OWSLA Confidential - ‘Lost In Time’ {S04 EP 2}

Bring 3 litres of water and 3 tablespoons of pink himalayan salt to a poil over medium heat take ½ a yellow onion 3 cloves of garlic, and 2 1/2 tomatoes and place in blender with 1/2 cup of water rather than admit i had any actual favorites; I almost without thought crafted a name, or rather a label for the group of outstanding individuals I had been collecting crystals as gifts–in exchange for the insurmountably immeasurable amount of pleasure, peace love & light I had been guided by in the music–or artwork, in the case of one in particular, though yet to be collected, as I allowed the idea of it to rattle in my mind–doubling as protection from what seemed to be the violently rampant force of antimatter which at times became a consuming challenge, even if only a result of my own ‘mind' in its darkest attempts to end me; However, were it not for any of them–I more than likely wouldn't have become my current self, only a foundation for the being I could hope to become once free; I more than likely would no longer be standing, were it not for the likes of The Luminaries. That's just the pot calling the kettle black; I smoke pot, but only when things are tragic I have magic hands, I panic when it gets black; Especially on the sabbath, When I'm fasting. To Gucci Ton Masai (Moombaton Remix) As i hadn't fully realized it would abroad, my time in the city–albeit in a mainly carnivorous country, had begun to make me ill, as I had multiple times under the false proclamation of the meals I ordered being fully vegetarian or vegan, been given food containing animal product–after over a year-long commitment to vegetarianism which at times masqueraded as veganism, out of sheer respect for my body, and the obsession–or rather, admittedly, obsession with becoming fit, with any hope or prayer answered that something I did would warrant the financial allowance of being able to afford the removal of the loose skin–a burden which left me unable to live as freely as I wished for many more reasons than currently writing this, I care to mention. I began to painfully obsess with the athletic physique, which--hidden under the sagging and also admittedly naturally maternal loose skin around my midriff, an actually ideal and quite impressive body type, created from the stature I had built over the duration of replacing the pain that went with the heartbreak self-caused by looking too closely at a figure of celebritism belonging to The Untouchables–who some might proclaim to be “The Illuminati”, allowing themselves to believe in the existence of such a thing, rather than the actual enlightenment which exists amongst the elite and those of awakened consciousness, whether having gained material wealth, or not. The musician, not a gentleman, By admission of the magician, As I listen in, with eyes glistening Reminded, ever blindly by the times That I will always love Always, Always love Love Always, Octavia I began again to self-medicate with holistic nutrition in an attempt to regenerate my wellness, again abandoning bread, and sugar–bargaining with myself that I would be rewarded for avoiding it, no matter how much I continued to crave it. I knew the cravings would once again subside after a few days of abstinence, as did the illusion that chicken McNuggets actually sounded like something I could stand to palette, after accidentally consuming soup with chicken broth as a base–rather than tomato. Still, I began to understand that my wellness would strengthen me in the daily struggle with suicide–that even in a world full of Kayla Laurens that I must also exist to create balance. All that was left was to be comfortable enough with my own body yet again to allow myself to love it as much externally as I did the inward; Understanding that there is no such thing as mental illness, given the proper amount of sunlight, exercise, and balanced nutrition. My time in the city began to act as a prime example of the damage The Age of Man has had, and it's effects on the women and children deemed unfit by the programmed idealistic images, appropriated not by actual science, but the media instead. Who are they? Who is “they” –All The Luminaries. I would never– Name them. They know who they are. How would that be? Only they can call to me without a name. No name, at all. Not at all. With a wordless notion, A bond created, A tie to sever the blood and damaged— Bodiless wanderers, Lost in a thought, or a once-was, Long lost, memory, Yet to be So it has come to be, that which each passing thought or abounding circumstance, that as I've begun to ponder the placement and purpose of each of The Luminaries, the sense of my consciousness in entirely became pulled apart in the exact Cosmic apotheosis With all the Deer medicine I pulled for Sonny scrawled out across the table–the Spirit of the Moose, The Elk, and the Deer herself spoke to me softly, in a tone which seemed