Sonny, Not Skrillex.

That is good. Maybe your favorite? My favorite? Not by far! By far, eh? I don't have favorites. I can't. There's no “can't” Well, I can't. But it was good, and now I had the whole day in its entirety to reflect on what was really happening–in my body, in my mind, in my heart, and in my soul. Using deadmau5 as the backdrop for the mapping out of the plot that my innerworkings had created wasn't altogether out of synchronicity and perfection, but still, unable to really move forward, i neglected any further obligation to exploration of the whats and the whys–the wheres and the how's always steadily within reach, thanks to The Grand Ringmaster, Pasquale, respectively. Okay, now what? I don't know. Where could I go from here? I was no longer homeless, but also not home–I had opened a pandora's box of a plethora of cosmic information I had still sensibly yet to divulge, and under the circumstances, probably wouldn't, or couldn't. It was no longer a game of cat and mouse, but rather a game of hide and seek, duck-duck-goose, and truth or dare rolled into one. In the aspect of power, I knew there was enough of it at hand, and at the hand of God itself, that some of it had to be mine. Money aside, I hadn't the mind for once actually step off the ledge and display my talents in an outward enough sense that they actually existed to anyone but myself, and money itself, though meaning more and more to the world, meant actually less, to me. Hello, Matilda. Oh shit, what's THIS Oh, it's Matilda and Skrillex Is that what we called it? I don't know. You don't know. Never finished it. Hah. Never finished Skrillex I think that was the other problem Yikes. Well, take care. Who are YOU? You don't remember me? No. But you remember everything. Exactly. Now, now, Matilda. WAIT a MINUTE. This has nothing to do with deadmau5. Almost nothing has anything to do with deadmau5. [Irrelevance, Personified] What is that. My deadmau5 album. Oh, well– geez. Aha, yeah, right Everything is Everything. Yeah. Everything is Everything. So. So? So. Now I would have to go digging; I was beginning an impressive enough collection on my own of songs and writings that seemingly or at the surface had nothing to do with either Skrillex or Dllon Francis, or deadmau5 respectively–but now, collectively enough, I realized, there may even be a third collection entirely, as I had been writing of deadmau5 for the better part of a year, or even more–and though considerably so it would more than likely be the smallest of the three collections, it was more than likely still enough to stand on it's own somehow. What are you talking about I'm just thinking aloud…with my fingers You're an idiot. I'm pretty sure it's just repressed sexual agression, Don't be gross. Sorry, Travis- I just suck. I understand. A pre-canned response to whatever it was he was going to say to let me go, after I had promised and failed once again to return to work. Something really was wrong with me, and though I couldn't tell exactly what, I knew it was something–and besides waking up early enough to actually be on time, i still did spend much of the morning reflecting in a self-loathing pseudo— Wait, pseudo-what?! I don't know. It just cut off What?! Why?! I'm an animal I have eyes, you know Where my mind will go, Well, I can't tell you, but It's been Hell, and then Heaven All over the radio ‘Oh Hello Who goes there? ‘ “Oh, Hell No Get out of here! Who let this kid in here Who let this kid in here?!” DON'T FUCKING OPEN THAT DOOR. Can I open it? NO. Should it open? NO. I'mma open it. One. Two. I'm so serious, if you don't stop– If i don't stop, what? … … … You know what? Fine. open the door. Really? Yeah. open the door. You want me to open it? Yeah. I do. …now I don't feel like opening it. [smirks, and nods] By now, I had realized that I had the intrinsic power to read between lines, see into eyes like the windows they are and become the whole soul to embody the entirety of another-and for all intensive purposes, it suited me, as I had learned to maintain my empathetic qualities and curtail the offputting side effects of synesthesia, I had become quite gifted in never quite being myself, or rather, in fact, being anybody but myself, with no intention whatsoever other than to hide whatever it was that seemed so enigmatic about my own force, that it often brought about a disastrous clash of some sort in the outerworld, I had practiced briefly with some of the best; Anandar, a true shapeshifter, had readily prepared me for what would probably be an entirety of never really connecting with anyone ‘normal' again; Even Travis Apple had hi— Uh What do you call that? I don't know. Is he glowing? He's not glowing Goddamit, what is with this guy. I had now had two bosses in total that reminded me enough of Dillon Francis that I wanted to either punch them, or to fuck them the aforementioned probably being the better idea, and the latter for the matter being off the record, out of bounds. Even this had to be some kind of fantastical jab at my own inability to reconcile with what had been done–and I was still figuring out exactly what; perhaps a spell gone awry (or one that was working perfectly, to my demise or even in my favor without me really knowing how) I was, after all, said to be “in a cult”, none of the benefits of which one might think to pay off from such I had yet seen. Something suddenly made me want to leave, and as I turned my phone over, coincidentally checking the time, it was 2:22–and I didn't know if it was harder to try and understand what Aliocha wanted when he was alive, or now that he was dead. u 0.0