-Aliocha's Eulogy.

-Aliocha's Eulogy.

Now what happens when I write this?

Well, maybe nothing.

At the very least nothing, and then when you die all these flash drives and SD cards will just, die with you, I guess?

I don't think thats how this goes.

How does this go?


I had been duped;

My own world has turned against me,

And I was set again to escape against the backdrop of

A never-ending desert—

Mmm. sandwiches.



What is this?

The Legend of Supacree

From comic strip?


A severed connection;

Regrets and regressions,

Expressed, the reflection left of

Contempt and neglect–

And it was special once,

But this is now, and that was then

She doesn't really need a friend,

She just seeks peace, a means to an end

Goddamn it, who IS this

Oh my GOD.


_____ Brainwash <<<>>>>>

A Portal Opens– SUPACREE enters a clothing store downtown, following leads for a way to make money.


Ya'll are cute.

We're not together.

Your outfits match.

We dated for seven years.

And it shows.



See. I told you some of my stories were in there.

How did he–



Back to the story:

What fucking story?! This literally happened a couple days ago.

This is thousands of documents; By the next time you read this, it will have happened


really? Goddamit it.

Three suicides later.



Three Suicides Ago:

You like coffee?

You drink coffee.

I am coffee.

Goddamit it, she's good.

Level unlocked

What the fuck.

She got it?

She's inzo.

You know what that means, bud

01. deadmau5 - ent_Hope_clk_thme 0:00:00

02. Tripmastaz - Pende 0:00:44

03. Sian - Shame Cube 0:05:52

w/ Kenji Kawai - Ghost City (Ghost In The Shell OST)

04. Confidential Recipe - Toolkit 2 0:12:17

05. Rene Wise - Pleasure Note 0:19:06

06. Albert Alvatierra - Sirvilli 0:21:21

07. Marcal - Rolling Sway 0:24:58

w/ deadmau5 - Sometimes Things Get, Whatever (Acappella)

08. Chris Lo - Stella (Dandi & Ugo Remix) 0:29:22

09. Ivan Longo - Escape 0:29:36

10. Darmec - Event Horizon 0:35:58

11. Secret Cinema & Egbert - Elementen 0:39:58

w/ No Mana - Laser Beam

12. TWR72 - Mouth 0:45:04

13. Kx5 ft. Hayla - Escape (Spencer Brown Remix) 0:48:42

14. Zimmz - Ancient Dream 0:54:42

15. deadmau5 - XYZ (testpilot Remix) 1:01:42

16. Amotik - Ikyavan 1:09:35

w/ deadmau5 - ASEED

17. deadmau5 - ID 1:12:35

18. Jay Lumen - Departures 1:17:58

19. NoNameLeft - Dyson Sphere 1:20:59

20. Tayyar - Freya 1:26:59

21. Charlotte de Witte - Kuda 1:32:44

w/ deadmau5 - Cthulhu Sleeps

22. Rrose - Waterfall (Lucy Remix) 1:37:29

23. Lucy - Cannon Fodder 1:42:13

24. deadmau5 - Word Problems 1:45:25

25. Lucy - Sticks And Stones 1:49:40

26. Vladimir Dubyshkin - Rural Woman 1:53:47

27. Blenk - Forward 1:56:34

w/ Axel Karakasis - Secular Factual

28. Patrick Branch - Test (Sopik & Sasha Romaniuk Remix) 2:04:17

29. Thomas Hoffknecht - Relax 2:06:10

30. Truncate - Swerve 2:09:57

31. Architectural - A Girl With No Friends 2:13:25

32. YYYY - Regain (Lucy Remix) 2:16:38

w/ deadmau5 ft. Kiesza - Bridged By A Lightwave (Acapella)

33. Donato Dozzy - Aquatica 2:22:45

34. deadmau5 - ID 2:27:17

35. deadmau5 - ID 2:33:35

Whatever you did worked,

Now I'm in the labyrinth;

A lab rat, an experiment



{Watching DIllon Francis instagram}

What is happening.


Oh My God.


Whose dad is this.

At least he grew his face back.

What's wrong with me?

Perhaps it was the Peanut Butter Banana and Coffee”Protein” smoothie I had quickly blende amidst the morning rush of the now-becoming familiar hostel, however never quite truly comfortable, as I had learned at this point never to become settled or comfortable anywhere, at least without also being ready at any moment to uproot and move along once again–I hated the nomadic lifestyle and wanted nothing more than a home and family, though the moreI pondered on those very things, the further away and more unrealistic they seemed. I felt I had been roped back into slavery after a narrow escape, and though my lif in the southern state of Oacaca mexico had been turbulent, sometimes with storybook-worthy happenings and otherworldly experiences one might call a writer's wet dream, poverty had continued to ensure that anything even bordering paradisical quickly became empty, if not in the very least entertaining and inspiring in some way, and of course traumatic enough to cement itself into my being, parallelling tragedy and creating lessons thoroughly learned.

