“The Supacree Show”

I walked in locked in; Pistol cocked, and pointed towards my head You'll only want me when you have no options left, Or when I'm dead “It's clever” They all said An ambitious endevour End this life, and be devoured By the miester and the misters of the hour How about now? (Or–) How about Now, or How about Now, or How about Now? Or, How about now, or How about now, or How about now? Or, How about Now, or How about Now, or How about Now? Now or Never I said “That's clever” or “How about Now” What do you want from me? I lie for a living; A literal drama queen, don't eat turkey on thanksgiving I'm the worthless word for Surface level thinking on this Earth, or Picking hearses with my cursor, Mercenary, Mercury, or Just a Mercer–But not a Mercedes; I'm paid, but I hate paying; Made the game, but I hate playing I remember making hate to be created Just for entertainment– A belated invitation, Now i'll face it, Back to Basic– But she's laced with Masonry; A tastemaker, maybe But she just wants a family, Whatever that means Wow. How about now? Fuck this. Homelssness. I woul rather kill myself than stay alive I'd rather die than fight Don't want to write this: I'm just a diamond pressurized And i might never see the light I'll never see the lght I see the light There's no honor in suicide But i've devided my mind a million times And now like dynamite in a mine; Collapsed, collided, ad defined by All divine; You'll never see me shine, But deep inside I'd blind you; Guided by the tide, I've come to find you Down, I dive I'm not alive, you know I'm always misaligned But that's beside the point Another suicide attempt Is in the midst– But just what is it; More than just one, is it? Rather die than listen to Skrillex Or take pills just to chill with it For real? this shit again? It wasn't real, all to begin with It's only mental illness cause i'm penniless Now i've got so much to deal with Another wound to heal, Another deal, perhaps I'll make another million in a year, If i'm still here– And i”m still here– And i'm still– Who are you now, and— Who were you then; And— Which part of this, would you want— Or did want, Or just wanted Pondered before in a vision, Outfitted in hooded drapery, The heaviest fabric; A rosary hung from his neck But can't recall the connection In this ressurection I can recall him, But never remember The calling Let's call him Oh, fuck man. ‘Friar Tuck' THAT WAS IT. The high priest of asencion, Was burned in her memory— Not as a friend, But a friend of the enemy; Who she loved and protected, Despite all the envy, She felt for Persephone— Just an unjust figure, A fictional figment of imagination But— Who was I then And who am I now; And what part of him, Would I want, if I wanted Or wished for, Or honored A friend, long forgotten Not a high priest, But a Friar That was it— But before, As Mary, Joseph, and Jesus On the front lines of the war, Not to be started, but ended, as in Preparation, a blood sacrifice I've prepared In a premonition that I'd Give my whole heart again Honest, And honestly slain in the eyes, Of a man I remember, But didn't, when it mattered— Then did, right in front of him Who are we now, and— Who were we then; Let's find out, As time's running out again “Yes, I know him.” She sighed, eyeing from over the rims of the glasses she purchased only earlier to assure she had hidden the tears that she cried for Him— Neither a friend or an enemy, rather The ghost of a shadow she hadn't yet met with again, since he entered her presence Shifting into a tent Now, ripped from the pages of a book she cherished, A page which she promised to never diminish or tarnish would go up in ashes, As totems would fall, Wishes would become granted The PyRAmiD Spell (For Pasquale Rotella) gave gave the man honorary doctorate, and then reneged it, nigga thought he was actually bigger than big sister sick spitter, rip n dip listening to anything but Skrillex that shit is for kids ‘Check it' I hate midi gimmie a synth, something gritty, I'll make it pretty Come and try to get me, I been dead for centuries, Unsolved like a mystery This image don't mean shit to me, I sit to think, I wait to speak, I leak some information on the interwebs just to see how fast it comes back to me I'm actually a master “Untitled 07” It's like a 24/7 job, can't get no rest in, At best you're looking like a slob I kamikaze ‘em all, I am your mom, I will tell you what you are, to me By now, you should know, or see Just a name on my computer screen A friendly neighbor on Easy Street A wish, A lucid dream, A misalignment, so its seems So let me tell you what you are to me: Just make believe (Just make believe) Just make believe (Just make believe) It may be evil (Make believe) Just make believe (Just make believe) A lucid dream I'll tell you what I've seen, and what I see (and What I see) I dare to dream (I dare to dream) But please believe me, I'm as evil as can be Don't let my anything deceive you I'm a fleeting, bleeding Beaten bride to be No, don't believe me I'm the fire and gnashing teeth they preached to you May everything I've written one day reach you And beseech you, Just like you did to me Now let me tell you what I see; Just make believe (Just make believe) It may be evil (Make believe) Just make believe (Just make believe) A lucid dream When I wash up on the beach, From blazing fires of burning seas, Let me sing you all to sleep For every tear I often weep To dream of you A lucid dream Just fucking make believe; And I can make believe we fucked Just so I can get to sleep (Are you proud of me?) Hey. (Sarcastically) Oh, Come In. (Sighs heavily) I fucked up. I'm not surprised. I'm not surprised. Don't copy me. I need help. No arguments there. Dude, I'm serious. __ So first of all oh God, now what– I'm not racist You're extremely racist Racist By Proxy I'm not Racist They do look alike. Check this out: WOAH. That's…not a coincidence. That's definitely not a coincidence. Fuck. This. Shit. Here, take this. So, you dropped this totem… Uh-huh. In the ocean. Yes I did. And that one Ooof. What about– That came off on