2013: Diamond Black Hearted Boy - zᵉʳº

“I dunno. They said something about Mexico and went out the front door.”

No matter what, it all sounds like nonsense. And you cannot eliminate. There is no practice to whatever you wanna prefect. Like a vampire. Jay-zᵉʳº. Some days it feels enough like I work in a digital world; I would honestly prefer to live in the first Beta of Asheron’s Call from here to eternity because of scars and dreams. I don’t even have zᵉʳº by Diamond Black Hearted Boy saved on any drives of mine, but it’s free and I know where to find it:

“Yes, he put the top down almost immediately, thank you.”

I remiss this time that remains constantly tremulous at TMT, infinite. In opinion. Yo, but ya boii still stayin’ healthy, tho — aight, come-thru! Like steamed cabbage and bok choi: you just smelled my fart. Like, I’m straight-up nothing to you. Stop reading. I understand your disinterest in these prose [pause]. The way Scientology is wild on them soul-surfer vibes. We’re all literally broken and still remembering how to speak the correctly words that make cents.

“The skyline out this bitch ain’t memorable, but Ima mention it anyway.”

It’s not that you ever literally mattered. I don’t expect you. Nobody expects you. Not anymore, you know. Something aloop. A pattern. Against a grain. And never enough space. I don’t even fucking know what you know, you, don’t know, like. Expectations. That one time Diamond Black Hearted Boy was a million different people into a singularly harmonized patter. Patter and no rhythm section at all. Fuck your movement to this, but zᵉʳº is orbital.

“We passed the pyramids and shit, and then nobody done-seen it because of been-had Pokémon, c’mon!”

Existence, LOL!! The emoji that has *heart attack* an’ then some *squelched-screaming* in a frown-face astrological pattern. We always knew, which is the inherent selfishness. I ain’t got it, though, b. Soul sliding in the past tense. Nobody ever done like you, so it’s not even real for you too. The body Diamond Black Hearted Boy once had that still remains, a body immersed. Anxiety of control. Flick of zᵉʳº. Running down your leg without a thought. Oculus Rift text messaging.

“A glance drags across the sunset, shimmering some familiar glisten mad-striking your pupils, enraged with endurance. “

Thousands of trillions existences away. Do not dare reference primate. Or chips. How many potatoes in a $3.49 bag of Lays Original, b? Let’s be light-hearted about this, b, cuz. Family reunion is right around the corner an’ my leg still be dripping rn, b. Been done the “b” so it’s over. zᵉʳº. Healed inside and frozen to the stone of Diamond Black Hearted Boy. Hope. Pray.

“Like a dwarf dying and distant, a spark hits the night sky for a few seconds, somewhat impervious to the universal effect.”


There’s a lot of good music out there, and it’s not all being released this year. With DeLorean, we aim to rediscover overlooked artists and genres, to listen to music historically and contextually, to underscore the fluidity of music. While we will cover reissues here, our focus will be on music that’s not being pushed by a PR firm.

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