Though my smoothie, a modest 3-ingredient low-quality blend was overall somewhat disappointing, my morning had been jump started over-and-over again, with back to back failures; After another night of disastrously restless sleep, again, kept from true rest by a selfish hostel-dweller, inflicting their horrid an disgusting snoring on otherwise silent sleepers, I had spent another series of dream sequences within the realm of music, only slightly disgruntled, as I loathed the feeling of sleeping in my headphones, and the resulting wear-and-tear it caused the only DJ equipment I had left; Still, I wondered if I truly ever was destined to be a DJ, or had only allowed my short escape from corporate slavery to dillude my judgement into thinging it, after successfully performing–again, for a short time, and under unideal conditions–the broke mixer I had been provided of course caused more anxiety than comfort, but at the very least had been able to pay itself off, and provide me with a couple meals, some exposure, and a portion of the rent I owed, for the apartment I now missed, but wondered the condition of– as, though I had no reason to trust anyone or anything anymore, I had been told that my arrival to the states had just taken me out of the path of the hurricane, by only days. Still unable to believe my eyes or ears, but especially eyes–as though my true genius, sometimes unearthed by God itself and with the help of these beings I had begun now to call ‘Anadars', had somehow been discovered, I was in one sense or another still more prone to self-deprecation than any assemblance of respect or adornment, as I hadn't been adequately paid enough to just ‘fuck-off' in quite a while.

If it had been up to me, I'm sure by now I would have gone even further ‘off-the-grid', as, though passionate still about music and sound in totality, struggled monstrously with the competitive nature of all things internet; Though now I was rather skinny, I still had no business in a bathing suit or bikini, and was just beginning to sport such fashionable items as crop tops, allowing for high waisted apparel to create the illusion that I possessed a normal body of some sort–still however, justifying my own celibacy with the proven assumption that even at a glance of the sagging skin or grotesque belly, or rather what was left of it in the aftermath of my massive somewhat secret achievement–any man would become disappointed in the imperfection, opting rather for someone with ugly or plain facial features, but none-the-less an attractive physique that made up for it–or, as I thought, ‘what usually happens'.

Quite feeling like I had in some sense lost all my magic, and in another feeling like there was some secret sense of purpose for my existence, still however unbeknownst to me

“You go this way, and I'll go that”

Said the man in the captain's hat;

New before, now a classic

A mystery, master of magic

A tragic accident, perhaps—

A trap,

A happenstance of haptic romance,

And here we stand in the aftermath,

Although it hasn't happened yet

The death of an era,

The end of an actor,

The dream of a madman,

The music of shamans,

Of drumbeats and witch dances,

Laughter and happening captured by

Ashes from cannons,

A canon,

A sermon of sorts,

“For a friend I once had,

But now haven't”

—and that's how it sounded,

The answer, though shattered,

She happened to ask for the matter of facts,

Not by sample,

But all at once,

And all at once,

Or never again—

The friend of a possible friend of a frantic announcer,

Pronounced at the scene,

And renounced, as the Queen of

What would be

The city of angels,

Had demons and devils not screamed with glee as the seas receded,

Reciepts of the unholy things we keep to sleep with,

Release, then press pause on the press release,

Please, disbelieve what the eyes want to see,

And the ears want to hear,

For a moment, we're here,

Or maybe,

We will be.

—For Johnny

Oh, How I love the taste of a drunken man

….Man. what came after that?

I did.


Okay, that's–wow.

I thought the line was;

Oh, How I love the smell of a drunken man.

I just love the smell of a man in general–



Ooh, he's musky.

What the fuck.

What is this lady?

God grants him happiness,

I had to, he's handsome

My magic retracts,

Like fractal dust: imaginary

Hasn't happened yet,

Fantastical defeat. I'm bleeding

Please, have many seats

I'm sinking, syncing mediocrity

And slinging meteors from Mormon kingdoms

We can just ignore these people

Don't have freedom

I think, therefore l feel—Therefore I'm real,

Before a meal

But then I eat and “medium” just means

To fat too love, or I just make believe I sing with Amy winehouse, when I'm drunk—

And when I'm high I dance with Michael Jackson

Wish I hadn't,

But I'm stuck in someone's fucking magic—

Where's my hat?

I saw a rabbit in Malibu and panicked

I'm too black to be happy

This is tragic

I'm in and out, at the same time

i”m ith, with out, at the same time

I'm up and down at the same time

At the same time

At the same time

I don't wanna load it

I just wanna smoke it

I don't wanna roll it

I just wanna smoke it

I don't wanna hold it

I just wanna smoke it

I just wanna smoke it

I just wanna smoke it

And she stands at the cusp,

With her whips drawn up;


It was almost poetic.



