Djinn and Juice

JACÓ, COSTA RICA.
Zip code straight 666.
My phone zigzagging like an EDC light show now autocorrecting "help me" to "involuntary soul surrender."

"We live in an insane realm. Madness is the norm and logic the enemy."
— Jonny Nevermind

Yo… I don't know how long I been glued to this dirty-ass curb, ass cheeks soaked like I pissed myself in the rain, straight simping hard for a crackhead I fell madly in love with like she the baddest trap baddie alive. Three teeth left in her grill, calling me "Sweet cheeks" and laying all up on me, while the janitor across the street sips slow from his thermos like I'm his prime-time hood reality show with extra butter popcorn. Bro nodding like "yep, this nigga cooked and seasoned, on God."

I need to get the fuck out of here, fam. Bad. Like right now, no cap.

The beach was supposed to be lit. Maria and them hookers was supposed to be glorious conquests to pen on my legacy resume. One last wild hurrah for this aging party legend who used to turn up harder than a Friday night cypher. Next thing I know they roofied me with that Devil's Breath — straight scopolamine, same devil-plant shit Epstein was farming like premium side-hustle candy. One second I'm chasing ass and vibes, next second the veil get snatched clean off and I'm sliding between this fake-ass world and some astral back-alley where the real bosses play dice with your whole bloodline like loose change from the corner store.

Something got in me and fried my circuits like Popeyes extra crispy. Deadass can't tell what's real. Seen demon-faced cops, voices using my mama's words to roast me, my own dead self walking around with a better haircut than me, whole bar turning into everybody who ever wanted me dead. My head spinning like a broke washing machine. Soul leaking out my ears like cheap lean. Can't even find my hotel room, fam!

I need to get out of here.
I need to get out of here.
I need to get out of here.

But every time I try to stand, this curb got hands like it tryna hold me for ransom. Crackhead smiling like we 'bout to make a baby and name it Pookie. Janitor sipping, side-eyeing quiet like he watching a wildlife documentary. But he can't see what's sitting next to me while I'm taking a pull from her pint, and he can't see the other thing that's sitting next to her. We've never been alone and we damn sure ain't the ones who been navigating.

If you reading this… there's probably one next to you too, trying to steer you away from reading this.

Nothing more terrifying than the mundane once you see it.
And the scariest part? Realizing you ain't been the one driving your avatar your whole damn life.

■ AMAZON BANNED THIS BOOK.
Too raw. Too real. Violates their "don't wake the livestock" policy.

This the uncut field report from the curb. Think Kubrick's Eyes Wide Shut — the director's cut they buried with him — filtered through the unsettling horror comedy of Curry Barker's Obsession. Except this ain't fiction and it ain't staying in the theater afterwards. I lived it. And just like me, it's gonna follow you the rest of your life. You're welcome.