to be light, like his voice, a tragedy in my mind, saying “You're a loser.”, to which I responded– “Okay, I am.” and then began digging through the crates in my mind to a song reminiscent of such a notion, only taking moments before landing upon none other than a verse from Tame Impala, apparently written in the stream of collective consciousness I believe all true musicians to share, in which the words “i'm a loser, okay” or something along the lines, almost assured me that the self-loathing or rather damnning self depreciation was merely part of being–as, of course, one of many–an artist of sorts. By now, I truly hated Mexico–or at least the city– which pained me with the sickness of society at its very worst; I wanted nothing more than to desperately escape, The Electric Daisy seeming nothing more than a waste of spirit, and the very little money I had, after fighting for months with the inhumane social experiment that indeed was California's unemployment system, which I prided myself on trying endlessly to escape from, but was again pushed away–by now, some months earlier, being paid off to leave California–the only place in my country worth being–for me, anyway. But–as everything happens for a reason, at least in my belief system– I realized upon fleeing that the two-to-three jobs it would take to sustain any normalcy in the city of LA, would squander my ability to consistently keep creating, as a plethora of works formed in the time spent searching for something–anything, really–which might resemble a home. I wanted, also desperately, to belong in my own country– also believing that my inherited bloodline did in fact entitle me to some kind of housing–and the evil of greed to be a combination of the pharmaceutical industry's broken mental health system which targeted both people in poverty, and minorities–and the system built on slavery, which allowed such a disasterous thing as the thousands of people living on the streets, not only in california, but all across the country, corporate greed ravishing all of society, forgetting humanity entirely–artists and geniuses like the type I might be if nurtured properly, lost in the greed and evil of man's insatiable desire, which left unhindered would eventually destroy everything, on a planetary scale–we had indeed become a global society. Now, pinching every penny I could, and after two days of forced resting–I needed more than anything a gymnasium with working machines; However, in the now to-be-expected false advertising of Air B&B, I had only a treadmill and some free weights, with which I could at least to the very minimum, as a run in this city would more than likely take away the good energy I had been carefully rebuilding–and the gym I had originally chosen, now a 4.5- hour cascade across a city I didn't quite fear, but had become irritated with– as the culture, though I understood the origins of such– was as obnoxious as it was sexist, racist, and repressive– undoubtedly the reason for such a growing population of immigrants both legal and illegal to my country–not that I actually believed a wall would keep them out, but perhaps, as I gathered and continued to explore the contrasts between this country and mine, I continued to grow more conservative in my personal pseudo-political beliefs that perhaps law reform should include restrictions on an immigrant's ability–from this country or any– from being able to access funds that could be delegated to giving American-born citizens opportunities, especially those of Native American Heritage, and even descendants of slavery; It deeply irked me that foreigners were able to receive such things as Food Stamps and, in the times of the pandemic–I learned that even those who were illigal immigrants had been given the Emergency Pandemic Stipend, that they were able to receive money I thought would be better spent improving the lives of people born inside the country. Still, here Iwas, forced to flee because some unfeeling being of privilege had continued to allow the corporate monopolization of most housing in my own dearly beloved country, which left me and millions of others struggling, living in the streets, sleeping in cars, into co-living– which I had summed up to be yet another social experiment of sorts, a devious anti-privacy, data-collecting lower-form of communal living, which allowed the proprietors of such to scope out and psychologically groom individuals such as myself–or, others alike, such as my good friend Ali–who I had been thinking fondly of recently, if only due to the voluntary celibacy and isolation I thought to serve some sort of purpose, rather than to be cursed. In the morning hours of the dawn, again being some of the only moments of peace I could gather, I again crept into a dreamstate, not visited by the essence of Sonny at all, but rather a second-handed collision of such, as I dreamt to be watching him–or some version of him, on television, even