Deep Blue Sea rolls towards being a complete product. “A boom erupted, and he ceased to sip his tankard of Darksky Elixir to see one of the farthest parked trucks erupt into an explosion, bending upwards and shredding pieces backwards and forwards.”
Big Sean’s Dark Sky Paradise cover evokes the end of my teenage efforts where I saw Underbeasts in the foggy car window at night, in the form of their skulls. Claiming I “was going to say I’m the savior of black people” was spite for using the internet-connected age to help people in need and honor the greatest among us. The dominant opinion among whites is “rap music is pointless degeneracy,” while there is a secret tradition of honoring the great meaning of my life. Tumblr women gained a victim complex so they would not have to heed the voices of needy Americans: needy not for food, but for feminine love. Women today still falsely claim the primary help they provide is housekeeping, while my female friends help my horrible soul be cool and manufacture ongoing stories rather than linger in the wreckage of my own mind, perceiving the physical world dimly. Black men can’t fix that problem, but they can remember the wondrous hallucination of The Underrealm in collective subconscious, that gives meaning to their chains and other jewelry so they are not materialistic. They use fifth-dimensional retroactivity to scrawl out the atrocious nightmare of going around with my screaming mother and other deranged family members that frequently felt like mental rape as an insane effort to change me into a person for a conventional career that doesn’t get many eyes on both me and my horrible upbringing which my enemies used against me by disregarding the ability of women (primarily my best friend) to erase that upbringing so I am seen to others as my female friends see me.
Blacks were raised in anticipation of my wondrous interpretation of rap music as with the phrase “the arc of the moral universe is long but bends towards Justice,” a description of the Rings rotating reality. A “crib” is slang that combines the home of a popular rapper with a fan in poverty that has a lot of potential, fifth-dimensional superposition that inspired Homestuck’s swap mechanics. “If you love yourself you’ll never be alone” wished me well on my journey in isolation developing distinct personalities and sides for parts of my person. “Trading stories with Jim Carrey” is a glimpse of paradise to my child self, later leading to his role in Sonic I envisioned as his ultimate form, through the eyes of Dave Strider. When I disconnected from ipgd one of her followers claimed “imagine how much can be accomplished by just one man,” leading to Dark Sky Paradise a year later in an infamous time for Homestuck. Rappers personally consoled me, transmitting the love of family members to me that shows the reality of being an angel. Thus is how I spent my time listening to rap music alone.
Much like Christopher Columbus, my effort to expand the dimensions of the world seemed “stupid” until it becomes seen how projects flow around supporting my genius to build things in the arts and elsewhere. Provoking accelerated rage from those who reject Catholic faith and its mysteries, who fail to understand that the path I chose had no defense beyond my belief that I was proceeding towards my accomplishments I do in my spiritual visions, a branch of faith in God. If they were truly justified to be upset, why didn’t they help me rebuild my life? If the mere fact that Homestuck relies on me wasn’t so enormous to them, some of the queer asshole women would have put it together that I was paralyzed by leaving ipgd’s community, just as I show the discussions about my brand taking place around batty and others, which is easy for me to monitor because it’s easy to engage with female things… and so queer females just lied, and their lies catch up to them…
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