Saturday, 23 September 2017

Sort of...

Reppin' 6 when I know I'm 3.
Questioning when I know it's me.
Best friends ain't supposed to leave.
Dead ends in my poetry.
Dead END with my poetry.
Dead IN with my poetry.
A lesbian when I go to sleep.
Sex befriends the little hoe in me.
Mind games causing migraines.
Is my brain causing thy pain?
I followed my dreams with my flow and beats.
I had a girl. It was so sweet.
Core to meat. Then you see the skin.
I hear it once, I don't breathe again.
Am I leaving? What am I leaving in?
The sweetest friend. No need to pretend.
I feel like Jackin' off on a beat again.
But old people. Is it poetry?
So mote it be, but the prose is deep.
Lady lazy. Are you showing me?
No beat, though.
So heat, though.
No need to go, but I indeed go.
3, Hoe. Just not with an ego.
Seems so easy to hit a free throw.
I have a brother, but I don't like to hear "Bro."
Reaching him, while he reaches Him.
Need I remind you of the deepest sin.

It seems it's them.

~shout it out~


Bombasex doesn't make women wet.
It's intended for rhythm.
So, stop.
It's also a form of Black Magick.
I can do it all day.
But the quality of the music will be tainted.

"Diamondz in da CHrap" is an example of Nintendo-quality sound with SEGA-level songwriting.
It's unreal.
Expect a single soon.

We need to take pictures together.
We just... barely leave the studio.
And the bedroom.

I love her son.
I see a lot of myself in him.
Could be due to 2011's meet-and-greet.
Women get it/got it.

If it's true...

I mean, such would be a dream come true, but I've been storing my energy for music.
And fighting.
SEGA, I don't want to fight unless it's in your name.
And even then, I'd be using The Sun as a weapon against the ignorant.
Or dead in spirit.
There has to be another way.

There has to be another way.

I'll be around.

~shout it out~

Friday, 22 September 2017

Volitale stillness.

Is this fun for you?
This game you're all playing.
Like... no one knows who they are, are expecting me to know, then get mad when I either don't or don't care.
No one is using their real name.
Their reasoning is on a worship-level scale.
Such would be applaudable, if I was the one who was worshipped (for one) and if it weren't for heir own entertainment.
So now, fuck who you are.
I'll just enjoy being the realest on my own.

Had to get that off my chest.


Somehow, in creation//fruition, individuals (read: muthafuckas) can transform.
And they hold conversations with you as "strangers".
Then, when (in their eyes) you incriminate themselves, they reveal who they truly are.
If you'd just be who you are to begin with, not only would you not have a problem with what people have to say about you, you could save yourself the energy of morphing.

One of the people I'm talking about is calling me.

That's over.

But yeah.
After my adolescent years being spent on wanting to be Sonic, my teen years wanting to be Em and my adult years wanting to be Dilla, I hereby stress the value of being yourself.
Who you were created to be is more intriguing than who you create yourself to be.

"That's why I ain't got no RAP NAME!"
-Obie Trice

Be back later.

~shout it out~

Updating currency

pluribus unum


E pluribus unum

And God DOES exist, communists.
So much for your corporate sarcasm.


UnIntervention, online at

~shout it out~

Solar S'mores

I listen to voices.
They are real.
They are my choir of evil.
Yet they descend from The Heavens.
God, you need to exist in order to prove Space isn't just the surface before Heaven.
I worship (censored).
And if I'm The Creator, I will Create Hell for Satan to reign in.
And I will make better music than Satan.
In Hell.

I've sacrificed enough.

My latest sacrifice is food.
I'm only eating noodles and home cooked burgers.

What if I am a devil?

I split the pies between Beelzebub, Lucifer and The Devil himself.

If you care, I will expose me.
I will exploit me.
I will execute me.
And you can excuse me.

Music is ALL I HAVE.

I want to impress SEGA Corporation and deepen my bond with SEGA Enterprises.

"But I don't know how..."
-Oasis, "Wonderwall"

J Dilla, thank you.
I hope it's still love.
No one has pumped my insanity.
But my adrenaline and rage may producer a better producer.

 Just thinking alotxm.

Evidence of an account is high!

I'm goat.

~baby's day out~

Thursday, 21 September 2017

Seeds of change

This blog entry has to start somewhere.

