[Limited Edition Snickers] (Throwback 11/27/22)

Whenever I google or Wiipedia someone, the first thing I look at i the introductory sentence: I'm only looking for one word: Is– or was; as in: “Are you dead, or alive?” As in, Am I just creeping on you in your waking days, for whatever reason– “Is”-- or, “was”; has the ghost of your remaining consciousness found your way into my subconscious post-mortem for some disastrous, usually terrifying coincidence that I need to know; “waa a” or “was an” usually indicates some kind of eerily relevant dysfunction, circumstance, or synchronicity I just happened to channel out of the blue. “The Dead Never Rest!” Do you really need me for seven days? Can you handle ir? No, probably not. “Can you afford $100” t, probably nor. No proper fast begins with a bag of potato chips, and therefore I had to eat; I would probably be reeling by the end of it–but there was no room for error here. Mark my misjudgement, but there had to have been something pulling me away from Los Angeles as there was pushing me out–and although the calling felt like music, it might have been something else entirely. Still, I was so heavily committed to Equinox and The Festival Project that nothing else seemed to matter; I certainly had nothing to lose but weight; no family and no promising opportunities in LA, not that I had entirely tried to make any–and I was completely out of patience for the illusion that there was anything for me in the city in its current state or in my class, or race, except for moral degradation, mental decay, and physical misuse of my own vessel for anything besides the purpose of literal corporate slavery and contribution to the immoral inequality of the systems in place. Los Angeles and the entirety of The United States had made an example of many-thousands of people living in the streets as an example of what happens when one has chosen not to comply; a compliance my own body willfully became incapable of cooperating with any longer, as my physical and mental exhaustion overwhelmed any patience I had to stay in a dead-end, low-wage, dishonorable position–and though I was wholeheartedly grateful from what I had learned with my time at The Smokeshop, the same heart took the plunge into the great unknown; an attempt at freedom even I had not foresaw. However, what I had foreseen, Once Upon An Audiotistic, was my own self sprawled across the streets of Skid Row; a terrible and nightmarish fate I fought desperately to never see, think, or, feel again– and though, again, with the same heart I felt so deeply and truly a love for my own country, and my own city of Los Angeles, which I had grown from and with–the blatant White Supremacy, Racism, Classism, and all out inhumane and immoral allowance of the human racea ss represented through the United States Homeless, Housing, and Mental Health crisis was enough to scare me straight and running towards nowhere–but somewhere, anyway, that I understood there to be less chances of me ending up destitute, dirty, hopeless, homeless, and sleeping in a puddle of my own piss on a train, bus, or out in the cold, hard streets of the beautifu city of angeles, zombies, and broken dreams. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -U.