Followers

I bought some special, new equipment for this trip. Bengie gave it to me at the airport. A new tripod-selfie stick special kind of attachment. ‘This will help you’ he promised. I travelled wearing streetwear by Shinsuke Takizawa and Coach sunglasses. Bengie said there is too much content of me sitting on planes, wrinkling my nose over plane meals, bopping to J-Pop. So I don't film anything inside the plane. Just some clouds. And the wing. Through the window.
On the first morning, my phone woke me in the hotel with digital songbirds. And I went to the little convenience store and filmed myself buying the drink that my main sponsor makes. It comes in four fruity flavours and gives the body power while centring the mind. And then, after that, I filmed myself down on the beach squealing with delight when the waves came rushing in, threatening to wet my limited addition white Onitsuka Tiger’s. Which would have been a disaster. There was a great deal of plastic pollution in the water and on the beach. I filmed the washed-up plastic and made a sad face. In the sand. With a stick. This will show my followers that I am unhappy about plastic. And even at that early hour, there were semi-naked Europeans in the background of my footage. These people had bodies that were not ideal for public display. Too much hair. The sun was getting very hot so I went to Starbucks and ordered an iced Americano with cream. (My dream was to get Starbucks as another sponsor). Later, I make a funny video of me eating a crab dish with noodles in a recommended restaurant. And I took footage of some Engish football hooligans terrorising people in a loud tourist bar. All were singing Oasis songs very loudly. And then I took more footage of me walking around inside a sad market. Sad because it was full of knockoff merchandise. And even though these handbags were perfect replicas down to the last stitch they were not the real thing. Which made me sad. Then I shot more footage of me sitting in the lobby of my cool hotel looking at the hexagonally shaped pool, listening to a J-Pop band I only pretended to like. And then finally, after my long day, I uploaded all the footage to the cloud so that Bengie could edit and post it. My followers have a large appetite for new content so I must be productive. Everyday. And that night I filmed myself sleeping with the automatic timer on. And I reviewed the footage the following morning. And at first, it was very beautiful to see my face at rest. But then my eyelids began to flicker and I began to cry out in a way that was not very pretty. And then, sadly, I roll out of shot and filmed 5.5 hours of an empty, indented pillow. And the dream I had that night made me very nervous although I didn’t remember what it was about. Only that it left me feeling sad and unhappy.

The next morning I walked around the hotel filming myself with the new self-stick but it was very boring footage so I trashed it. Which is sad. And frustrating. Because my footage is supposed to be bright and cheerful. After the complimentary breakfast, I went back to the beach and shot myself pointing and laughing at some seagulls. And then sitting next to a handsome foreigner who looked like Chris Hemsworth. God of Thunder, Thor from the action-superhero movies. And I put on my trademark paper mask. 'Famously incognito' is my brand twist. As developed by Bengie. And after that, in the hot afternoon, I checked on my main rival Ms Peacock. On her Instagram account. On her number of followers. And I could see that, once again, her followers exceeded my followers and I was unhappy. So very unhappy. And angry. But I make a video of me roaming the streets looking happy and curious and a little bit crazy. But really I was thinking about Ms Peacock’s growing popularity. And her growing list of major sponsors. And the dream I had last night that had soured this beautiful day with its aftertaste. And as contractually obliged, I bought my sponsor's drink and consumed it in a colourful and lively location. In front of some cool antiglobalisation graffiti. That had been done by a famous German graffiti artist. In the lobby of a Luxury American hotel. That was now owned by a Chinese billionaire. I hit the record button and I drank my drink (dragon fruit and blueberry....I think all the Gingko Biloba, Guarana and caffeine in my super drink was making me a little extra crazy today). Then, after taking care of my contractual expectations, I posted a photo of the lead singer of my favourite band (not really), the image frame crowded with cartoon love hearts and other emojis. And then I took footage of some local people flying past on loud mopeds. All clinging to each other. No crash helmets for the children. In the mists of their busy lives. Hurry, hurry, hurry! Good footage for Bengie to use for cutaways and local colour. And then I got stuck in the hotel elevator which is mirror lined and I could see myself repeated in four directions. Forever and ever. A cold echo down into nothing. Infinity and beyond! I make a quick video of this nervous event. And I am lucky because I captured the moment when the hotel people pried open the door and rescued me from my mirrored lined coffin box. And later on, after I start to crash from the elevator drama and the Dragon Blueberry drinking wearing off, I chillaxed by the pool which is only 1.5 metres deep and surrounded by cheerful landscaping. All plants have been made symmetrical and uniform as if cut by a giant nail clipper. And European and Australian hotel guests drink and laugh and burn, burn, burn in the sun. And I fall asleep on my lounge chair and re-enter my dream. Which is an unhappy place. A place that exists inside me. Like a glass-lined elevator. Going down forever. Like a battlefield. Full of terrible 18th-century blood spurting violence. And I feel my heart beating in my chest. A drum. A thousand drums. And the sky is as red as the blood in the mud. Swords are clashing. As I hack and slash. Gouge and stab. And fight against an army of my enemy's 90,000 followers.