[Pit of Snakes.]

The book was fictional, but a perfect reflection of the treatment I had received since arriving to New York City; nothing was free, and it was almost as if the incessant hazing, entrapment, harassment, and terrorism had been at the cost of my own clarity— no longer could I trust another human being, ever. if these fictional ballerinas could do such horrible things to one another, what could their equally as devious adult counterparts do in order to disarm a potential threat—and if this was the simple and evil way women dealt with one another on a competitive level, how much potentially deadlier could make adults be in targeting potential peers, especially of opposite genders, and particularly—of thr opposite race. I wished race had no impact on anything, but in the United States, as the underlying cause of all conflict, it actually seemed to be at the root of everything. Next was money, and it would be ignorant to say that the two hadn't become so drastically intermingled with each other, the least of it belonging to colored people, and the most of it belonging to the dominant source of global power, the whites. Still, the way that people seemed to move was almost a color coded system in itself, and it seemed as though the pawns most often moved around the map in certain ways were almost always one thing or another, and now, understanding the way that politics were more likely than not conducted in this same way— I had collected, by studying the personal-professional lives of fictional adolecent ballerinas, I kept my head down, and my nose out of it—with no intention at anything besides getting out of New York alive, and put together—knowing that the possibility of my making any real money at all might have been some sort of threat itself, to any opposing party. The whites, as it seemed, would only ever be comfortable in a world where they had more, and better—at all times, and always. Nothing any colored person could ever come close to what they had maintained as their own world; everything was a system kept intricately in place—movement outside of this grid of power was not only forbidden, but nearly impossible. Especially on the grid and especially above ground, which almost everything was. Death of A Superstar DJ. [Hanz brings Gretl into his lair, where he co ducts his experimentation in creating “Ze Deepest Bass” Zis makes ze vierd sounds, yes. Yas, Very vweaird. [He presses a button which activates the system to begin playing the severely awkward sound of a Dillon Francis bass drop; embarrassed, he immediately switches the power completely ‘off'.] Zis is stupid. I'm sorry. Vwat vwere you sthinking? I wvasn't. An entire laboratory of sythezizers, and you've wasted it on this abominable— {Enter The Multiverse} The terror tactics began to become next level; though certain sounds were inaduible by my phone recording, they could still be heard and sensed by vibration within my body; an engine had started and had yet to stop, positioned behind me—and though I knew already that the terrorists were more than likely Americans, the tasks themselves were carried out typically by the black and brown underlings, almost with the intention to hide the fact that these commands were coming from a higher source of power; the illusion however could not be made that these kinds of terror campaigns were of course only carried out by the military itself, or another organization; that the men driving the cars and sent about on motorcycles were following orders and being paid by the military themselves. It was psychological terrorism, but because of its being carried out in New York City, it was almost the easiest thing to hide, masquerading the terrorism as the normal sounds of an only partially gentrified busy intersection—but I knew better. I knew that my phone and documents had been compromised long ago, along with my emails and messages— and I knew that, depending on what I was doing, where I was placed in my apartment, or even what I was writing, the incessant engine reving, the motorcycles racing up and down the block or otherwise just in circles, the cars honking and other sounds made with the direct intention of intercepting my personal frequency—was tactical warfare. Once the recording of these events became frequent enough, the sounds had moved only just further away as to be still audible and to disturb my peace, but just out of the range that my iPhone could continue to gather evidence to take to court against the owners of the garages, the city, or even the property management, for having not maintained the peace in the area surrounding their buildings. Still, it was of no coincidence quite obviously that I had been placed here purposely, and that the carlot, the motorcycle garages, the car garages and their respective car clubs, and the auto repair shops all adjacent and within dysfunctional earshot had been created after the year in the homeless shelter where it had been gathered, my sensitivity to sound and synesthesia could be used as weapons in order to dismantle and disable me. The moral reprocussions of these ugly little men on bikes or the even uglier ones in cars were none more then the soldiers that were just as often placed on the front lines of any war— a tactical betrayal of peace and freedom, I could only gather that this operation perhaps intended to pursuade that I should abandon my creativity and instead pursue with passion the humanitarian interests I was capable of, or maybe even political, however—because these things were being carried out in such an in humanitarian way, I became less interested in anything having to do with it, and it only made them more stupid and dirty, lowly and evil like the snakes they were, now that I had rearranged my furniture to always have my backs facing them. Now, not only were they below me, but behind me; once and for all positioned in such a way of knowing that everything they did on the outside of this apartment was underhanded, cold and treacherous, and against the forces of God and of nature. My right to peace and privacy has been violated, and now, worse, my body had been attacked. They were no better, no smarter, and no more powerful than