Survive. Not much grows north of the Arctic Circle, except dreams and psychosis. Born to an Alaskan drug house protected by a pet wolf, Zillion nurtured both. It’s the classic call to all who destroy or create. Tell your story or your story tells you. Zillion learned to surf his avalanche, to climb out of the belly of the whale, and turned his dirt into fertilizer to grow something that only blooms in the face of darkness. Trauma frames existence. This awakening birthed a dark genre-less musical journey that explores the pliability of the human mind, the ringmasters we espouse as gods, the fragility of innocence and beauty, and the polarity of our emotions and the distortions they illuminate. It spawned a show, as if Cirque Du Soleil hired Andre Leon Talley and David Lynch as co-artistic directors. Zillion redefines live theater as Alive Theater. Sight, sound, smell, touch, and a story that pollutes your soul, dropkicks your gut, and highjacks your imagination, altering you forever. Chaos chases nothingness. Zillion is a puzzle to solve, a magic trick to be revealed, a doorway into a mad world that defiantly makes more sense than the one we live in. It’s a preying canid on stage, stalking us like our DNA, haunting us in our hometowns, possessing us through the people we love. If all the world’s broken toys made a community, Zillion would be their playground. Walls become doors.