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“Why am I a DJ again?” I wasn't quite sure, but here I was m on mh way to yet another open decks, and though I had been given a sense of shame the first two times I had snowed up at the place, I was for some reason still determined to play the techno joint, even if it was destined to be a disaster— I was sort of a disaster, almost as inwardly as I was out, and I had been pushed to ever extreme imaginable in the months and even hears leading up to the times—I had been thoroughly humbled over and over again, to the extreme and extent that it did t make much sense that I was still alive, all the more almost always miserable and fighting for survival without my needs being met, and yet, when I tried to humble myself even further, dumbing myself down to apply for some of the only jobs I was qualified for—minimum wage, entry level jobs, where most of my Maybe I'm just taking. Much needed stroll I don't want to be early to a place I've once felt Unwelcome unwanted No longer trying to get famous or be somebody But my love for music goes beyond it Like my mom said Another Beyoncé song Reminds me of what I'm not and everything I lost A husband.cl, father, a daughter a son, a lover I just gotta walk it cf I don't belong at all l, you know Nowhere But especially not in modern day Brooklyn I just gotta walk it off Better yet, I've got enough to hold me over Till the morning We all want what we can't have A sister a brother A mom god says sometimes it's important to get lost— I'm not mad, or that hungry, either; The humor is, I get lost as often as possible I didn't mean to to harm anyone, anyhow I had time to burn off— A lot of it Don't wanna show up Where I'm not loved And not wanted Everything and everyone around is just a Bristle skinny white girl, With more competitive senses Than I even care to give attention And that's it, It isn't for the attention? I haven't even a camera, actually, Never played on this equipment, Haven't had an adapter since — Honestly can't even remember, and I was almost a rapper, but tragically My roommate's been bed ridden, And suddenly I'm well enough read in Aliester Crowley that I should have a mountain of money Or something to show for it, Other than tragedy, but perhaps fail would indicate a practical excuse to put my mixer in the pawn shop with my drum machine And the rest of my hopes and dreams, You know? Cupcakes and ice cream; My ex husband haunting me in dreams And me believing that I'm destined to be anybody at all Aw, I lost Whole Foods— It's alright, the Hot bar's all closed I'm confused at how I'm supposed to be useful To another human Consumed with calorie consumption Creating definite deficits is detrimental as the gym is, I recon, cause overnight my roommates turned into the devil, Fuck Missed my stop being an artist It's alright, I've got more time to kill, as always, being homeless No worries, I'll get audio technical anyway, Anyday now, Maybe on my next paycheck For now I'll take a rain check I don't even have a rain coat Or an umbrella Now, on the way to Hell Phone Let's see which 20 pound model Put my lack of Serato Into the pawn shop One for all and all for one and I only got one Jimmy Fallon, not even on me I don't worry about shod much, Except for holding my breath, avoiding the sh. Car with vomit, of course Why do white people want me to fail? I just want one man for one night, I decided I don't worry about God much, When I fuck up, it's funny to her And when I win she's honored, so I know it's not all for nothing For the most part I'm just a dumb girl An almost always starving artist lost at Bogary's ln the corner, smelling popcorn I walked in at exactly 10:10 PM, but I was admittedly nervous, as stated at the door—it was my third time at the venue, and I had always left feeling just a bit nervous or off, the second time missing my slot completely after hurting to leave Equinox, transit delays and my own lack of a gps causing me to arrive even later than I had planned and defaulting on my slot—which actually relieved me—I had never seen or played on record box, and the last CDJs I had touched were so long ago in the beginning of my DJ journey that it was almost as if I had never played on them at all, most of the clubs and small bars I had played for professionally being synced with Serato. I was unfamiliar enough with even my own music that I wasn't sure what I was playing, it had fixed myself to go, almost obstinately? And decided that if I bombed it would be the perfect excuse to put my FLX-6, which I didn't even outright own, into the pawn shop alongside my drum machine— I had enough moral decency not to sell something I didn't yet own, hooking that I in enough time I would be able to upgrade, sell it, and use the sun to pay off what I still owed—but I had been hungry for months, washing my clothes in the sink and, now that winter was settling in hurriedly, had become almost hopeless in that I would ever secure a job I had almost forgotten that I was a DJ — I danced nervously in the crowed after abandoning my things in the back—my backpack, full of my sweaty gym clothes and shoes, some simple toiletries, and whatever else I was sure I needed—two pairs of headphones— actually even favoring the in ear plugs I had