And all she sees is green,

(It stands)

For all the things she's seen

And painted dollar signs

On frosted glass

Would you stop writing?!

Would I…


I mean I --


Be careful with your Google traffic.

Don't worry about it.

You should

Relax. Nobody can tell what I'm going to do. I don't even know what I'm going to do.

How many times have I told you--

I get it, it's--In

--An algorithm. Right.


An infinite algorithm.


Did you hear?

Hear what?

Mother Earth and Father Time are getting a Divorce!

Oh, My. What about the kids?

Uh, you mean humanity?

Here's a lesson:

Per your request.

I never truly believed in a world where a girl like me could end up with a guy like Sonny, so I made a much too honest mistake, which was completely eradicated with a punishment so swift I could hardly understand or comprehend it.

And the games we played.

And it was, a game.

I got sick of having Sonny, or the remnants of, hanging over me in such a way I couldn't see past my own nose; and luckily, with Luis, the nose was no match, and neither the lips, or the eyes—when I rarely caught them— so at least now, in my mind I could individualize him entirely, not that I hadn't already tried. But—his striking tribal vibration called out to me, for at least everything I needed to know and see from him; everything I needed, I got—and everything I wanted was so clearly fabricated in chaos right in front of me, that again nothing mattered, and, as awful as it was, I was actually glad to have reestablished my emotions; I was, though body tarnished, at least a woman—and, though easily shifted, now that I had given what I saw not fit to keep for either Sonny, or Dillon—since I couldn't shake the essence of either of them in the most non-traditional sense, though seeming by now that Sonny Moore was the man who owned the world that I was just simply existing in, and Dillon Francis, who I couldn't bear to call “the second choice”, but who had not chronologically been my first, either—was simply a fragment of a figment of imagination, in my mind and in my heart, as my soul was in a state of omnipotence so whole, that it was every part of me together becoming the whole world at once, for a time—or either, no time at all—because truly, I hadn't believed in such a notion for so long.

I offered up my everything I could to the man who was willing to give to me shelter in exchange for work, which I was willing to honestly do; I had never sought to take advantage of any of it, and in fact saw from this project a cascading dream—what could be, and what I might make of it, with the proper energy in place. But, at least for now, my energy was once again in a state of recovery, after what may have been foolishly, or with outright wise intention to reveal what would become of such a bold and brutish choice; Luis kept the same tribal traditions and traits I had become so drawn to, in a sense, much longer than I had any

He wanted me to take the keys, but I honestly from the bottom of my soul wanted to see how badly he could hurt me in front of my own eyes—I already wore the insignia to match my Deathwish, and any true globalist would know the shape and form of the OWSLA logo, and the moniker from which it came—and which I still stood for, despite the honest-to-goodness wreckage I had been tumbled through; I had given up on Sonny, at least romantically—and by that, I mean to say that I had altered my perception just so that settling became a more likely probability, than keeping my celibacy in the painful waiting, as my maternal body became overripe with sexlessness.

What. Is THIS.

It's just—nothing.

JOEL recreationally shapeshift s into SUPACREE to get a sneak peak of THE FESTIVAL PROJECT as it's being written.

I can't do it– I can't write anymore.

Just keep writing.

I hate this.

What's he look like.

Has a tattoo of a sun.


Show me a picture.


Fuck it.

He's on my team, don't worry.

You called me.

You rang, bitch?!

You called ME.

I'm out of power. I need love.

That's too bad.

Love yourself!


That won't happen.

(323) [Episode 13]

Wat the fuck.


Ugh. Stop following me.

Stop following me.

Oh shit. Do I still have instagram on my phone, or something?

Quick! Delete it.


Josh Panhandle and Walter White meet in an nondescript bar in the arctic tundra.

I thought he lived on the pan handle.

These guys travel.

Cause it rhymed?

Let's not ramble.


52 442 156 0404




A cry for help,

—a call to the moon,

For there could not be only one, but two

To believe mine eyes,

I yet refused;


Very nice work.

I–see what you did there.

That's so smart!

Well, Mexico IS in America.

Racists are dumb.

I had momentarily almost forgotten for any increment of time that matters that all I ever wanted –since I figured out that's what I had even wanted, was to be a DJ–or music producer, rather, which–I suppose is where I had become lost, in trying to live up to the expertise and genius the others before me had lit the path with;

Everybody wants something from me now,

and it's pulling me apart,

I just don't know how–

Build myself right up, from the ground

And I should be proud, but I gotta move out.

Love, lost;

distrust in love, and

Blood on the pillowcase,

Where I lay my head at night,

Where I dreamt, that I may have a friend in the end,

But I've been left on read,

And left for dead so many, many…


Is just an equation,

a game we made up in Heaven,

Or something

But I

Forgot how

Everybody wants something from me now,

and it's pulling me apart,

I just don't know how–

Build myself right up, from the ground

And I should be proud, but I gotta move out.