[0017.]

FECK.

DEADMAU5 powers down mid set.

Aw, fuck.

Oh, man.

Did you forget to plug in the Deadmau5.

I forgot to plug in the Deadmau5.

Quick, create a diversion.

Make it look like part of the show!

STAFFERSON opens the charging port on JOEL's neck and plugs him in.

He's not going to make it through the full set on charge mode, bro.

I know.

So what are we supposed to do.

We're just going to have to play with him…

MAU5 glitches uncontrollably at extremely reduced capacity throughout the remainder of the set.

The 32B commences.

LATER.

DEADMAU5 charges in SLEEP MODE in THE DUNGEON.

Do you think anyone noticed?

Probably not.

SAUFERSON! Did you forget to charge the Deadmau5 again?!

THE BOSS enters THE DUNGEON lividly.

No…

You DID!

Sorry.

It's not entirely

{Enter The Multiverse}

Young Joel Zimmerman is eight years old.

He will one day become one of the world's most renowned dance music producers.

This is somewhat evident in his personality even at such a young age.

JOEL grimaces uncomfortably. He seems somewhat different from his classmates— maybe even years beyond his age.

About…

250 years beyond his age, to be precise.

The adults watch in the distance with peaking curiosity.

Oh.

I need you to help me with something.

What.

This should do it.

Hmm.

Wait here.

Why.

Because.

L E G E N D S

Book One: Secrets

Chapter One

“The Wonder”

Cinematic visions had been sweeping through my mind in vivid and dynamic glitches, something like a rolling wave of intercepted streams and shattered scenes— sleeping through the vile and sharp pains was not an option, but the visions were fluid as they always were, and the spirit stayed remarkably warm and close.

I couldn't understand the constant knowing of it all, and so I weathered the storm, to which only somewhat delightfully, seemed to brew inside of Genie's eyes as he looked into mine. All I could know from beforehand was that he was praying, head bowed and very adamantly, his hands tied together as if the religiousness of the entire world rests in between his two clenching palms, the flat fingers of a whispered saint, but none at all— unholy man and righteous and indignant he, there was nothing so little as time that could put between us the doing and undoings.

The things I pretended not to know.

On this grueling occasion, there was this, the honorable and beloved Genie, sitting heavily on my consious. It hadn't been long enough since we'd last met that I ever thought to welcome his arrival, and yet for days, he had been encroaching his authority over me, something like a loon approaches moonlight. Somewhat dignified in a slight comparison to his last appearance, visionary or otherwise, he meant well. Gene DeLaney was a subtle old fool when he wanted to be— and a clever young one at most other and all times. A man of stature and status, however, he was poorly groomed in the nature of procuring revelations as such from an especially distant medium such as I— and even with his ties to the mark and surface of the full embodiment of the source, his alignments were of no use; I was sworn to secrecy.

Destitute, though I had heeded his warnings about dear Louis, our fellow brother, with the markings of such wounds to see it that I had been betrayed, he appealed with a simple aching plea with the protective fury and exhalation of an older brother, which— to that he was—but also with the weathered and fearful of the unknown which made me keep my ways in the old world and not with the new.

Despite what Gene could know, which could be everything or nothing, with the expectation that much like the little girl I nearly was in considerate comparison, I would appeal to this protectiveness, and truthworthiness, and it might as well have been a test of such myself; would I lie to him, even if he knew the truth? And furthermore, would I continue to conspire to protect Louis even if the whole of the truth was known in the wake of such a betrayal, and still— why? The why was really two parts of a greater whole, the first being that it was a matter of simple trust and loyalty on the one side in that were I Louis, I'd expect my keeping's to remain, and in the same stone's throw were I Genie, I'd expect his wants to be that I should do the same for him in all and any of his many hours of need. Still so, they were men, and they were brothers— and one to have the upper hand over another was a considerable part of the dynamic, however, and in many more ways than one, Genie outranked Louis in every matter of the sort, but besides this factor, the second part of the greater whole of my withholding, was this— Louis Greenworth was a very, very powerful man— beyond by some comprehension to most of us, if not and especially our kind, and I had already been hurt. Severely wounded, even, and with the knowing that this latest event might as well have been fatal— and probably was, with any recollection of the matter or the reorientation in the aftermath of such, I might have been approached as myself by Gene entirely new. As to say, to no avail such ties to death is the immortal, death being, most misunderstood by many, almost any kind of thing taking the concious mind or the spirit into any other world, or space, or time.

With this love and care considerably so, Genie might have had his own personal motivations for prying into the light; his kind eyes and his handsome face, however, were trained in the art of my undoing, and having already been undone, and done over, I remained entirely in the safety of withholding, also knowing that Genie more likely than not what Louis had carried out. In all my thousands of years, perhaps even in the billions of such before time and world, and words, and glory, though I should have nothing to fear—I feared and admired the both of them deeply, one moreso than the other in matters of fear.

I withheld feverously, coping with the loss of the satisfaction it might give Genie to have told. Instead, neither satisfied nor dissatisfied, he simply dissappeared, his kind eyes gone and turned away into the fog of the murky night haze. The relief was, however, that this was in understanding, and neither anger or the severity of severance.

I loved them all too deeply for the bond to ever have been truly broken, and in return I had been loved throughout all time with all the colors of the world.

Victoria Shriver-DuPont

Gene DeLaney

Louis Greenworth

Faye Reginald Harper

Chapter Two

“Slip”

Faye had warned me early on no matter what I did or what I knew of Louis and his keepings, to always let him win—at anything. To Louis, everything was a game, or rather, a competition, and it was important not to challenge his self riteousness and dutiful outlook.

“Alright.”

