NUTZ!

It had become obvious that I was being used as some type of experiment— the motors, honking horns, and engines all being used to strategically shift my thinking, deteriorate my moods, and provoke my anxiety. My placement in this apartment had been for a specific reason—using my synethesia against me, the feds could do literally whatever they wanted with my mind and body, and they were attempting to create an angry and hostile, militant and obedient done like the rest of them——and though I was getting stronger and more immune to the various experimental tortures they had planted in my environment, I was always 10 steps ahead, and knowing that while some of myechanisms had become startlingly predictable, even to me— that something in me was always 10 steps ahead or more. That certainly, and at will, my doing something—anything at all— terribly unexpected would derail and confuse these people—most likely federal military personnel or some sort of special forces—within the understanding that people with my intrinsic abilities could not only become a threat— but used as a weapon; I wasn't being paid, and had already been without a home so long that it didn't seem to matter regardless—knowing that my circumstances shouldn't permit that I should become subject to such cruelties, taking the high road was in being determined to deliberately sabotage any attempt at further penetrating my privacy and peace— which more often than not meant, that if I knew I was being listened to— making sure something would be heard that would confuse or annoy whoever was listening— that, if I was being followed, getting lost on purpose would ensure that whoever followed had no idea of my actual intended destination—and, that if I was being baited or trapped, to as often as possible fall into the trap, allowing them to feel as if I had been entirely figured out, however—the more I realized these things happening, the more dismissive I became, the more secretive of my own actual reservations and solutions, and the more discreetly I kept what was well known hidden, within myself or elsewhere—and though inclusion and diversity had become a popularized puppet show of sorts, creating the illusion of acceptance within the masses, I knew overall to the powers-that-be, the keepers of the keys, the guard era of the gates, and those that determined value in our society, that I was still just another ugly nigger, with too much brains to know better than to just accept the mediocrity and subservience that the regime had crafted for us. —Death of a Superstar DJ. Four kings have I And none is he Who waits at my demise For every beckoned call To wish My fair stands strained with time; I am the one who waits For wickedness upon the door And offers her or him A kindness As to part ways once, But ne'er twice For death, I had won All of my attempts to get a regular job had been derailed—destroyed, sabotaged. My money and environment had become scricy controlled— and the only money I had, I soon realized, were to be used on products intended soully with the literal purpose to be washed down the drain.i no longer beckoned for fame or to be cherished— now, simply, I wanted almost nothing more than to be left alone, and without a way to travel somewhere peaceful, the madness of New York City sank into my gut and began to create a monster that I knew If let unleashed, would destroy not only my life, but everything around it—and maybe that was the point— I was simply not allowed to have a happy life, for whatever reason— and these mind games and torture strategies would continue until somehow, I would meet my end. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2024 | THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. © ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -Ū.