in my dreamstate cowering at the mere mention of him–something I had rather come to do in even my waking moments–as I often hoped and prayed not to hear his or his chosen stage name announced in any way, shape or form; When forced to gaze upon the screens of the modern era, where of course Entertainment channels were usually displayed, in the continuation of cultural obsession that raised mere humans onto pedestals– I had to wish away any notion of his actual existence; The same stood for any circumstance where the radio station I might be tuning into would make any such announcements for news in music, or, of course, just play it. Yet, as I crept into a dream, I gazed upon the image of a short-haired and spritely, smiling image of him, plastered upon a screen at some red-carpet event; A youthful and energetic Sonny of sorts, as I, in my own dream, became paralyzed and fell into a fetal position, my white hoodie draped over my head as I fell into a dream within a dream–this time, arriving into a world where the colorful stage of what appeared to be some kind of variety show, in the fashion of Dave Chapelle or something of the sort, where I gazed upon a heavyset, dark-skinned, Black woman– no recognizable name or figure I could recall, but in my waking sense might have been Nicole Byer, with whom I had recently discovered, connected and syncronized with–as her lack of use of Ebonics had alerted me to the mandatory standards at which black women could become likable to a white audience in any way–either being overly ghetto and “funny”, or underwhelmingly so, and dressed in such a way that we are neither a threat or annoyance to their privilege or being; A comedian I actually quite became proud of. In my dream, however, she was enjoying a rather decadent dessert, I would perhaps one day create, but no time soon–as I still fawned over and simultaneously hated Kayla Lauren, for being put upon a pedestal for no reason other than sexual preferece to a majority of the world's men...though, lately, I had been craving tirelessly anything covered or filled with Nutella, typically bread, of course– as I'd also been avoiding–just trying to maintain my not-ideal but still perfectly athletic and goddess-like figure, which I myself had built–not for Sonny, but because of him, and his probable ability to even be attracted to the dreadful hanging deposits of fat and skin I could do nothing but wish away, and pray for a time I would be able to remove from my body, only wanting to be loved. A buttery-looking, soft-roll of perfectly-cooked dough, filled with of course what appeared to be Nutella was cut, allowing the chocolatey inside to be displayed–and even in my dream-within-a-dream, I kept true to my dietary restrictions; denying myself the joy of dining on such a decadent and delectable dessert, and upon waking, of course crafting a recipe for use in the future–where perhaps I had my own home, and my own kitchen to conjure up a homemade dough mixture, adding of course, cream cheese and a house strawberry marmalade to the filling to complete the rather simple bread-and-chocolate on which Ms. Byer had been enjoying inside my dreamspace. Another recipe, before I would embark on the attempt to rid myself of the tears welling up from within me, by exercising in the dilapidated, however, warm and sunlit almost-gym, where at least the treadmill worked– A recipe I thought my longtime friend to have created herself, but turned out to be none other than a youtube recipe, from which I based the following: 1-2 Large Sweet Potatoes, Skinned and cubed (save skins for later use) Parsley Sage Rosemary Thyme Yellow Mustard Unrefined Honey Pink Himalayan Salt Fresh Ground Black Pepper Lemon Juice Coconut Oil Avocado Oil The “Get Well Soon” Smoothie Celery Carrots Spinach Kale Aruglala Papaya Mango Banana Strawberry Blueberry Raspberry Blackberry “Lil Bits” Yo–I'm a true vegetarian, ya'll. I mean–I might even call myself a vegan if cream cheese and butter just…didn't exist. Still, I was going through this time where–I hadn't been eating anything dairy or any processed foods at all–and I was also like, super broke; so I couldn't afford to buy any cleaning chemicals, and I'm like “okay, i'll just make my own cleaner from like, essential oils and citrus– –I'm domestic as fuck– …sometimes… Anyway, so I'm making this like, home-made pinesol–minus the actual pine, but–I still had lemons and limes and orange peels– and I'm boiling them, but I'm thinking “hmm, needs more orange peels–and I was completely out of oranges; so–of course– I'm like “oh, I haven't taken out my trash in like a week– —I Know, i'm gross– but–it's also just me, myself, and I so it's not like the trash is full or anything–but–I know there's like, a weeks worth of orange peels in there. So I start going through my trash, looking for orange peels–and at that moment I realized exactly how vegetarian I was–or vegan, whatever–but–I