I almost always certainly trusted Faye, and certainly always at the very least understood her procurements. She was a worthy keeper and just as well unearthed truths, even well beyond just the earthly plane. I took it as such that we had become beyond surface matters, very distinctly and immidiately. The times were changing, but the ties no less the same— there were vows taken and oaths, mantras and fields of trust— the inner ties and the outer forests of what we could reproach as unknown— the truth was, it was almost as if there were doses of those kinds of tonics I could take, and others I could not. The lengths at which Faye Reginald Harper Downings went on behalf of her mark were a cunning sting on my inner knowings, still, I yielded to her bargains. She knew Louis better than I did, and either way, the more you knew about a man like Louis Greenpoint, the less you actually wanted.

In such a case, we were all astounded to have become each other's jobs— hence the title, Keeper. My mark had no true title, as I just, rather was. A true immortal, I had been prone to dying for quite some time, and with each passing mark the outer world became more haunting and bizzare. Was I the ghost, or not? In this time and now, it was the others.

Genie had warned me to run in the opposite direction of Louis, and by then it had already gone to far— and besides that, Ms. Downings had arrived sheer months ahead of time, seeming to have moved mountains to have come upon the dawn to report— the dawn, being, my awakening.

I had lived and lived again and to this alone I was a ghost, but had been tied to my dear keepers and brethren as an admirer— and also, perhaps, to be admired, which was just enough reflected in my dear heart's eyes as it was the cold truth of the seers and the keepers— and the darker the under becomes, the more glistening the surface, and truly, in the caverns of the harsh light of the dawning, I could only amask that it had been not days and night since my last parting, as sometimes, generations— another marker for what was all to come, the knowing that I would be sheathed in truth.

What Louis had taken Faye might have very well taken with it, but I was undauntingly and hideously unchanged from my oath. These things, even betrayal, were to remain, as I undone, as secrets. In truth, the Seeker's oath is not yet in the unkept truth, but in the disguise of the awakening it brings.

Genie was belonged to by a power couple—Louis in this sense was also belonged to, but in a wary way to that these ties had been severed, and crossed, and cut, and broken; In my arrival, entire times had been shattered and worlds set to move in a backwards fashion, the sun as shining as to rise in the west, and set east, or to raise to the north with no southward bound to travel.

There, in the time of my arrival, things had been ruined, and though coming as any does with the bearing of a name, Victoria Shriver-DuPont, to be called— I was nonesuch to any title at all. In this lies the betrayal, and in the dawn of my awakening there beconed the call of this man, dear brother Louis as not either his name or his title any, but of his calling. There, the truth had also been shattered and met with the time to call all of our brothers, as keepers and wishers, seers and seekers, knowers and keepers, to guide the light which calls.

Chapter Three:

“Gene Hope”

As Televamgelests go, Gene DeLaney was not your average showman, either religiously nor by any given standards. His chosen stage name, or rather, bestowed harrowed the scene's Prince of Megatropolis, a gesture that all things reachable could be heard and felt by his voice and might.

But more to know about Gene Hope—actually by law, Gene DeLaney were his highly publicized personal effects and efforts—appearances, connections, and politics. Well groomed in the art of culture and confirm, Gene had hoped to portray an otherwise arbitrary anyman, and yet was still in his way, a remarkable celebrity.

There were wordless forms of nonconformity and rebellious ambition in his sheer collusion and pace. His walk, the elegance of a loyal court man, and the actual reverence of a madman, made him the go-to guy for all things knowing. The cruelty of it, being, that not particularly tied to that of the believes and mantras of a religious man, and in that the duty of nature being the times that we cross paths. The knowing but not all that is known, and thus, the keeping.

I want to fold myself over in half

I'm so in music with you

I want to say words that make you laugh

I'm so in music with you

I don't know

I don't know wholesome no more

I don't know

If I should open the door

I'm lost to your world;

But I don't want to go.

I'm stuck in your notebook

So wrong for you code

But this is no

(Recommended) friendship

This is no means to an end

I want the beginning of never ending

But this?

I just want it to end

I'm as scared and as sorry

As bad as I was

I'm up in my bedroom, which hasn't a door

I'm up in my head, and I haven't a code

I wanted to get on the boat

But the ocean was gorgeous

And all the world kept me afloat

You know

I got no reason to act out

It's tragic how magic just happened to pan out

We're still drifting as Pangea,

I wanted you to leave

Just so that I could be there.

You wanted potion for control

You got it?

I'm stuck in your notebook,

So open the door

You're right,

She's adorable, all for you

So goes the snow one and so

As you throw the door, or the bone

I called it a home for the force that was locking it all away

I don't want nothing but wanting and wanting

And I don't ant love I just wanted a sub direction

This is just glimpses of perfect

And glimpses of persons

And glimpses of lessons

This is just getting in heads, and more headaches

And bed frames

And glitches

Santa Barbara, Ann Arbor—

All the days and all the days and all thof ways

Were still drifting away like Pangea

(Only to do whatever you say)

I was your heachache

This wasn't monotony

If it's all autonomy

wel then someday,

Maybe you'll make me

For now I'm just an artificial

Figment of this existence

Joel wants a girl

But Ive never been loved like a girl

(I don't know how to be)

And if whoever wants a woman

When a man gives me the whole of it

And only whatsoever then shall I amount to anything

And anything at all, if love

Is in the eyes and hands

In either daughter or a son

I've

‘M nothing at all

If not a mother

And I'm no mother at all, so

Everything becomes impossible as one

[The Festival Project™ ]

{Enter The Multiverse}

L E G E N D S:

ICONS

Tales of A Superstar DJ

The Secret Life of Sunnï Blū

Ascension

Deathwish

-Ū.