing, but the result of black magic—and though I had cast 8 explicitly specific spells over the last week or so, two of them as a means of protection from such darkness and chaos, and the other six had been with the intention of well-being and health in mind; a new perspective and state of mind, an aura of success, focus, and accomplishment—and of course, more protection, as the uncanny befuckery of my ex seemed to follow me everywhere for whatever reason. I had been increasingly miserable and lonely because of it—the literal knockdown drag out brawl that had resulted in the almost exact injuries inflicted by my ex during our very last scuffle had left me excessively and astonishingly bitter towards all males, but especially black ones, often appearing more violent and possessive than most, and the white ones who trailed behind little skinny white girls like lost dumb puppies were no better—and this included Dillon Francis, now sitting atop my shot list with his disgustingly blue eyed girlfriend or whoever she was at the forefront of all the remnants I had left of whatever goodness I did have left for him—and as it turned out, as strongly as I ended up feeling for him even only having existed entirely in a world of magic, lucid dreams, and paycheck or paychotix inclinations—it turned out I would be just as outwardly spiteful of the creature, which I'm sure had been the entire purpose of whatever demon or devil had possessed my roommate in the first place— Her eyes had turned red with fury as she scratched and clawed at me and though I had done well to held her at bay, and although my tone at the gym was clear paying off, the element if suprise and the heavy dinner I had met with the adrinaline of the moment had indeed kept me calm, never with any intention to harm my assailant, but to keep her from harming me, all the while maintaining the safety of my electronics—my Laptop, which had been sitting open on my nightstand as I frittered around in Ableton, my MPC and audio interface, which sat just beneath in the shelf below, and of course, my decks themselves, still laid open atop the dresser, as I had only just earlier in the night finished another hour long mix, and though I had begun that mix using the song I had released and forgotten about entirely—the banana bread it had inspired me to purchase say warmly in my very full stomach as I pinned my Satan possessed roommate to the floor in a deadlock, dragging her across the room still pinned and reaching for the door, opening it and yelling for Security to subdue the attack as she screamed and fought frantically, biting at my hand like an aligator, jaws clenching shut with unweilding grip just before I placed a swift hand on her neck, turning her like a rabid dog a wrestling my arm around her neck as she clawed at mine; the heat of the moment had itself kept me from feeling any pain besides the bite on my left hand, which itself at the time less hurt than startled me—but upon waking the next day, the bite marks throbbed with heat and ache, the c-shape of her overbite carved into the crescent moon shape on my left hand between my thumb and index, there the “meat” was, so to speak—the scratch marks from her nails stinging on either side of my infinity tattoo, and in the middle of my neck—my windpipe bruised and sore as I had just recovered from a severe flu—or having just had my tonsils removed, still painful to swallow, and fearful that I might not sing—luckily, I still could, however—something was shaken in my soul, and, even more strangely as the struggle came to an end, with my roommate pretending that I had initiated the attack, just as the security guard Slolemnedned waddling in confusedly, my roommate, still wild and rabid, darted under my bed, grabbing the smooth Obsidian stone I had held for sometime Sonny and had used since obtaining it as a prayer stone to wash away whatever curse had come over whatever world we shared—and while my mind became focused on ensuring she wouldn't attack and damage my expensive DJ equipment, upon removing my things from the room I double and triple checked to ensure that the stone is what she was indeed after—and in fact it was. She had taken Sonny's Obsidian for whatever reason, which I had been taking great distance from anyhow, and I chose to see it as a blessing and sign of good things to come. Whatever, you're fucked. I know, huh. You're so fucked. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -U.