won't claim it. NO I don't claim vegan, cause then random-ass Vegans will start coming up out of the woodworks from absolutely NOWHERE, like *Zombie impersonation* “OHHHH, YOU'RE VEGAN? VEEEEEEGAAAAAAN–” I'm so vegetarian, yo–my trash smells GOOD. I'm like digging through it, at first I'm like holding my breath, cause–you know–it's trash—then I like come up for air, and I get a whiff of it– and I'm like “mmmmmm!” Wait a minute! This shit smells GOOD. And I realize I'm like digging through like, basically compost, it's like mango peels, watermelon rhinds, bell pepper stems–which , honestly, sometimes I'll eat, depending on what i'm making, but– I'm like “Daaaaamn!” And I'm actually like quite proud of myself, like, taking in deep breaths of aromatic goodness while i'm picking out all the orange peels, and I start thinking, maybe a little too deeply– I'm like, “Damn. If my trash smells like this– my pussy must be DELICIOUS.” *sips coffee* Cause you really are what you eat; I'm just saying. I used to work with this girl at subway and she would always put like a massive amount of pickles on her sandwich–and–one night we got really drunk and I ate her pussy– –this actually happened– ! (Oh yeah, I eat pussy.) –and, I shit you not, her pussy tasted like pickles. Not just pickles. Subway pickles specifically. If you've ever worked at Subway, or just eaten a lot of subway–you know what I'm talking about. Subway pickles have like a specific…anyway. You are what you eat. But–I'm not fully Vegan, either, like–Like I said; Cream Cheese is a thing. Cheesecake–is a thing– BUTTER– is a THING. And they are all SACRED gifts from GOD. I believe that. I can't eat that shit all the time, but–still–it exists so when I can, I DO. and I love it. I'm a golden girl. I will eat an entire cheesecake with Me, Myself, and I. But– I try to make sure it's organic, and–like, farm-raised pasture animals–I don't want Sad Cow Disease; That's a thing. It's when you consume the remains or product from an animal that suffers from inhumane treatment. it's real. It's not just cows; that's just the way energy works. If you eat something sad or shitty—you become sad and shitty. True story. But here's another—which is why I'm not completely vegan, and I would never like, push the vegan lifestyle on anybody who doesn't just decide upon themselves “this is what's right for me” cause, it's not for everyone. Every body is different. We are all made differently. In fact–I met this dude who ONLY ate meat. Nothing else. He–was–honestly not the coolest person to be around either–which is another reason, I just don't believe in extremes entirely, but–here's the extreme opposite of this guy, who nobody liked, and the reason why I will never probably be all the way Vegan; Another true story. I was a surf instructor at this summer camp in LA one summer– and–it's west LA, beach cities, so of course a majority of the clientele are like, white, jewish, privileged kids—you know, like 90% of them have nannies and actually prefer this bitch to their own mother–but of course *whispering* so does daddy. hahah . anyway. No, i”m serious like half these kids had like super-hot foregin nannies– or, you know, the traditional, abuelita-style housekeeper-duel-nanny-slash-superhero–yeah. Mostly rich, white kids– And, by the way, anytime we would get black kids, they were either adopted, or just–didn't want to touch the water– that's…how I found out about the “black people don't swim” stereotpype not being that much of a stereotype. It's like–it's real. it's ….genetic or something. ANYWAY—I'm getting off track here, but not really– cause–genetics–and sometimes white people be fucking up shit entirely just forcing absolutely unnatural genetic things to happen–which I believe to be the case of this poor kid– Not only was he a ginger– who by the way– I love gingers. I love them so much. I really do. That's not a joke. HOWEVER. This kid was ginger–remember, we're at a surf camp, on the beach– and this poor kid– and I don't remember his name, either, because he had to go home early–it was so sad! And I truly believe to this day it was because–not only was he just– stark-almost albino-white-ginger–again–not knocking it, i'm just saying– in our few short moments together, he shared with me that he had NEVER-EVER-EVER had any animal product whatsoever. He was like, 11, I think–maybe 12. He was raised Vegan from BIRTH. And, again, i'm like over-thinking like “damn. Does that include breastmilk? I mean. It is MILK. It's…” But he's telling me, in his 11 or 12 years on this planet, he has never-ever-ever had a chicken nugget. What the fuck. COME ON, WHITE PEOPLE. And, i'm not being racist–or, at least–really trying–like I said, I like gingers. I LOVE them. BUT. It's summer. He's already at-risk just standing in the sun. He was covered in head-to-toe with not just sunscreen–ZINC. If you don't know what zinc is–Just–google it– (and, i'll just note, I'M