Friday, 16 March 2018

The Arrival Of CommonplaceStellar

The sun'll come out 
Bet your bottom dollar 
That tomorrow 
There'll be sun
Just thinkin' about 
Clears away the cobwebs, 
And the sorrow 
'Til there's none
When I'm stuck with a day 
That's gray, 
And lonely, 
I just stick out my chin 
And Grin, 
And Say, 
The sun'll come out 
So ya gotta hang on 
'Til tomorrow 
Come what may 
Tomorrow, tomorrow
I love ya tomorrow
You're always 
A day 
When I'm stuck with a day 
That's gray, 
And lonely, 
I just stick out my chin 
And Grin, 
And Say, 
The sun'll come out 
So ya gotta hang on 
'Til tomorrow 
Come what may 
Tomorrow, tomorrow
I love ya tomorrow
You're always 
A day 
Tomorrow, tomorrow
I love ya tomorrow
You're always 
A day 

Believe, BabyGirl.

Nothin’ wrong with hummin’.

My conceit is divine.


Pennywise (Willy Wonka remix)

Not programmed.
Not sequenced.

Even the programs were composed.
Even with sequencing.

These compositions, however, are equally as intense.
The presentation makes them less friendly.

Honor meets Common.

As uneasy as Black people make me feel nevertheless, I have too much love in my heart to be thoroughly racist.

The God of Speed hates race?


Those who’ve heard my new style dig it.
And if they don’t, I love it.

As mentioned before, my new style is a refined 2013 style, which is a sarcastic 2006 style.
Give or take a few enhancements.

I’m going to spend today doing some reading.

This cup of coffee is making my morning merry.

My conceit is divine.


A dry spell

Yeah, you wish...

The Pink Lavalamp arrives on vinyl in a matter of days.
Admin are giving some good reports.
Thank you for your support.

I have a few more projects to finish before #NextSeason is complete.
Still, this year is ill.

Yet there remains a void.

I can’t tell if it’s romantic love.
I’m not sure if its creative.
I just feel... something missing.

Longing for something.

With my luck, this is a precursor to swagger unseen by oneself.

I’ll just make music about it.

Good morning.
Could return later.

My conceit is divine.


Wednesday, 14 March 2018

Trial and Triumph

Please don’t rape my daughter.
My heart is already numb and broken.
I never want her to feel what I feel everyday.

I don’t want to be the cause of her disappointment.
I don’t want to be so heartbroken my rage causes an implosion I can’t bounce back from.

Being who I am makes anyone related to me a target.
Part of the reason I didn’t say anything about who I am to my family.
Then I tried to start one.
Their mother may try to hide their existence, but paternal instinct can be just as strong as maternal.

So please.
Be the village to raise the child.

Such is said, factoring in my craftsmanship.

And even with that said, I haven’t hurt a sole with my magick.

Magick comes with karma.

All I’m doing is defining and redefining my self-defense.

The definition of genius is no longer with us.
Stephen Hawking has made compelling arguments about our existence.
He even scientifically and mathematically justified the concept of *wondering* with his contextual challenge of God’s existence.
Yet even with all his brilliance, he admitted to what he didn’t know.
Despite all he shared.

The definition of an MC (microphone controller) is no longer with us.
Craig Mack is a founding member of one of, if not THE most dominant Black-owned record companies of the ‘90s.
Probably ever.
He may have had a quirky delivery, but his verses are still regarded as definitely aggressive.
And he dealt with betrayal from some of the same people I’ve dealt with over the span of 10 years.

The challenges a genius face only prove they are worth more than they allow themselves to believe.
The brain is a muscle.
However you decide to flex it is what determines the company you keep.
And if you end up Hulk Hogan, you invite Kevin Sullivan and the Legion of Doom.

Still, lift weights and run miles.

It just sucks that “the powers that be” use carnal weapons to defend their throne.

This is why you can’t put your 8-ball in the side pocket.

Black Music, White Collar Science, your wooden horse has ridden into a radiated black hole.

You are right for loving them.
You will be right for missing them.

They may have left, but they are in the middle of their respected crafts.

Rest In Peace.

Good morning.

One, by the way.

My conceit is divine.


Tuesday, 13 March 2018

#Season’s greetings

There’s an old church story....

A high school had a talent contest.
Kids sang, danced and played instruments.
This one young man had the courage to sing The Lord’s Prayer.
He sang it with style and grace.
Got a loud applause from everyone.
After he sang, his music teacher, an older Black woman, walked onstage and said, “Now you ain’t just gon come up here and sing The Lord’s Prayer and not turn it out! Let me show you something!”

And she sang The Lord’s Prayer.
With grit and might.

She got a standing ovation.

As the ovation died down, the old janitor of the school walked onstage.

Said nothing.

Walked to the microphone and sang The Lord’s Prayer.