been given by Nick, the drummer who had mysteriously almost ghosted me, and probably would have, had I not left the chord to my flx 6 in the rehearsal space we had been sharing— I had 22 hours on my flash drives, more than enough, but even probably too much— I had attempted to l key the selection before leaving, but between the storage issues on my computer I had practically failed at even synchronizing my library at all— I had destroyed one of my last remaining pairs of headphones, attempting to watch tutorials for the equipment which would be used for the performance— both of the DJs had displayed the shapes of stars in their insignias as it seemed almost purposefully, causing me to storm from my hotel in a fit of rage, throwing my headphones as I once had enraged by the outright lack of actual talent a chosen DJ working for insomniac, or the fakest DJ I had ever seen up to that point, DJ Soda , fed up with the Asian financiers pollution of the dance music industry. By way do promoting talentless Virgo Heaven can wait Wiggle Room The flower shop Kind regards Mood ring Bossa Nova I left with exquisite sensory overload and again a sense of relief—I hadn't played at all, as my files were for some reaosjnincompatible—and I hadn't even in the slightest sense with any recollection of what I had done wrong, besides not having spent hundreds of dollars—which seemed to be the game, and now I only wanted and needed to understand one thing: where would my money come from? It indeed, also is me— A parallelogram, a hypnocurrent, A synchronistic symmetry What's to become of us 12:12 What's to become of us 12:13 +1 always equals the other, Always just one off 11:12 Another hypnotist Ever since it's 43 is 10:11 is 12:13 is just a little Off So pretty I could never touch Yo, What's that like? ‘I thought to myself' I just wanna know. I wanna know your story Well, here I go– It doesn't take long, You know Just stick with the program, Hope some of it sticks at all Don't let the tears fall out, at all Don't let the tears out, no Don't go It is in a different order; A whole different story But it's getting colder on this whole half of the globe It doesn't matter to me, Because it can't And It just happens to be because It is There's nothing left between us but the wind There's nothing left between us but the wind It's been a while since i've been injured this badly My heart is so broken, I wonder if it was ever whole I hadn't quite captured that monster I tend to get jealous Even when it don't make sense I'm not a well woman I'm envious, Ingenious, even Same as it always was Friends with benefits My name is Sami If you ask me I've got business In Manhattan Better run along to make it better, now If I can another random dance Another heart attack, A mild one It goes on for miles and miles Why I had my eyes on I'll never know It's hard at the front lines, You're always on camera I'll never be good enough I'll never be worth it Let it happen Lift the curse up I miss having the nerve just to swallow it all down at once Bury my head in the sand As if anything was random, Rather than calculated If i could rest for a second and take it all in That i might as well say I won't make it It's all up in flames, now Don't be mad It don't matter to me I don't care about love About nothing, and nobody I surely don't care about me See It's all up in flames now And it's kind of unlikely That I'll see you this time round But you know where to find me Or how I don't let any tears down The whole two hours I'm almost proud of it I don't care who she is I'd just rather not be reminded Out of sight Out of mind I've been keeping my eye on But my mind off Round and round, gone Like a fire alarm At least the last time i heard on Talking in shapes But i'd rather not talk at all The whole world is on fire I hate girls, Cause i never was one I only like white light to quench my thirst It's a fire alarm And the black smoke Goes up Now, i don't smile a lot But i talk to God very often, look It's a game of luck, And i've lost some I've lost All ive got I got nothing left Nothing left to want I just want a friend or a plug But i've got to get off some I bought a rocket to mars once I've come back, now Funny story I was sorry, but Now i'm more glorified for it Guess you caught me What a number huh I should call it up A postpartum stutter Never a woman i was Or a girl but a mother of someone Who might have forgotten No, I'm never gonna look like that I'm never gonna be like her I'm never gonna sound alike Like a God I just worship the front lines Figure it out I was never enough for no one Was never a girl But was somehow, instead Born a woman and mother I mortify man with my body How grotesque, To be dead, It is How hazardous, To put this on It's just a show It's just a job Such a number I should just shut up I should wash my hands of obsession But love's just a body I rather admire it Have I done enough Have I done enough yet I've been out of my body, But never like this If you can make me come once You can make me come twice Nevermind, nevermind Of men and mice I've been counting my options And rocks On the wrong ones It's only a dolomite I never promised I wouldn't promise, If i had promised to (What. Ever.) {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©