also heavily covered in it just trying to not get blacker. Like I said–I LOVE gingers–especially when they're fully grown *wink* So i try to not dissuade attraction from caucasions. ) –But anyway this poor kid– It had to have been the coldest day of the summer–I'm talking like, almost no sunlight, it was warm, cause it was summer, but, still cloudy–and– This kid had to leave, like, before lunch time. He almost expired. I watched that kid go from like, playing in the waves and smiling to like, getting welts from third degree burns and just about to collapse from lethargy in what had to have been under three hours flat. Never, ever had animal product. Ever. Fully Vegan; this kid is about to die from 2.5 hours at the beach. AT THE BEACH. So, i'm just saying–you might have to feed your kid some animal product, at some point– or you might have to end up feeding HIM to an animal. I mean; I'm not Vegan. {Insert Dairy Farm Bit} FLURBOS. I just remembered my Vegan Pitbull. What! That doesn't make any sense! I mean–hey– ____ Farro arrives into The Valley of The Kingdom of Ascensia You look lost. Do I look it? Commandant. Your Royal Highness. [they greet each other by bowing brow-to-brow.] Welcome. I'm not staying. Of course not– drinks, at least? Mm. Perhaps– have you any Yuccafruit? What is that? *humphs* I thought you were considered to be well traveled. Moreso than that of a recluse– –Hm. Apparently not. ___ Snowcone Great, now I can't rap You said you're not a rapper I'm not, but I could at least write them–damn. Now what happens? I have been stagnant. Gripping the smooth and perfectly polished, beautiful stone for hours in my left hand, unable to let go, after a growing attachment seemed to form from a bond– I see you in incognito! Shut up, Google! What did you just say?! Nothing. –a jarring astral projection which left me not in question or curiosity, but with the notion that– if I ever in my waking reality were able to again befriend any of the luminaires, however this one in particular–that the most adamant taboo subject of conversation would be work related; relayed in a rather notion of bad conduct from within my dreamworld, from of course, none other than myself, to I– in the form of a friend, not forgotten but not feared or as fondly thought of, of course–before such traumas had been enforced and inflicted upon me. ___ Professor Joel Zimmerman is a highly acclaimed and well respected expert in the learned sciences of Astrology, Astrophysics, and engineering– though often scorned and dreaded by his students–being an unapologetic and unforgiving grader, with a stoic attitude and dark, grim sense of humor–he is praised and highly regarded amongst his peers as a lifelong scholar, collecting in his coveted career, numerous accolades, awards, and scholastic honors. Dang. Really, dawg? He looks good in bifocals! Nobody looks good in bifocals! This gu does. Oh come on! Whos gonna buy him as a professor? He's a genius! But a professor? Yes, a professor. What about that thing on his neck?! The year is 2042. Oh. The study of Interplanetary Sciences have been expanded greatly, since the confirmation of extraterrestrial inhabitance in outer galaxies was officially confirmed via radio frequency transmittal in the early 2020's. Dr. Zimmerman has dedicated almost the entirety of his career to solving an ongoing string of cosmic and astrological mysteries. Cameo: C.C. Stone, a young graduate student in the field of Language Arts What's the point of this character? I don't know. I just saw her. Wait, saw who? Her–me, I guess. You saw yourself? I saw C.C. Stone; I guess it's a cameo…she doesn't really say anything, I mean–she's just kind of sitting there, looking eager. Sitting where, exactly? In Professor Zimmerman's Classroom–it's one of those like, Ivy-league looking classrooms, with like, the aisles that come down–you know–from like every movie that has a college classroom in it. Or like–a college classroom. Yeah. What'd you see? Well, she's got these gold-rimmed, round, like, Harry Potter Glasses– Hm. I see– And like, this– kinda ugly, oversized plaid sweater, that's kinda light-burnt-brick…with tan cuffs that match the plaid That's super specific. I just saw it! Like I saw Joel in his professor getup and bifocals! He had his hands in his pockets, standing at the front of the classroom Oddly specific visiualization. Or a vision, I guess. just keep writing. Ok. What the fuck– What. Why is this all in one document? I don't know–so I don't have to sort through as much. Are you ever going to sort it? At some point. I was. I guess. What ever happened to– Oh, my God– Where's Dillon Francis? It's been awhile. Just forget about it. It feels like burning alive, The love was alive, Then a lie, As aligned with the eye, That defines us –I'm dying inside (i'm dying inside) Along for the ride (it's a long, long ride) Just trying to find (how do I find) My long lost Love My long lost Lover