the weakest men on earth—men who could do nothing themselves, but be made to do by others, subsisting entirely by consumption— the product of the light and enchantment had had been wasted with the minimal effort of having created such as these, otherwise useless creatures. The less I chose to interact with people on this level, the less opportunity it gave them to attempt to penetrate my mind or dismantle it am any way, psychological or otherwise. I had become seemingly erratix and unpredictable, moving about at times and in directions that couldn't necessarily be pinpointed— but the more time I spent away from these hostiles, the less erratic I actually was, able to think with clarity and move with stealth, only appearing at the surface for air every once and awhile, and realizing how remarkably desperate the groups that had been stalking and harassing me for to get my attention. It must have been military, and being stalked particularly by men not just simply smoking cigarettes, but intentionally going out of their way to smoke them and blow the smoke into my face— people almost needing to catch up with me or end up in my line of sight and however, it had become easy to avoid them, finally having realized that at this point, most of the time— even I didn't know where I was going. My dismissiveness made me harder to track, and my indecision had suddenly become an asset. I was always ahead of the people who were sent after me in one way or another, and besides the plants in my own building, making themselves obvious as gangstalkers by their particular way of dress and behavior— it was impossible for anyone to understand my way of thinking anymore, because it wasn't in a straight line, nor was it on any grid of systematic standard. I was almost always offline, and off grid, which meant that the people who were online and on grid were of greater number, and more predictable — instead of being moved around, I was the one moving things. I knew that anybody with a cellphone—almost everybody— had to have been connected to something—something that I wasn't connected to, especially moving about, and so the movement and frequency of these beings differed so greatly from my own it was as if playing a two player game in which the other player is simply a computer. The algorithmic nature of things just as often caused me to think about Joel Zimmerman as it did anything in life, and it was just as likely that the more time I spent thinking of anyone or anything fondly enough, then would appear in public anyone that looked just enough like them to momentarily trick my brain out of reason, and typically even more a tiny blonde girl just beside them to remind me of the pecking order of the evil world. The lightheartedness of being ideal in any must be so attractive to the male psyche that its dominance over the structure of the human species will forever stay unmoving. —Tales of a Superstar DJ. MOOOOOOOAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH! NOW THAT I HAVE THE PELOTON BIKE AND THIS JUICER, THE ENTIRE WORLD WILL BE MINE! AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH!! You are psychotic. You think I'm psychotic now—just you WAIT. (I also have a pink treadmill) AHAHAHAHAHAHAHA—MOOAAAAHAHAHAHAHA!! Dang girl, chill. I WILL NOT CHILL. YOU CHILL. I'm going to be so devastatingly effing RIIIIIIPED! Srsly. Some.. uh.. Houseplants… Like, a shag rug, Some blackout curtains— Minimal effort here. Uhhhhh. What are you doing? I'm fung shueing. L E G E N D S Last night I slept totally in the nude; Of course, leave it to good old fashioned good timing-/— The return of the hellicoopyer, and whatever's at stake with it No time to breathe, I'm having a spiritual experience on the cycle bike No time to lose— That's right. About face Walk away It's central intelligence Too much sweat in my palms To use my palm pillow? Hi god I love you God knows my timing, Lord know me well Don't tell me it's a writing assignment Really, yo I'm just here to spectate LETS GO! LETS GO!!! If you're not early, you're LATE! Okay, okay. Make my bed, wash the dishes. 2X202-ST5, Aphex Twin Either way, it's a pit of snakes Either way it's a den of wolves Either way it's a rat race, on my way somewhere else, I don't know how to go under the radar. You look ridiculous. Good. Are you sure this is the right place and time. I'm pretty sure that's my eye, up there. CBS Television Studios( New York City. Jesus, oh, Jesus Christ— Just for the ride; I asked nicely— …are the police here. No. Okay. Thx. Terminate, terminate— Hesitate a little. Turn your head around, a mate A million, a mile a minute Temper, temper Remember your severance Remember you made it Remember the parade and what day it's on Who makes up holidays anyway? Banks. Cool it, on your woodwind, would you Smells like barbeque, And I called it Forget to light a candle Summer winds, summer winds With your blood on the ceiling Remember who it is when you get there Hit me one more time Like the nightmare— Way up high I guess; Way less impressive, your crucifix I don't trust nobody with two first names, son So let's try the one With a traditionally masculine. So let's, So let's. Let's try the brown eyes on next, shall we. I like these. Same as. Wonderful, really. What's next. Hands, I think. Eyes, and then hands Ryes, and then hands, Eyes, and then hands Would you get the fuck off of me? I'm. Going to pay my tithes early Get the fuck away from me, you absolutely inferior rodent. At least I'm cognoscenti. I'll actually fucking kill you, And if you come back, I'll kill you again. Damn, I almost wish I was a lesbian. Nothing? Nothing yet. GODDAMIT. What. What do you actually want from me? I told you don't be late. What the fuck are you wearing!? Progress. Ough! —and jewel tones. The fact that I'm not wearing makeup, Could easily be hidden, With larger frames, And a little less giving a fuck About fashion instinct, And intensity The ce el.followed me all the way to the L train; Don't bother me none; She needs somebody, And all I need is a one hour slot, On Comedy Central. Somebody get this robot out of my peripheral. Somebody get the paramedic stat! What happened!? He thought it was payday and it's