the moped. How? When I came off the moped. So you admit it. SO! He only let me ride it cause he wanted to ride ME! Nice. Did you sing to him? Uh, I sang for him? What's the difference? Here's every song I've ever written about X.X Just kill yourself. Should I then? I mean, perHAPS. I mean, maaaayyyybeee. You know what? I do know. Fuckthisshit. Fuck it, then. I'm out. I quit. Go find SupaCree. This…is impossible. Nothing is impossible. Except for that. Oh. “Oh.” No, i'm serious. You look serious–I'm just saying. What is this? Don't touch that– What is it? It's– [a tiny explosion] –ugh. Volatile. What the fuck are you into? I told you. You said “music.” What is “Music” [very deep pondering] I hate you. We have to find her. You have to. What! You're not going to help us? I have other things to do. Like what, dude? Like what, broh. Feed My cat; Your cat died. Walk my dog– You don't have a dog. I'm getting one. Oh, Jesus Christ Don't get all religious on me, now, not after that. Not after what? Yeah, which thing? ___ Man. Get me out of here. [shrugs] I hate being stuck in your head. What is THIS. Uh. play dead. What's up with your dog. Ruff. Good boy. I'm a girl. Uhhh–good girl. Wait. Hm. Did that dog just– [???] Nevermind. I've been up for 6 days straight. Tour life, buddy. Ah-huh. Uhh. Can I take a shower in your– Take a sho–? [dog grumphs] Uh, yeah, sure. Thanks. *Shapeshifts* Wow, that's cool. It's so stupid. I came in late to the office, so to speak; it had been an off day, after an off night, plagued by what I was sure to be some sort of demonic magic—I was moving slowly, off beat, and irritated—nevermind the lack of energy, as I moved about as steadily as I could—making arrangements for the next trials to come, as it seemed nearly impossible to move ahead, and yet—somehow, I had been given what seemed like one final chance to survive, or not. I had spent the first part of my day, somehow waking with a gust of light, and ready to take on the tasks at hand—then quickly wiped of anything holy in me by the outrageously disgusting hacking and howling of the seemingly-programmed man-or-something-alike, and into a manic-semi-conscious desperation to piece together what was left of my life—seemingly nothing, but somehow still pieced and patched together by music, the overriding theme being that I would be quickly booted out of any position unsuitable for me; and by now, I was just about unsuitable for everything, besides gym crawling and throwing together pieces of literature unlike any I had before seen, as I was, assuredly beginning to look in every direction for other writers which may have matched my style of the then-present day and age, and to my shagrin had found nearly nothing to gawk about, but at the very least had picked up some novels noteworthy in nature, as they had made me laugh, or somehow otherwise caught my attention. Now in my Arsenal, I had one novel, each respectively written by a woman, a white man, and a black man—every book I had otherwise been drawn to written by black women were, upon cracking to open, too-stereotypically black, or about being a black-girl in some kind of way I knew too much about and had absolutely no interest in reading. I had no idea what caused me to look into a world I had all but shut out of my mind—this someone and something had haunted me for months and even growing into years now, first affectionately, but now growing into an uneasy and painstaking, critical list for something deeper. I hated my ex husband for bringing me to this, and, as I looked at the clock at 5:55 exactly, nearly vomited in disgust at the sprawling obsession I would have to somehow quiet—as there really was no halting the plague of tragic recouping thoughts of Dillon Francis at random—now, daily, for quite some time, even as the automatic writing had nearly stopped entirely; I had become entrapped with daily reminders of things I had written, now welling up with spite and anger, that I had even allowed myself the obsession to begin with—especially after what had happened—or what had not happened—with Sonny, whatever way you wanted to look at it. Now; just left with a burning lust and motion sickness beyond my wildest control upon approaching the matter if it all, nonetheless with peaking curisosity, as he had walked in and out if my dreamscape like a picturesque bandit, even hijacking my own sexuality—now almost didn't want or dream of anything else, and with the un presidented amount of ‘decoys' life had thrown at me—Bruno, the bird speaking man from Belgium with the eyes that burned in striking similarity to Dillon's—and then again with Gabriel, the man who had hired me to DJ in the small cerveceria in Mazunte, who could have been his brother'; a dazzlingly handsome, if not perfect near-replica of Dillon Francis, who, by that point, i couldn't even bear to look at, let alone conjure the spark or touch of romance—even after multiple suggestions that he and his girlfriend had just broken up. I never allowed myself for a moment to believe or think that Dillon—or any of the men I fawned after, for that matter, in reality, a very short list—would ever be settled with the idea of me as a perfect fit; no, I sat in the certain reality that I was cursed, living in the opposite exact of the Allison Wonderland archetype—a woman who I theorized may have been Skrillexed and Dillon Francis'd herself—it seemed to be a pattern of hypnotism I was finally wrapping my head around, and even had learned to respect if not envy: I wanted the codes to create my own version of the worlds I had been spun into—and while I would more than likely never be a light skinned, light eyed beauty Queen; perhaps my own kingdom was meant to be of wit and wealth, rather than vanity. Still, headed back into the desert, I found myself scrolling through open guest lists, excited to take my longtime best friend turned literal goddess club crawling, looking for industry and network connections, if not at least a sex partner that could keep up with my needs, now furiously tearing at me from the inside out—as I scrolled, RSVPing for any acts