And walked off.

No one applauded.

But everyone had tears in their eyes.

I’ve been emailing #NextSeason’s playbook to a few people.
They’ve all been saying ing the same thing.
No club bangers, nothing with commercial appeal.

But they’ve been reacting to me differently.

With all of what I’m going through, I don’t want anyone to hear my new music.
I got what I need, and need more.
I don’t have what I want, and that’s not up to me.

Yes, there’s the rerelease of The Pink Lavalamp (on vinyl).
But after that, it’s back to reality.

This year already has been full of loses.
Extortion, emotionally and financially.

I have to care about the pain of people who’ve inflicted worse on me, after worse pain was inflicted, AFTER worse pain was inflicted, AFTER THE WORSE KIND OF PAIN.

“I just want you to win.”



Because I’m still signed, I can’t get a job.
Because I’m not “buzzing”, I can’t get work.
Because of my “mental health”, I can’t really go anywhere.

Yet people want me to perform live, produce for them and help them get “on”.

And if I don’t, I face further humiliation via being put in freedom/health risking situations.

No goons, no guns.

Just my talent and my bare hands.

“Why don’t you hook back up with DJ Skee?!”

It costs money.


It’s free for you and free to do, but all I hear is “change your clothes! You look dirty!”

I’m wearing a uniform.

Those concerned about style and finances are brainwashed.

Andrew WK, ODB and Yanni describe where I’m at aesthetically, professionally and creatively.
Truly an acquired taste, but the epitome of excellence and individuality.

As much as I grow musically, I’m still told to go back to a certain style.
I’ve heard, “go back to New York Raining style!”
Like... I was grown on that song, and that’s not even where I’m at.
I know.
The “piano-and-rappin’” thing.
I’m thankful for the (social) success of that song, but I didn’t really make too much money from it.

Rita, on the other hand, got endorsements.

Still, I remain true to myself.

And only grow.

If the growth is more of a descent than a rise, pardon you.

I guess because there is something making everyone unhappy (🤷🏾‍♂️), no one wants to see me feel better about myself.

I didn’t do it.
I jut speak on what I know.
With no conditions.

Craig Mack lives on.
Easy Mo Bee reigns supreme.

I’m a musician.
Trying to be THEEEEE musician.

All I can say for now.


“All cried out...”

My conceit is divine.


Monday, 12 March 2018

The crane of sustain

I am on my path.
The mic documents my walk.
My blog documents my talk.
My production documents my thoughts (among other things).
I engineer time capsules.

I master like Abraham Lincoln.

I am aware of the current “climate” of hip-hop and the world at large.
With it being what it is, I should be able to be more creative.
But no.
For every Jhene there’s a Cardi.

With all due respect to both.

My point is, I have to defend my honor from males who aren’t capable of understanding ANYTHING.
Because of their decision.

“To fit in, I get brainwashed with you...”

I’m getting tired of niggas wanting me to “go back to” whatever style they liked.
I grew.

At the same time, I had a conversation with someone important to me.
From what they’ve been hearing, all I talk about is homophobia, rachit hoes, drugs and evil.

I wouldn’t want my daughter listening to Tyga or Kid Ink.
As intelligent as I am proud to say I am, I can be more expressive.
Yet, my more expressive work gets called trash.

I also know what I’m doing and saying in my music. 
At all times.
Upon explaining any of my bars, you face death or I face worship.

Nothing new.

I am everything but the girl.
So miss me.

I can but won’t complain.

Bill Gothsby, nigga.

My conceit is divine.


Saturday, 10 March 2018

Okay, I’ll wait. So...

The sun dial has stopped.
Hour glass sands throughout the galaxy are frozen in one position, and refuse to be turned over.
Camels are indulging.
Scorpions are smiling.
The sphinxes are looking each other in the eyes.

Still, there is projected doubt, skepticism and “clique-ish” hazing of the misunderstood.

Nothing new.

The recent online attacks on my financial status don’t phase me, because it’s true.
Despite the unspoken circumstances proving otherwise.
I’d love to be able to pay my rent until my lease is up.
Especially through the sale of my music.

Alas, I chose musical mastery over financial freedom.

Egyptian kings and queens died with their wealth in their tomb.
But wherever they ended up in the afterlife, their riches weren’t there.

What I am keeping will come with me.
In any lifetime.
As long as I keep them, and keep them pure.

Inner wealth can never be taxed.
Only multiplied.

As insecure as I am about my new music/style (a particular phrase, hidden), I am proud of and feel good about it.

Thank you, Merlin.

I reached the checkpoint before facing Robotnik, with no rings.
Skill and determination is all I have.
Tails is around, but if I lose, he’ll still be in the game.
And if I lose too many times, the option of resurrection is up to the gamer.
Upon the decision to give me another chance, he’ll fly by.
Motivating me to get up and try again.