actually next week! 911– what's your emergency! Quit playing with me. Always look at the way it matters less When you lay attention to the face, and the stance— And it matters why she's mad at me, when after all these years, after all The veil has been lifted, but the mask hasn't And I just happened to make way to the goddamned Goddammit The mansion. So they said they'd give you a million dollars, just to— Yeah. What'd you— No. You didn't. No. You thought I would? Are you ready for wisdom and witches And wishes galore? Not yet. I asked for a prayer and “You're pitiful” —proud as pitaya, But I prefer Açaí, And after all Either one or the other is better than pina colada But of course, I'll take it If the other refreshments Are unavailable What the fuck is that in reference to? Nothing, probably Let's just be honest, I'm not getting In anywhere dressed like this in LA; Which is why I did it— And brought an extra set of clothes just in case Click my heels, two times Who farted. It's the subway; Pick any three people, and you'd probably be right This is hilarious. I ride the subway to Manhattan around lunch time, and it was mostly just— White people on vacation. lol lol Here's the trumpeter counting his money; Here's hoping he plays something Conveniently losing my cash . Means he's missing a dollar The way to the market makes subway trains unbearable, Which could only mean one thing l— Getawayfromme. Sing it! I'm intolerably horny most the time, And that counts anytime between now and forever So the Jptown a it is. As the train rolled slowly into Columbus circle, I started to get that feeling again— the same feeling I had the other night on the way to the comedy club, as if I was about to go on stage. I wasn't, and this, if anything was more of a consumer experience mainly meant for my entertainment, but still, I had butterflies— and there was no reason for them besides not having had any water— I wanted to make sure I had no need to run off to the restroom, either on the way, or during the taping , and— If anything. SOME BACKGROUND MUSIC!! Congratulations, you actually made it somewhere— Anywhere in New York City, On time. ..:I was on time to my stand up show. Exactly. MWAHAHAHHA!!!!! At least you laugh like a real villain, bro. I don't know what what's in reference to— Me neither. Now where was I…? Thank you. Everywhere in New York City is exactly one hour away. Even in midtown— Even in midtown. I told you they're all the devil. That's kind of incredible. Or god Liz Or, it's one in the same l. I might not ever make it on television— Even the assistant is gorgeous, (And majors in engineering) Somebody tell me why it's 100 degrees in fucking October! Global warming! I told you already l! What about the ice caps?! I TOLD YOU THEY MELTED!!!! Then again, Really kid— five o clock shadow at 1:48 in the afternoon. This is Telivision. It's a little ridiculous— Whose kid is this? If nobody claims him, I'll take that instead of lunch. How were you planning on lunch with it your wallet? I wasn't— But suddenly i'm hungry… Shut up! I used to get paid for this. I still do; watch this. I just realized, that I'm not having a good time I am method, so just— try to remember that. Where did the husbands come from? I was just in a room full of women— Now where am I? Remember the portals, and remember the Tenements, tenements— Tenements, tenements!? Old New York. What the fuck ever. Omg is the lady behind me possibly pregnant— And if she is she's keeping it— But she doesn't see herself being with the guy— “He's kind of affermenante” What? “He doesn't have that like, Charisma” I told you I still can get paid for this. Appearances, appearances, Charisma, Charisma So— its voice activated— And then once so many cell phones like, Detect my voice, a small signal is sent to that phone To make them start coughing. We can only assume that what is happening? Almost no one was coughing Until the banter in the bathroom I love this demographic of demigogs And badic bitches And tenements And tenements In intimate settings— OLD NEW YORK. How old Well, there are the tenements. We never really grow up, so we? We never really show out— Goes to show for sure I am indeed a God; For as soon as I walk in— They all start coughing. Where did the husbands come from?! This was, I promise you, an entire room full of women. THERE HE IS. GET HIM. GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY KITCHEN! But—I didn't do anything! GO! Multiple steps in the directions of the Gods; Nothing to lose, but getting lost In the buildings and the tabletops The shadows of the others; Supposedly blocked into our time Blacklisted in hesitation that I could One day Very nearly and dearly Wish for something other than the best for Everyone involved, However I say no, For one million dollars only is a very small sum In accordance to the torture and disorder in the chaos I've come on here And here it is ; Again, Something to live for Something to love by Something it get into go for it, There was nothing other than the storm to come And yet A pool of course, You wanted full force for under The wind blows south And gone so deep under the water, There's no terror system! Here it is! All are actors, The world is a stage and yet, You fear it There's no conforming, Just admittance I came to get the app with the DJ's jumping off boats That's it. That's it. That's what I came for. Move still! Be you mad! I am mad, and envious of thee here, knowing not what I know and— Doing nothing in the midsts of my heartache, None glory being this, knoelege and yet Without wisdom The feeling of teeth sinking in, Hind legs ready to run, Water under no northern skies, But droughted— And mine, the thought of l weary skin The keeping of Times Times Times Tenements Times, Times, times- a Tenements Times, times times Percius, be you still? Still I wait. No honor. No judgement, mine is. There was no gain; There was no wise knowledge There was no wise for wisdom The times here The times here And even when you want to stop recording Turn your phones off— Even when you want to stop You keep rolling until the very last The very last The very last minute. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©