Happy Birthday, Supacree.

“That's not fair, Dillon Francis”, I thought to myself—the next day was April first, and though I had explicitly tried to forget it was my birthday, 30 years of it being so had become ingrained into my psyche; though I hadn't been able to sleep until around 3 in the morning, I had still gone to be without thinking it, the dread of the looming midnight hour crouching upon my spinal chord, as I angrily skittered about my room—I had been personally offended—I felt I was being so harshly disrespected, having waited a hefty amount of what could have been valuable alone time without my roommate's presence to bother me—and though I had at least once gotten great deal of work done shutting her out with Ableton, i lately hadn't even the slightest energy, a frazzled focus, and an inability to settle into understanding what exactly I would have to do for money to get by in the worlds I was either living in or teetering between, neither of which I could decide—while something in me did indeed feel alive, I still felt the nuisance of death ever present in my daily happenings—still suprised I was in New York City, still suprised I was alive at all, and still hyper aware that I had somehow built this masterful and synchronization chaos somewhere in the limetless expanse of time and space, both utterly also my rapidly expanding and collapsing cosmic creations. April 1st first and foremost had levitated—initially hard to forget, as it had been of course after the last actual birthday I had specifically celebrated—a birthday I still had implicitly vivid memories of, and even the remninces of something which had at first seemed unimportant and vague, but increasingly became—especially up to now—extremely important memories, decoded messages unraveled in the wake of all the meticulously moving parts of the ever endless dues Ex machina, though something or another did seem to be coming to a closing of sorts. It was supposed to be an uneventful and unremarkable day, which meant that I was to do nothing discuss in particular for my birthday at all—however, the remarkable coincidence of sorts that on this day, i had run out of all my protein powder, maca, super greens—and even of course—the only thing that the shelter served that I would eat—the “free bananas”—were gone—of course, I had been taking between 8 and twelve at a time and sometimes even up to 20 at once, having run out of money on my food stamps and having even dwindled down my cash assistance trying to stay afloat, it had strangely become obvious somewhere in my soul that I preferred large amount of time to the small amounts of money I would recurve from working a job I didn't want, and though there were jobs I perhaps did want and liked the idea of working, I hadn't yet to focus to wrap my mind around filling out the applications, which I hated even the thought of—the monotony of low-end job searching had become quite painful enough in fact that it felt wrong. Our birthdays last a year-- Woah--thats awesome--! --and they're miserable. GOD. Happy Birthday, tomorrow I love you today —I love you asleep —I love you awake And when you wake up, the first thing I'll say is Happiest, Happiest Happy Birthday {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -U.