{WOBBLE BROS.}
It was surreal, I was off the grid and in airplane mode, and completely lost without giving a care
I was so frustrated that I just kept waking.
Just when I started to seriously consider suicide, with the exact timing of my thoughts reaching the logistical point that ‘there was really nothing let in the world for me'— then it appeared right before my eyes; as if it had just sprung up in my path.
I wasn't worried that I was lost, or even panicking in a suicidal spiral, I just thought to myself
“It's really time to go.”
Then, the radio tower, which looked something like a sigil that had been appearing to me over and over. It made no other kind of sense; my phone wasn't connected to the internet, nor was maps installed; my location was off and in lockdown mode, and I knew I had missed the turn for Whole Foods… and just kept walking.
In airplane mode, listening to heavy rock, wondering why I should even try at anything at all when
Suddenly i realized It was a radio station. I didn't know what kind of music, but it didn't matter— I had music in all the genres. And though it was with intense irony that I had pretty much entirely given up on DJing, especially for the moment— here was this, something I just stumbled upon after walking what seemed pretty aimlessly into an almost suicidal frame of mind— not unheard of. My apartment was a hellscape and walking around Brooklyn was not much difference, besides that I was in the noise rather than on top of it. Either way, it was so exact I couldn't tell whether it happened before or at the same time, almost as if the universe's response to my logical needing to just kill muself off before it could get any worse was this thing I had very recently, pretty much entirely meaningfully abandoned. Trying to be a DJ.
Was I trying?
I didn't know. But either way, I had music out and business cards in my pocket, and so here it just must have been where I was walking to, anyway.
At least I got rid of the trackers by confusing them— and myself— by completing a large circle in the opposite direction of the way I was sure I was supposed to be going.
I'm hungry
And I'm lonely
And nobody loves me anyway
I never feel at home
And look
Nobody wants me anyway
My body is a rotting truck
Nobody wants me anyway
I might as well have been a corpse
Nobody wants me anyway
lol
Didn't it have like ham,
And—
— both these cheeses.
Cojita and queso blanco.
With like—
Pinapple, I think—
And like, a kosher dill pickle.
Hence the Dill.
I guess.
It was a really good sandwhich.
Yeah.
Oh well.
When the friend in your head ends,
And just drops dead, so you run in
With the old hog for a laugh and a couple of
Drops of syrup
Water fountain
Now I'm hungry
It's been years
But who the fuck is counting.
We all made bad decisions and choices
Mine was to jump first,
Yours comes with comfort, a petite stature
And a long slovic look with an axe tongue
And a language no one on earth speaks
But those who had what most or none do
And you wonder why I close my eyes and suffer harder in oceans of blondes
Far off looks of lost souls
Eyes of oceans
And no monuments without our fortunes
Wrong, bud.
I put it on a kings Hawaiian roll
One for ever one I've suffered
We have the same deck of cards,
Only mine can talk, son
Look, I wrote you an open socket
Conform to nothing
Nobody loves me, anyway
cause I get hungry
Go be a husband, dope boy
Go be a Carhart, countryman
Go be a store bought doughboy
That ought to solve it
Dropped you on
Stop that
Round the corner
9 holes of golf left
I told you who won that
Round one
What a way to die
What a way to live
What a way to love
King James!
What away to lose.
What away to tie.
What a way to die.
What a way to lie!
King James!
I've got bibles for miles
And eyes on my articles,
Isis on cycles
And Christs in criseses
I put a thorn on your mailbox
Will you promise to prick it?
The finger
I picked it!
The truth was involved
And in blood it was written
The ritual sense,
Pretenses
Pretend this didn't happen
“I didn't”
I swore throat on your mailbox
I promise
I nailed the mailman and ten blondes
Just not to fawn at the thought of ya
Fawn at the thought of you
But oh am I woke on my tired
Regardless
I simple don't write in code
—till I'm inspired.
Woah!
What a lovely scroll you wrote!
King James!
What the fuck made me write that?
Scallions!
There's a million ways to die
And oh,
The toll of having Wolverine
Wrapped around your finger
Aspartame
Had better bitter sanctions
From the tales of old
Histophcles
And obstacles
The Oxford girls?
More tour bus stories,
Blonde hair
Broke
Bloke,
Tits and tits and
Have you written any sentiments
About your post mortem.
Of course.
I even put my will in order
It's obvious they want me dead
And rather than a lover
There simply is no love left!
String her up and cut the torso,
Let the blood fall
And the organs,
And the morbid flesh rot,
Soaking all of her horror stories
Of love and unrequited hypocrisy!
There, there, settle down.
You haven't one yet
I still have an ounce of coke in my pocket
Coke in my pocket
And I can't pronounce the name of my next guest,
The show I'm hosting—
I might as well just sound it ouhhuuuut—
Cold .
Okay, then.
I can have a pilot in a month with just the look of him
Without it on a tub of
Petroleum jelly or whatever jew bargain
I cried so much
I really liked the taste of reddi whip
You know
I guess
I just
Wasn't ready for it
Will and Grady,
Grace and Katie
Now were all watching
Cause they're younger
While we're steady greying
Who are her?!
I'll hire her.
Not so fast,
A laundry list of thoughts
And plummeting stock options
I still love all my loved men
But nobody loves me
So unrequited is the prerequisite for this poet
And so I chose to split open
With my guts, hunting forward into the cut
Knowing, my purple entrails will impale you
And the words I have laid here
I didn't fit the herd mentality
And still was lead to slaughter
Haha,
Charade you are, sir.
I know my love when I'm shadow bonded.
Not now, Matthew,
James and I are talking,
Dear brethren
As brother
And mother and son
And as whore and horror show.
Tell me something, sparrow
Did I throw you off your steep cut oats
It's heavy on the tongue
With whispers that I love you
Mother son and brother
Just around the corner
Bear around the bush again
Just to jack it off, or up
The spare tire's on a doughnut
How god loving
I want the world, my whole throat
Throbbing at the thought of concepts
Lover, lover, lover—
magnet, skip a turn
And call his mother
No one's going home alive
Or any other way,
So I just call the others,
Others
Fathers,
Sons,
And brothers
Ties
And bonds—
A uniformed comfort.
My hopes. In an evolving box.
L E G E N D S
{Enter The Multiverse}
[The Festival Project ™ ]
The Collective Complex ©
COPYRIGHT THE FESTIVAL PROJECT ™ , INC. 2019-2025 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
-nobody, by now.
(-Ū.)
INT. RAVE. DAY-ISH.
CARL COX Answers the Phone.
Oh yes, oh yes?
Tales of a Superstar Dj
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