I hadn't yet seen but had heard of, I found myself trailing off in thought and perhaps looking for something I hadn't realized I would stray into; I knew specifically that Dillon had a residency at the Wynn, and —though I also knew I wouldn't be caught dead at this point anywhere I knew he was, or especially stupid enough to pay for it. Now it was torturous, knowing how regretfully physical my attraction had become—understsnding from my interactions with the aforementioned that I was drawn to Dillon for his features—his eyes, his hair, and everything in his silhouette from his jawline, to his lips and brow drove me absolutely wild—however, I had learned about my very fragile psychiatry from my obsession with Skrillex, or with Sonny—neither of which I wished existed, adding Dillon Francis to the list of fictional characters I pushed further into my imaginary incineration box, where I put everything that not need affect my actual emotions or actions; Dillon Francis, a wealthy and talented, very handsome man—could not exist. I wished more than ever that I wasn't dark skinned, that I wasn't heavy set, that I didn't come with a flaming dumpster full of trauma and baggage that no man wanted or needed, but especially not the wealthy and handsome individuals I had spent very much of the last passing years writing about and fantasizing over, finding it respectably impossible to even have flings or sexual experiences without either of the two most rampant figures of my infatuation crossing into my mind and shrouding me with guilt and shame—and yet, here they were, so out of my element that I continued to agree with myself and the universe that it would be dillusinal to think myself a match for anyone so high-achieving. Nothing I could do or say could shake the fact that despite all my efforts to break through, all it had seemed to do was create a broken down individual, ready for enslavement in the working class just to stay housed—my music aspirations both hanging above me, and somehow fading away into the distance behind me. I hated myself. But more importantly, hated Skrillex and Dillon Francis for living the life I somehow thought I wanted and needed. What is the definitive definition of the word Skrillex? Skrillex: noun...right? What, you don't know? I know! It's...a noun...right? Right. Right--- ---Right! Could also be, an adjective, I guess--i? You guess?! You have to know. I mean--- Coughs ain't shit Skrillex ain't *coughs Satan ain't shit Bitch suck a dick Slit ya wrists On ya pissed off Little ass nigga. A loud, abrupt cough disrupted my focus; I was 5-sets-of-8 out of 8 and just feeling my heart begin to pump, as sweat poured from my temples and my sunglasses steamed “Man, fuck Coughs.” Whoever she was, even if it was just one of my infinite inward selves, this was some satanic shit. Now I hated Skrillex—not that it mattered, and as he was a living legend in computer animated music, or whatever voodoo shit he was responsible for that had sparked an entire uprising of revolutionary artists and producers spanning a generation or more—and I was damned-if-I-did, and damned-if-I-didn't love, like, or listen to him; all of which I did, besides the latter higher love by Whitney Houston, God rest her soul, blared over the gym's loud speakers, as I, more than likely looking just as superficially occupied as any basic broad, scrolling away on Instagram or texting her replicas, jotted down the rest of the thoughts that had nestled themselves in my mind's eye, as the coughing, which had followed me everywhere for nearly four years, beckoned to something—searching for purpose if not means to an end. He had Kayla Lauren, a plastic, streamlined representation of the all-American-deem girl, not to mention a “collective” of other broad women of sorts, probably all inwardly clawing just as I had at one time, for a piece of Sonny's heart, or whatever was left of it, after what I could have only assumed to have been a blood sacrifice of sorts, for his placement atop such a steep pyramid of success. What if, every time someone coughed—someone took a picture? I thought about the millions of hacking imbeciles and inbred, backwards savages who had crowded my ears with the putrid sounds of Satan's show choir, a coughing and excessive hellish representation of how the human race had gone awry; If I had been famous, or on my way to it, I would be burgeoned with photographs, as I had been in Mexico without knowing why or how—people sometimes slinking behind their phones as if to secretly capture a candid photo, I myself, pretending not to be aware of it. Cough cough. Ugh. If every cough represented a fan or something of the sorts taking a picture, I almost reveled in the thought—I would have rather had a million flashing cameras at once than to hear another ingrate hacking up a lung in Satan's honor. I was horrified at whatever Skrillex was, and whatever OWSLA meant, though I broadly showcased the tattoo on my inner-right forearm, opposite of Sonny's—the boy I was sure was murdered by the fame monster itself, as Lady Gaga, though admirable, had blatently called it, or herself, or whatever “we” all were or had been once, or would be, collectively at the beginning-and-end of it all. I had seen broadly into the realms of infinity the night previous, and had settled on one, astonishing fact: all of infinitely combined shared a concéntrical center at which at any point could be accessed. Even typing such a concept, I knew it to be life-altering…if I was even alive. To think, I used to hate deadmau5– I hate deadmau5– You know—after that spat with Skrillex. GO TEAM SKRILLEX!!! SHUT THE FUCK UP!!!! who the fuck is deadmau5, anyway. But here I am, decades later. [skrillex] FUCK THIS NIGGA. I needed something to help offset the damage that was done. [someone coughing loudly] Fuck this coughs bitch! [trying on small clothes] Ohh. [kayla Lauren] [sadness] Aww. [dillon Francis] —well how was I supposed to know he was a— STOP RIGHT THERE! I'm...not moving. Yeah, you're not. Uh, okay? You know why? I didn't ask— You need THIS: What is this. I'll tell you