‘A Beautiful Lie’ (Ugly)

‘Good girl.' It would be my first deck of tarot cards since leaving Mexico, and though it would take longer than I would have wanted, the yoga mat would nearly complete my in-home fitness essentials. The Peleton bike would be delivered mid-week, and although I owed another $120 upon activation, it didn't seem to matter, as I could delay its activation by another month and begin budgeting its monlthy rental fee at the beginning of the year. At top of my list of actual priorities, were my college application fees, and of course— though it seemed foolish to dwindle down everything I had been saving into almost nothingness, it was better now to consider my purchases that had been weighing down my processes than later; I still owed an album by the end of year when I would lose my distribution service subscription, and, I was nearly a month behind the release of I Love New York and yet still with no music videos to show, I thought to tackle the worst of the bunch just from my phone, but I hadn't the focus really— the most withdrawn I became from people around, the better I felt; the cleaner my apartment was, and the more energy I had to run, though it still felt as though I was being attacked at both sides—from people placed outside on motorcycles, or from inside, the door slamming gangstalkers, the simple solution it had only seemed was to move the treadmill, and after realizing that no longer fully aligned with the door while lounging on my couch, simply moving things around my apartment would give me an upward advantage. The neighbor girl seemed all too eager to come inside my apartment, and had tried on multiple occasions, and while I planned to eventually invite her over to share a meal to make face, I would be remodeling and rearranging first—I didn't feel comfortable with her knowing what I had or didn't have, or the way my apartment was situated; it seemed everyone within the building actually was part of some joint effort, and to this affect I could no longer trust others with any of my sensitive business. It was too fragile, and too much of a risk just to be open and honest about myself, or my intentions with the world— not that I had too many intentions at all, but the ones I did have could be easily persuaded into dissalusion by the perception that I was going to fail—just as I thought that it was obsurd anyone should be entitled to millions of dollars for seducing their married boss—there was little chance she felt at all that my career was going to be taking off in any upward direction. Still, there seemed to be some kind of benefit to having an eye and ear witness to the motorcycles that had been wreaking havoc over the last year—not only was the noise unsuable and unacceptable, but the tremor I had started to develop in my left hand began to make me irate at the thought that these evil creatures had given me enough anxiety to rewrite the parts of my brain in command of my body. These evil ugly little creatures were just annoying, they were making me disastrously ill. My stomach boiled with anger and hatred for this evil—and I although I knew that in time the perpetrators of these crimes would be punished for the harm they had inflicted in much crueler ways and wish harsher punishment by none other than the natural karmic justic, I still had grown beyond awe that the simply put evil and greed of man could force itself upon the innocent with such intrusion and invasive petulance; as if mankind of humankind had not evolved at all and that these roach like pest creatures were no better than the animals they insulated—or the sickened ,drugged, and weak ones they ate. Not that I blamed the dysfunction entirely on the consumption of animal product, however— the bizzare fact was that the content unrest was due to the sickness and nature of weak minded men with lack of moral or spirit— the nose simply was not normal in this neighborhood, in fact, it was an abrupt force, more obvious as it was observed, controlled entirely by the forces of evil. I knew that the world could not go on in such a way that it was that this could be forever, and infact— as the prices started to skyrocket, monthly subscriptions changing and the surges of inflation I had studied since Election Day itself, I had accumulated with logic the prediction of an oncoming economic crisis which might even exceed the 2008 recession, and even likely mirror the effects of the pandemic, with businesses shutting down once more— and the world at a standstill, in order for the government to attempt to reclaim some of what it had lost in forgaging the dynamics of the election itself. It was indeed a multibillion dollar effort to allow the organized “migration” of millions of ‘undocumented' people into the United States; this was no simple act of mass migration, but a strategic war machine. Now, in the coming days and weeks I had noticed in the corporate world steep price hikes, and had been bombarded even more ferociously by my own debt collectors—something in the economic world was changing rapidly since Election Day specifically, as if the business operators and corporations of the United States had insider information that times were changing; even I had changed my direction entirely. I no longer focused outward on music, but inward; the music scene was stagnant and cyclical, same old, same old. They had sold us all out to the money game and the truth of it was, the most beautiful artists in the world were often lacking in material and worldly connections—that the purest of art was most commonly going overlooked, or furthermore—absolutely invisible. I looked forward to making more music, because I had finally realized—that it couldn't matter. Now I could focus on the types of sounds I had dreamed about and flowed into my head as often as the weak men on motorcycles could not intercept. I knew that these weak men were controlled by even weaker men, and that their only power was to contstrict the art, and the light, and the beauty, and the love that they could not ever know, or make themselves—and so chose to take from others. The true imbalance in the world began to become clear in that some amongst those who walk the earth are simply not born with the ability to ‘do' or ‘create'— to see or to plan on their own; instead, and rather awful, is the innate fact, as simple as it is, is that most humans needed to be told at every waking moment what to do and why, and not only this—but how. With all the capability in the world to access this conciousness, but no will and desire, this type of human becomes malleable—able to be controlled, created, and structured to the desires of another without any second thought as to assimilate a better world for himself, or for the others around him. Nothing can hurt me; I have a treadmill You can say what you want but I just keep running. I'm all out of food, cream of wheat and oatmeal. If you're all out or love, then you'd better keep calling her. STEFON NEW YORK'S HOTTEST UNDERGROUND CLUB IS T A I N T Did they already do ‘taint' Was taint even a word back then! It's always been a thing. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©