Under the command of a stranger.

Sonic vs. Robotnik
David vs. Goliath

I found something no one can give me.
Something I cannot buy.
Something I’m not willing to share.

Music understands.
And the love we make results in beautiful offspring.

They spend their years in single digits misunderstood.
Then they blossom.
Yet the pain from the “clique-ish” hazing remains.

The bitterness leads to pariah.

The growth continues.

Eventually, the hazers see the worth of my offspring and want to spend time with them.

At that very moment, the beauty and grace of mommy, the compassion and care of daddy and the unwavering force of love will enable them to appreciate themselves.

And they will never be played again.

Only admired.

I love my orchestra.

The rerelease of The Pink Lavalamp.
On vinyl.

My promiscuity is sacred.


Tuesday, 6 March 2018

7-13th, in 3-5 notes

A few steps here and there.

(piano talk)

Upon morning, we awaken to Groundhog Day.

The same scenario, “with or without a deal”.

I’ve explained repeatedly that all my music is mixed.
Then there are complaints that there “aren’t enough visuals.”
Then the complaints of me not writing.

I remember when the complaint was about my singing.

Caged birds said not a word.
Both in my favor and to my detriment.

As I stated in earlier posts, I have PLENTY of new music.
As well as the rerelease of The Pink Lavalamp.
On vinyl.

I’m being asked questions like, “Why are you selling the album now instead of when you were signed?”
I’ve explained why The Pink Lavalamp didn’t go retail in 2008, several times over the years.
I’m humbled many would have bought it, but it was a matter of artistic integrity.

🙄, I know.

To some extent, the pressure I’m under from wondering/wandering -Chasers is a compliment.
They want me to have the pop appeal of Drake, the consistency of Ross and the dominance of Jay.
So thank you.
I’m simply a -tagonist of being yourself.

I’ve already addressed the now-viral video.
I’m probably gonna have to talk about it in any interviews I do.
I’m already not a fan of the online publication that first posted it/about it.

It’s disgusting what some people will do in the name of sensationalism.

Alas, I have a new means of expression!
Certainly this will further alienate me from the in-crowd and those who wish to be down with the in-crowd.
Regardless, I’m passed where I’m expected to be and headed to where I can.

With regards to the rumors of relapsing and living in poverty, there are no public accounts of me being reckless due to chemical induction.
What you saw was a private home session being videotaped by someone who, for lack of better words, needed me.
My lifestyle is conducive for MY living and comfort.

I’ve watched anime.
Hardcore anime.
It’s called Japanamation, but it’s been Americanized.
Started with the Mortal Kombat anime on USA in the late 90s.

Point is, the culture I represent is TIMELESS.
It’s not a matter of following trends or showing off the materialistic wealth following/setting trends can bring.

The matter is evolution.

I put in my work.
And even in wartime, I enlightened.
You deny, you’re denied.

More to say as the day goes forth.

My promiscuity is sacred.


Friday, 2 March 2018

Tumor 4 The Tummy

My 6th grade teacher (Ms. Lati) said something profound about her methods of discipline.

"See, I'm not with the whole write-a-sentence-200-times. I'll have you do something cruel like... write the same word 10,000 times!"

No one else laughed, but I did.
I got it.
I get it.

Discipline is no joke.
And the sooner you apply it, the quicker the pressure is to "bug out".

Despite what I know about music, I tolerate ignorance and the temptation to handle such the way I need to.

You can call it professionalism.

Dreamers these days aren't living through their own dreams.
In elementary/middle school, any kid that started rapping wanted "money, cash, hoes".
That was never my goal.
I mean, I SERIOUSLY wanted a girlfriend, and worked EXTRA hard to get one.
That could've been where some of my (internal) breakdown started (once you factor in all of what I went through BEFORE 2008).
But... I wanted to make music for the glory.

I idolized Beethoven.
Virtually worshipped Masato Nakamura.
Puff Daddy (P. Diddy) is STILL a major influence.
HUGE fan of Aerosmith.
As I got deeper into hip-hop, I incorporated my musicianship and my everyday life into (what is considered) metaphors about the world at large.

And I got good at it!

Point is, when people tell me I "saved their life" through my music, it gets me emotional.
My life was saved by music.

I guess I want them to be telling the truth.

Here it is:

I make music for the glory of knowing I've saved a life.

End of entry.

Support is appreciated.

My promiscuity is sacred.


Tuesday, 27 February 2018

A Very Far Away Place official video

Plenty of new music.
Not enough sound.

Jack, I love you (pretty much to my detriment).
George, I love you (smoking this joint to my chest again).
Dilla, I love you (everything is what I blessed you with).

I love you, Charles Hamilton.
Let's stay humble on 'em.


My promiscuity is sacred.