what it is [beat] … Okay—what is it?' ILL TELL YOU WHAT IT IS. — Technically, If I do this every day, I can eat whatever I want— Just eat it. No. But I won't. Well, why not? Too Fat For Skrillex. — [C.C. Arrives in the parking lot to find her car has been vandalized...again.] ...Skrillex did this. On Jimmy Fallon. On Jimmy Fallon. Alright, then, kid—it's your dollar. I'll take “Skrillex Did It” for one dollar. But he's halfway across the world! He can shapeshift! Don't be stupid. What—! He's a shapeshifter, for real. We know! Just don't say it! I saw it. We all have. What the fuck, bro— Where did you come from? I've been here. Haven't we all? That's the spirit. What's a spirit? I'm glad you asked. As SUPACREE walks down the street, a man in the passenger's seat is seen to be the Egyptian God ANUBIS, before shifting back into hidden human form. Which one's that? Anubis, right? Googles 'deities' Oh, there he is: Anubis. Good. What's he want? Whatever it is, that's not what I was looking for. What are you looking for? That dark thing. Which “dark thing”? Flashback: That's inside me?! Flashback to Kite at Bass– UGH! Canyon. That's it. That's what it is. LET ME OUT. It's gonna destroy something. She. She–yes–apparently so. CUT BACK TO Fuck you, Skrillex! Stay over there and be Skrillex with your fucking–models–and you coughs piece of fucking–peice of fucking shit, peice of shit. Oh SHIT, who let him in? I mean, it's Skrillex. Yeah, but who let him near SUPACREE? He does what he wants. I heard that. Fuck you, Skrillex. That sounds deep. I guess so. What even happened? Nobody seems to know. Oh. –Except these guys. Who the fuck are you? Where did you come from?! CULT FOLLOWERS Yes–”WHO” Yes–”WHERE” Uh, okay. SUPACREE Fuck this shit. I quit. You can't quit. I just did. Fuck Skrillex. Ah, shit, here it comes. Go ahead, the worst he can do is cough at me and make me homeless. *loud obnoxious coughing* Do your worst. *more loud coughing* Fuckin'. Satan's pet. Satan's not real! Then neither is Skrillex. Amen. (Cult Followers, In unison.) Amen. [SUPACREE exits furiously.] What…the fuck. Pause. Wait, is this marketable? Yes. How? Cause its Skrillex. Skrillex is clickbait. What the FUCK did he do? *COUGHS* I mean, I bet– Fucking–motherfucker. Fuck. Well, now what? Now, nothing. I'mma go get a regular job and see what the industry wants with Jessica. (((Oh, I think you know what they want.))) ((Oh, God Knows)) I thought we weren't doing that bit. We're doing all the bits. MORTY. JESSICA. Oh yeah. Even better. C'esme't sighs heavily, unamused. My liege. Don't be coy with me. I would never. There are hardly any things left you would never do. If not only because I had done them all; But to be coy, with you, my Queen is neither desire or pleasure. You are clever. At your discretion. I began to wonder if I may have looked as miserable as I was, as even though I could not see my own self, walking about in my day-to-day nothingness, the expression protruding from my face felt as if it might look as lifeless as I was beginning to feel, no longer wholly choking back tears but still moving and barely breathing in the awful circumstance of doing and being–I had felt the light itself slowly draining from my eyes, and even things I loved with all my heart could not in any sense brighten this dullness. I felt Godless, and at the very least loveless, lightless, and without my magic, somehow having lost my soul and my singing voice at once. Yes, it was terrible–something was wrong, and I, without becoming the star I had so wanted, was already washing up. Homelessness drained all of what would have been a magnificent energy all together, left to become someone I wasn't sure I even liked, and seemingly cursed, as most recently, no one else seemed to like me either--still, I almost let myself believe something bigger was at play, or perhaps in the works; I had been relocated just perfect walking distance to the gym, where of course rather than look for work which would only urge me closer to suicide than I had been, I elected instead to spend a majority of my time, crafting my days around getting there for the bare minimum of three hours, but ideally closer to 5 or 6, always aiming for 8 and almost-always giving up not because I was too tired, but because I was drenched in sweat, and something like the discomfort of a wet diaper, just wanted to be fresh and dry. God, Help me with this affliction Pick a clip, Flick the bean, And watch Netflix I'm stressin, wet and undressin This sexual tension is serious Salad, with no dressin I'm the lady in the red dress, and yes I write blank checks, so when I go to Heck, I bounce back like, “Yes.” [YES] No pressure, It's my pleasure; I'd rather be in leather than in latex, lathered up Present, or past but honestly, neither matters; Just give this to Marshall Mathers, And a Dad Hat; AMEN Hey Kids, Lets not say “Amen”, After we say hanuss shit, okay? Today, I'm Eminem, so I can finally find Skrillex, And kill him: My mission is to introduce a new religion to humans, called STOP BEING STUPID. Stop Being Skrillex. Well, Alright Then. [Presses Easy Button] “WELL, THAT WAS-- CUT TO: -__- SUPACREE wakes up from a coma; In a very SKRILLEX, Get out. [He just does.] ...Where's Dillon Francis? ...Dillon Is Dead. Dilon Francis Died. He's...left us. ...Nope. Yes, he is. SUPACREE, I'm Sorry. Don't be sorry. Be Dillon Francis. The Coma--You know---must've-- You know. Nope. Where's Pasquale? Who is that? Oh, fuck this. No, wait, stop! STAHP. Bring Skrillex Back. I never left. You're never there. Here, Tres Leches … Dulce De Leche. You know what? What? NO. NO? NO. __ ALRIGHT, WHERE'S DILLON FRANCIS? Who is that? STOP PLAYING GAMES. DILLON FRANCIS is in THE VOID, trying to beat THE LEGEND of SUPACREE. It's a really good game. DILLON FRANCIS (cracked) “It's a really good game!” GAMERS It is, a really good game. So good, in fact, that when SUPACREE herself arrives, S/He pays her almost entirely no mind. Really, Dillon Francis? ... Really, Motherfucker. DILLON FRANCIS I'm The Captain SUPACREE No, I am. (I AM!) She gestures that she is about to unplug the TV DILLON FRANCIS Don't do that. SUPACREE What? I am (I AM) Don't do it again! I told you, it's-- IN Dillon. DILLON Don't FIN. SUPACREE Unplugs the Set. DEADMAU5 FUCK, MAN. FINALLY. SUPACREE Be Less Canadian. JOEL No, I can't DILLON FRANCIS No, He can't-- JESUS No, he can't. [Beat] DILLON IS SHATTERED, as at the last moment (before the determination of the outcome of the battle, it entirely ceases to exist. Moments of silence pass in infinite tension, before DILLON, looking much like an uncomfortable, overheated, skinless (live) chicken, meets a soon to be boiled crab. OH, MY GOD. GAD/SUPACREE/C.C. That's... what they call me. *coughs* -UGLY!