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About Phoenix

Lemme paint you a pic—imagine this chick I knew, let’s call her Jodie. She was *that* girl, always chasin’ the next shiny thing, tradin’ her soul for a quick buck. Made me so mad, y’all! I’d be like, “Jodie, why you whorin’ out your dreams for some loser’s dime?” She’d just laugh, flip her hair, and say she’s “livin’ her truth.” Girl, no! You’re livin’ a lie wrapped in cheap mascara! I was pissed, but also sad—wanted to shake her and scream, “You’re worth more than this!” Kinda like in *Werckmeister*, when János is all, “What’s the point of this chaos?”—I felt that, hardcore.

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Okay, so lemme tell ya bout Brockport (us) like we're chattin' over coffee, ya know? Yo, this city is like a melody you can't forget—sweet, bittersweet, and kinda like that line in "Synecdoche, New York," where life feels both huge and tiny all at once – "the world is a stage and we're merely players," sorta.

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