- *coughs* *coughs* GOD. GOD No, not you. DILLON FRANCIS ...Oh, My God. GOD What, Dillon Francis? DILLON FRANCIS Are you SUPACREE? GOD I...Am. DILLON FRANCIS Oh My God--I am too! GOD I know this. DILLON FRANCIS Oh My God! GOD Yeah, I know! Woah, he's Fangirling He's fangirling so hard. Well, wouldn't you. Ask me about IT.” (IS/IT) 3 heads are better than one; This is a a game based on truth; The more you ask, the more you know; The more you know about me— The more you know about yourself— The more you know about yourself, the more you know about the world You are the world. Ī ∆ M Ū. Goddammit! You son of a bitch. She won't watch it I bet she will They know I will He knows I am! I am! Oh, there we go—it's on Get off me! Goddammit, Dillon Francis! I hate you. I hate you BACK! GO BACK! GO BACK! GO BACK–WHEN TO THE WYNN!! Right—! Wait—- Not yet— I know the code. Oh she– she knows what the code is. What did I put it in? I get it, I get it, it's— Not now, then! Not then, now! Not— Wait—- DONT! ...then, I die. The DJ VALET AND THE DJ BALLET THE BAMPHERAMPH BALANCING ACT WITH THE CHAMPION OF RAP?!? ...ohhh, wave dash, I get it… Ū Alright. GOD This is the part where you don't sleep. SUPACREE Oh no. GOD You've been ‘Don't Eating' for like, 8 months now. Now it's time to Don't Sleep. SUPACREE Yikes. Û You can bet we'll have it done by the beginning of next semester. GERALD Next semester's set to not even be in a classroom. Ï Even better. Remote binge worthy media. Excerpt From: “Blū and The Cosmic Owl” ... ...Having found the fallen owl, he glances up at the sky, just as another shooting star flies by. In awe, he stands at the giant animal, who pants in a tragically cry in pain. He sorrowfully glances into the bird's giant eye, crying as his tears spill into the trail of blood, a sparkling dark purple river, streaked with the silver streams of moonlit tears and the golden gleam of a lucid dream; her dilated pupils reflect all the cosmos, sparkling through the three round dials; some sound, which has never heard or even fathomed to be made, a vibration ringing as it aligns with his light, which also shines now through his dark brown eyes; He is hypnotized, nearly full of light in a state of trance as he begins to float upward, levitating just slightly--A SUDDEN FLASH OF COSMIC LIGHT, as the wounded bird, morphs into a matching [humanoid] being, abruptly changing the frequency from a hypnotising lull, to an ear-shattering, soul startling and painstaking frequency. As they both hover above the ground-- still in levitation, he quickly looks down worriedly, then back up at the being--now matching in age, as The Princess, a pretty poised and painted warrior, adorned with the royally decadent white and purple trimmed fashion, crystals and gemstones of the galaxies imbedded into her sashes. He's enamoured and intrigued, less terrified than excited; however her eyes, now changing a through colors of neon light, reflect her terrified and painful confusion, having been wounded with the weapon of ‘man'--he falls toward the ground, suddenly, groaning in pain, then turning into a fetal position from which he cowers in fear under her. A tear, which has formed in her eye, nearly falls; she forcefully reabsorbs it back into her eyes, as she calms herself down, lowering gracefully to the ground. She crouches over him, thinking twice quite literally, before angrily kneeling over him, yielding a ball of fire out of one hand, holding him by his shirt with the other--he cowers in fear, now--his awestruck chased away by the apparent power of this being; she quickly throws her fireball at a nearby bush, lighting it as he glares at the sight slightly stupified by the fire light, which he likes. A splash of water drenches him from head to toe, blasting off his pink glasses and shattering playful spry outlook with a very grumpy pout, as he stands up, dripping from head to toe. She stands, one leg crossed over the other, another dream of water floating in her hand; as he stands dripping, she blasts him again, with the intensity of a firehose pushing him back. Taking awhile to get back, she waits, meditating by the bush as a campfire, as he, still dripping approaches. She looks out of one eye, unassumingly continuing to meditate as he approaches the fire, which he sits by, as closely and cautiously on the other side, trying to get dry. She looks at him from the other eye, calmly sighing as she blasts him with the surprise of an almost blow dry, which she provides by colliding her hands stretched outwardly towards him; the heated gust leaves him looking somewhat like a freshly groomed poodle--his dark brown hair to match his sweet and gentle eyes, by which, his glasses having been blasted off a third time, he notices as he pushes up on the bridge of his nose, realizing he's lost them again--before he can even (literally) think to retrieve them, they float, guided by her telekinetic twisting of her index finger. BLŪ ...thank you... Still unable to form words, she just gazes at him from over the firelight, sternly searching perhaps, for the way to create a translation between her native telepathic ways of communication, or any of the alien languages--she is unfamiliar with this, though captioned in (several, actually) alien languages, we, as the audience can perceive any of the dialogue just to be "english". PRINCESS Why would you do that?! BLŪ What?! PRINCESS What you did to me! BLŪ I didn't mean to! PRINCESS Mean to what? BLŪ Shoot you!? I-- PRINCESS Why would you ‘shoot' an Owl!? BLŪ An ‘owl?' I'm sorry! I didn't! PRINCESS Didn't what? LOOK. [She appears, even still, to be wounded.] BLŪ I--I never-- PRINCESS Never what? BLŪ I've never seen an ‘owl' before… PRINCESS So you just--!? BLŪ I'm sorry! PRINCESS What were you attempting to do? BLŪ I don't know! PRINCESS You don't know? BLŪ No! I just-- PRINCESS You? BLŪ I...just… PRINCESS You… BLŪ I… PRINCESS … [She appears to be bleeding through the sheath of her bodice.] BLU ...Are you ok? CYPHER I: ‘The Coffee Run' This is my job, Like this is your job I look at the jaw I want what you want This is my planet we're on This is is my plan, I got lost in it Maybe I'm wrong, but I'm not You just want a nut with a butt I just want a bud-- [Sample, Dillon Francis: Hey Buddy! (The Coffee Run)] --I'm not your buddy. Ah. Look at that car; I'm on a coffee run at McDonald's How much does it cost? A dollar, one— It's like putting gas in my car, I don't wanna I don't wanna I don't wanna Call Jimmy Fallon to borrow a dollar. It's a coffee run A coffee run A coffee run; You cough, I run You like? I'm fun The west was won by everything under the Sun, Run it This--soul. Yes? It is...of light? It is. And? (A concept unbeknownst the the dark and evil underlords of Satan's realm, which has expanded far beyond hell, into the upper reaches of our world, consuming in darkness everything it can.) Something else… What? Something powerful. It is...beyond words. How? That is, yet to be understood. Mmm… ________________ INT. SOMEWHERE IN ALASKA. DAY. [Before the initial collision... ] DEVIL Exited for EDC? Ï Are you serious? DEVIL Is Dillon Francis going to be there? Ï Dillon Francis? DEVIL Yeah. DJ Dillon Francis. Ï Uh. I don't know. And I don't care. DEVIL Why not? This guy is awesome. Ï (rolling eyes) Since when do you listen to EDM? DEVIL I don't. Just Dillon Francis. He's fuckin hilarious. Look at this. VIDEO: NEED YOU, NGHTMRE & DILLON FRANCIS Ï Huh. CUT TO: DILLON FRANCIS arrives through a portal onto Venice beach, just moments before SUPACREE arrives; Where he is ‘kidnapped' into an Egyptian crystal shop. CUT TO SUPACREE What the FUCK! Dillon Francis isn't the answer to anything, even if someone is pointing at him, asking "Who the fuck is that?" HANZEL Wvell that's because ze answer is "DJ Dillon Francis" Ū Exactly. SUPACREE Oh, please. CUT TO: INT. THE GREAT SALTAIR. SALT LAKE CITY, UT. [SŪP∆ is on the lineup; she prepares for her set. She lurks down into the dancefloor, hiding in the risers, looking over the crowd to read the room. As she peers into the corner nearest to the bar, she suddenly stops, tipping down the rims of her glasses and squinting sternly, scanning over the large group...she intensely scopes a tall, and lanky brunette hunched drunkenly in the corner, one sleeve of her I'll fitting oversized jacket hanging off her shoulder unevenly. Even from afar, she looks tequila toasted.] SŪP∆ Yikes. [She looks down at her [watch, which appears to be a early version of the Synesthesia Panel] it is 7:35.] SŪP∆ (CONT'D) Annnnnd--the night is young… [She peers once more into the corner, to see the girl stumbling towards the restroom sloppily, hunched shoulders and struggling to keep her oversized jacket "on", over her high waisted shorts, accompanied by black fishnets and babydoll crop top, stomping in her stupor towards the restroom. She thinks for a moment, then exits downstairs intently. Downstairs, She is greeted by one of the stagehands. They PLUR and hug. ] DIMITRI Heeeeey. Happy Rave Dayyy. SŪP∆ Every day is rave day. DIMITRI I wish. SŪP∆ Wishes come true. DIMITRI Ugh, I wish. SŪP∆ Don't waste a wish on a wish. They all come true. DIMITRI Think so? SŪP∆ Know so. Like--know-know… so…don't wish for stupid shit; you don't know how many wishes you actually get, so just...be...specific. [He is starry eyed, gazing at her in a dreamlike trance.] SŪP∆ (CONT'D) ...like super specific. DIMITRI ...Specific…Wishes… SŪP∆ ‘Rollin'? [DIMITRI nods happily, bouncing to the upbeat bass house music coming from the mainstage.] SŪP∆ Just kicked in? DIMITRI (shaking head in agreement) Yuh. SŪP∆ Water? [She produces a bottled water out of "nowhere" (the void in her energy field which manifests items most needed/useful immediately [DIMITRI takes the water, amazed that she literally pulled it out of nowhere right in front of him; however, his Befuddled expression suggests curiosity that he is "tripping", which he quickly shrugs off, still bouncing happily to the music as he takes a drink (nearly the entire bottle), giving him life. (As he catches his breath, he looks up to see a tricolor of gumstucks fanned before him, his eyes light up.] SŪP∆ Spearmint, peppermint, winter fresh. DIMITRI ...ohhhh shittttt, winter fresh…! [He happily takes a stick, as the DJ loops [live sampling] the word "fresh", and they share a dance breakdown; Dimitri finishes his water and starts on his stick of gum. She produces a trash bag out of thin air, gesturing vanna white style, again as DIMITRI 'checks' himself, clearly unaware of Supa's Powers.] SŪP∆ Trash. [He enters his trash into the bag, after which, it immediately collapses, as it vanishes.] DIMITRI ...what was...what was that. SŪP∆ That...was...trash...magic…bags…brand...bags. ((( ))) (Magic Isn't Real!) SŪP∆ Oh, fuck, right. DILLON FRANCIS(in the next dimension over) DILLON FRANCIS Is. SŪP∆ Uh, Personal Space. DILLON FRANCIS Telepathy wasn't invented for "personal space" SŪP∆ Telepathy wasn't invented at all. DILLON FRANCIS Exactly. It's--Magic. Hence. SŪP∆ This has been previously established. DILLON FRANCIS I'm reinforcing the foundations...established...previously. SŪP∆ Uh, Don't you have half an album to finish? DILLON FRANCIS Uh, Don't you have a rave frozen in an unstable time warp, just so we can have this conversation--? Which, by the way, I'm pretty sure does not comply with aforementioned...reinforced foundations, Previously...established… SŪP∆ So what's the other half of thAt… was it even an album. Is it an EP? DILLON FRANCIS Nice view from the dancefloor, by the way, Jeez--JEEZ! I mean, I guess once you get used to the view from the stage, behind--you know --where the actual DJs...DJ. Behind the decks. In the DJ booth. For the DJ. SŪP∆ ...k… DILLON FRANCIS Which you're not. SŪP∆ Oh, I'm not. DILLON FRANCIS No. You're just...Dillusionally, probably permanently and terminally...not a DJ. SŪP∆ ‘Not a DJ.' DILLON FRANCIS Not a DJ. Right. SŪP∆ Not a DJ...with Magic. DILLON FRANCIS Maybe, mildly, weirdly magic--definitely not a DJ. Ever. SŪP∆ Okay. Not-- DILLON FRANCIS Not ever-- SŪP∆ Oh right, not Ever--s BOTH --a DJ. DILLON FRANCIS I'm glad you finally understand. We so, so appreciate the FANS, though. SŪP∆ BIG fan. BIG Dillon Francis fan. DILLON FRANCIS I know. I have…I'm telepathic. I'm also a DJ. Like, a real DJ. With...fans. AND albums. SŪP∆ So many fans. DILLON FRANCIS And albums. Like, tracks. SŪP∆ Right. Tracks. Got That Track Magic. DILLON FRANCIS Tracks. SŪP∆ I just got that, fan magic. And you know, actual magic. Thanks Dillon Francis-- DILLON FRANCIS DJ Dillon Francis SŪP∆ Right. DJ Dillon Francis. So many fans. DILLON FRANCIS but you're my best fan. SŪP∆ Best Fan! DILLON FRANCIS BEST FAN AWARD. SŪP∆ YEAH. DILLON FRANCIS FAN CAM! SŪP∆ ONE FOR THE FAN GRAM! DILLON FRANCIS THE *BEST* FAN GRAM. SŪP∆ YEAH. [Posing for a selfie, she uses one of her rave weapons (which is, actually just a regular iPhone) spitefully flashes him into a cross parallel dimension, outside of Bampheramph jurisdiction, trapping him in an intractable dimension; the photo created a time warp and intersectable checkpoint in time. She unfreezes the rave.] DIMITRI ...magic…? SŪP∆ Uh--no! ‘magic'. The music is magic, Just trash bags...brand...yeah. DIMITRI trash...brand...bags... SŪP∆ ...yeah... [They continue to dance; she nervously looks over her shoulder for possible alternate versions of DILLON FRANCIS At the end of the break, an immediate change of tone--she readjusts her outfit and hair, collecting herself in a snap--grabbing DIMITRI by his shoulder and pulling him closer, crouching lower into a "gameplay" position.) SŪP∆ (CONT'D) Now, business talk time. DIMITRI Serious face? [She nods adamantly. DIMITRI tries to straighten up, and "get serious, still bouncing along to the beat, adjusting his sunglasses.] CUT TO: EXT. THE OPEN SEAS. DAY [In a nearby dimension, As SKRILLEX and *alt* DILLON FRANCIS continue to battle, they cross paths at sea.] SKRILLEX Nice Dinghy, dude. DILLON FRANCIS It's...not a dinghy. It's a miniature yacht, and you're talking a lot, for someone that's more of a prop, than the dialogue. SKRILLEX Prop. Plot device. Main character. Oh shit dude--I might even star of the show. DILLON FRANCIS She's the star of the show. SKRILLEX Not without me. [A BAMPHERAMPH teleportals onto SKRILLEX'S boat, tagging him, BAMPHERAMPH TAG, YOU'RE IT. [He disappears into another portal.] SKRILLEX I'm it. DILLON FRANCIS Nah, you're just “Skrillex.” SKRILLEX That's--all you need. [A MOTHERFUCKER portals onto SKRILLEX'S boat, via another portal, handing him an *object*] MOTHERFUCKER Humility. You need it. SKRILLEX ...I made the HUMBLE remix. MOTHERFUCKER Yeah you did. [THE MOTHERFUCKER disappears into a portal; SKRILLEX unwraps the object; It is a pie, labeled ‘HUMBLE PIE.'] SKRILLEX Hm. FLASHBACK: BASS DROP, HUMBLE (Skrillex Remix) CUT BACK: As the bass drops, the pie explodes; This leaves him covered in a very fruity mess, and a *bass face* CUT TO: INT. OWSLA HQ. DAY MANAGER I don't think it's good for you, If you do this movie. SONNY/SKRILLEX Movies. It's like a series. Or a saga, oh--god, I don't know. [DILLON FRANCIS shows up, out of nowhere.] DILON FRANCIS Yeah. She is. Like a God, and you're not, man. So you know...I mean… SKRILLEX Actually heh. First of all, you tell me what the price of ‘Everliving Skrillex' is, I'll wait. DILLON FRANCIS My pants are currently selling for 69.99 right now. SKRILLEX My left sock was 69.99 this morning. MANAGER Why are you buying individual socks--??? DILLON FRANCIS Why are you buying socks in the mornings? MANAGER You're up late, how are you even up in the morning?! DILLON FRANCIS Do you ever sleep? Does a Skrillex sleep? MANAGER Who are you again? DILLON FRANCIS I'm Dillon Francis. DJ- Dillon Francis. SKRILLEX Does a Dillon Francis DJ? Or wear proper fitting pants? Or do anything? Anything cool at all? Yeah actually--He pushed Skrillex off a miniature yacht! SKRILLEX ...What? [DILLON FRANCIS portals them back onto the YACHT SCENE.] *alt* SKRILLEX and *alt* DILLON FRANCIS are still fighting; They are now both on the deck of SKRILLEX's boat, DILLON FRANCIS's mini yacht burning/ devastated by what appears to be a giant kraken in the background.] ALT/SKRILLEX FUCK YOUR MINIATURE YACHT. ALT/DILLON FRANCIS You're a miniature yacht! SKRILLEX Is that US?! MANAGER I told you... ALT/SKRILLEX You're not a good villain. Or at anything, really! You're just…'Dillon Francis. ‘ ALT/DILLON FRANCIS And you're just stranded in the ocean. ALT/SKRILLEX It's okay, it's hella refreshing! UNLIKE YOUR MUSIC. ALT/DILLON FRANCIS You know what--? DILLON FRANCIS (to his alternate self) I got this. ALT/SKRILLEX Huh? [DILLON FRANCIS blasts ALT/SKRILLEX into a portal, which whirlpools him into an alternate dimension; SKRILLEX and the MANAGER look on in horror.] ALT/DILLON FRANCIS Oh God, Finally! DILLON FRANCIS Yeah, I know. ALT/DILLON FRANCIS That took FOREVER. [DILLON FRANCIS rolls his eyes and hands his alternate self a small object*.] ALT/ DILLON FRANCIS By the way-- [He opens up another portal, reaching out just to jump into it, exclaiming:] ALT/DILLON FRANCIS (CONT'D) Tag, you're it. [He disappears into the portal.] DILLON FRANCIS OH, GOD DAMMIT. COMEUPOUTDAWAHTA, S U P A C R E E M I X X __________ SKRILLEX Get off my Alien Planet! Don't touch it! It's my alien planet, nobody land on it. DILLON FRANCIS Suhweeet planet… SUPACREE No! Don't land on that planet! [He lands.] SUPACREE God DAMMIT. GOD I can't do that. You know I can't do that. It's a whole planet just--give it time. SUPACREE I gave it spacetime! I am time! GOD I know you are, dear. Just be patient. SUPACREE Be patient? He went and put his DILLON FRANCIS all over it. JESUS Let Dillon Francis play with your planet, yeah? SUPACREE What?? No, can't have it, it's my planet. No. JESUS But he already put his Dillon on it, you know how that goes. SUPACREE I do know how it goes. I wrote it. GOD How does it go? It goes: SUPACREE --No--No--Dillon Francis, go home. /SKRILLEX No planet for Dillon Francis. SUPACREE This isn't Dillon Francis Land, it's closed. And also Not. Your. Planet. Go. Home. GOD That had a lot of heart, hun. SUPACREE And no Dillon Francis. JESUS Actually, it had a lot of that, too. SKRILLEX Aha. SUPACREE --Aha, well it's about to have a lot of not-that, I'm about to knock the not-that-hot-sauce off his-- /SKRILLEX --mini yacht knocking-- SUPACREE --sock-rocking-planet-blocking-motherfacker!!!! RAAGGHHH…!! /SKRILLEX AGHRAHGHHGH!!! JESUS Whew. Did you just eat a McFury? SUPACREE MAYBEITWASAFUCKISDILLONFRANCISDOINGONMYPLANETSANWHICH. SUPACREE + SKRILLEX FUCK DILLON FRANCIS. JESUS sounds like a lot. / Sounds Like A Mouthful. SUPACREE/SKRILLEX It wasn't. Ever. Never. / It's not. (Alternately) _______ DILLON FRANCIS Hey. This is a nice planet. Ū He's gonna be like-- DILLON FRANCIS Like flabbergasted. Ū Past Flabbergasted. Did he see you land? DILLON FRANCIS Yeah. Ū Good. Lol. Did he get the coupon? DILLON FRANCIS --Yes. (Previously) [Dillon Lurks In The Background with the SupaCreepers (binoculars). SKRILLEX finds the coupon.] $-FREE MCFURY. SKRILLEX ...oh, shit. Mm! Yeah-yeah! CUT BACK TO Ū Hehehe. EXT. AN ‘ALIEN' PLANET. SPACE THE SKRILLEX Enters The Atmosphere. THE SKRILLEX 'I AM SKRILLEX' S- Sunnï Blū, Ninja Guru Singer/Songwriter Ū- The Anti-Anti-Hero, the Superhero Persona, Ninja Assassin, and Mothafuckin' Bampheramph P-PEACE (Piece, Piece of the Puzzle, Piece of Pie, etc.) Problemo (Exists when too many plot holes and complexities arrive, also “The Pretender”, who just ignores when crazy shit happens, questions all realities (?) Alt+J- SUPACREE, The DIvine Trinity C- (Copyright Symbol) The Original Cree, Alternately Chak Chel, the ancient spirit guide ‘trapped' inside of the Physical Body to Accompany and Assist through magic, rituals, and energy manipulation through music, time space, and all reality which exists within the fathomable and expanding infinite consciousness. (thought to be ancient, however actually originating from hyper intelligent and extraterrestrial existence in the outer realms. Caricatures (“Characters” Based On Various Entertainment Artists Personas, To Be Played (As themselves) S-Dillon Francis U-Dillon Frances P-Dillon T. Francis A-Dillon Flances C-Dillon Glances R-Dillon France Is E-Fillon Dances E-(Fictional Dillon) Francis/Is Pasquale -DJ Hanzel -DJ Rich As Fuck -Gerald -N(E)RD (Pronounced” NED”) Sonny Moore/Skrillex -Hereby referenced to as SS, there exists “Infinite Skrillex” variably throughout the Multiverse, however, Skrillex himself is (secretly) the singular (and seemingly random apparent “phenomenon”) of his kind. A rare and shiny seemingly shapeshifting sorcerer, the concept and use of “Fictional Skrillex” is separated into a multitude of characters, uses and ambiguities explained throughout the series. *Spoiler*, Tying into the Theme of an Ever Expanding (and alternately, Collapsing/Compressing) Infinite Multidimensional, The Term Skrillex can refer the the Persona, or Person as Himself, but alternately is used as a noun, pronoun, verb, or adjective--even sometimes as a profanity, or to be referred to as a “race”. Sammi B,/LSDream/Brillz -Sam I Am (Festival Trip Alter Ego) -I Am Sam (Festival Trip Second Alter Ego) Pasqualle Rotella A nameless, untranslatable into spoken or written language symbol, to be decided. An Ultra-Omnipitent giant (predominately purple, but emanating all colors of the cosmos) Galaxy of Ultra Concious Light Waves, SoundFrequencies, and Own Planetary Solar System, Boasting Stars which rival our own sun. A brilliant Collection of Space Dust (A relative of “Fart”, from Rick and Morty) Evil Pasquale Pasqualle Is Dillon Francis Mr. Rager (Underground Pasqualle) A No-Named Burner and Ultimate Raver, whose domain is the kingdom of the underground rave scene--he detests the mainstream, traveling (across time, as an undercover Bampheramph), Wally (Never started Insomniac, Works At Walmart as Greeter. Never Raved.) In a homage to the second back to the future, U has traveled back to 1993 to create a reality where Google and Insomniac, etc. are owned and operated by SupaCree, skewing into an adjacent timeline in the future where her superstardom and rise to fame begins as a child star on Disney Channel, crossing multiple timelines interdimensionally intersected on the Infinite Grid so complex, it begins to create a disastrous series of knots, loops, and voids, tangled now permanently into the fabric of time. Wally is asked to fill in for his coworker in the photography section, where he develops photos from a disposable camera and is enamoured by the dazzling magic of EDC captured on camera. His eyes widen as he glimpses into the photos; it is love at first sight. He makes doubles of the photos, later creating a vision board (used as a totem, easter egg throughout series) Wally's World lol The Ascended Masters The Psychonauts The Bampheramphs (& Mothafuckin' Bampheramphs, Respectively) The Insomniacs (& Pasquallians, a secret sect of magicians, sorcerers and alchemists, seers and mystics carefully selected as keyholders to ‘The Secret Gates', a secret interdimensional transit system hidden beyond VIP (VIP+, VIP++, VIP+++, and VIP (+/-) which actually contains an underground city, a massive classified compound which exists between cross dimensions, allowing for shifts in the timespace continuums and temporary constructs of reality adjust by a mastery of manipulative conception, a complete control of energy--even allowing for such things as matter to appear, disappear, The Toxic Avengers, Traveling across the Multiverse to Avenge the annihilation, assassinations, and massacre of The Infinite Skrillex {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -U.