I think Diamond is pregnant.
The sex was deep.
Virtually hate.
The circumstances couldn't get wo... nevermind.
Now is the time for a blessing.

All I do is make music.
I'm sure I can find a job.
Then again, I'm not sure I can find a job.
Very little is available to heterosexual men.
Employment wise.

When Lisa was pregnant, my uncle jumped on my back about it.
The whole use protection speech.
I got so pissed.
But I held it in.
Neither side of my family can say SHIT about raising a child.
BOTH sides are dysfunctional, in their own esoteric and idiosyncratic ways.
And I'm forced to love them equally.

So why did I try to get Diamond pregnant?

I just wanted to feel like our bond was permanent.

Her son's name is Scooter.
All it takes is one bad acid trip and I go off about that.

But Diamond believes I'm Sonic.
Every other girl I've been with called me crazy for my anthropomorphic beliefs.
Right there, she's different.
We don't argue about what most...
Like, technically we're not a couple yet.

I've asked too many women to abort my seed.
Consciously or subconsciously.
Sex isn't just a thrill.
It is where a woman is a creator and a man is a servant.
After birth, the roles reverse.

I've been a servant to others in the name of creating music.
I can't go down that path anymore.
But how am I supposed to provide?
And NO ONE is giving me the opportunity to at least try.

Well, I haven't exhausted all my resources.
It's just... in this business, people move at their own pace.
I need to figure out how to expediate this process.

In the meantime, my life has to change.
I've already thrown out my hard drugs.
I don't smoke as much weed.
I don't drink as much.
I just need to practice better grooming habits.
Keeping my place clean.
And I have to work on my temper.

Then there's the potential existence of Danjer.
And Crazh.
And several other virtually theoretical children I have with...
Dr. Dre.

This isn't a game to me.

After I ruined mine, I created a life.

Forgive me for... fuck it.
I'm worth more dead than alive.

~welcome to your life~

Wednesday, 20 September 2017

Diamond's Intervention

I was... okay.
I need to introduce this story better.
So a few weeks ago, I relapsed DEEPLY.
Like... I really overdid it.
I might have a witness.
I wouldn't be surprised if she didn't exist.

Everyone has been an illusion since 2010.

Anyway, I was high and (censored) when Diamond called me, asking serious questions about our duet album.
My lips were purple and cracked.
I didn't look myself.
Then again, I always look dirtier and uglier than I really am.

"Clean up very nicely!"
-Fabolous, on some song with The-Dream

I think I might've tweaked on her.
That might be what made her ask if I was high.
Or on dope.
I confessed.
She hung up.
I called her back.
Before she asked, she booked a flight to NYC for us to record.
When I told her what I was doing, she almost cancelled the flight.

I was so desperate to see her.
I begged her not to cancel the flight.
She agreed to let me come out there, but I had to stay sober.

We had a great time recording.
I showed her some things.
She listened to my direction.
And showed me some things.
I'm glad she appreciates my music outside of the music we made together.
But she showed me things about being... for lack of better words, marketable.

I use my intelligence as a weapon.
My interest in the paranormal only makes my intelligence more deadly.
She knows this.
And showed me how to be more relatable.
Apparently, lyricism is reserved for Nas, Jay and Em.
I'm working at being the evil version of them.
Despite their unbeknownst ties to the very evil OF WHICH I AM.

It worked.
Fans of lyricism and brash delivery will appreciate "Diamondz in da CHrap".
She came hard.
I'm Charles Hamilton.

Expect the heat.

Thank you, Diamond.

"You may not think you do, but you do..."

I have a nickname for you.
But you gon think it's something I call "one of them other hitches."

I let you go through my phone.
My messages.
My Twitter.
My Instagram.
All that.

This is so real for me.
We don't trust each other.
For the same damn reason.

We have a song together that solidifies this.

"This is no ordinary love..."

Be back later.

~shout it out~

Tuesday, 19 September 2017

Who will save your soul?

I was listening to Dave Hollister's "Chicago '85" album recently.
Amazing album.
Mike City did his thing.
Yet he is not exempt from this post.

A lot of producers have a church background.
So naturally, they integrate their church skills into production.
But one thing remains the same.
Chords are sacred.
The SEGA theme is chord based.

So when you listen to today's music, know that church standards are being played, consciously.
You are turning up to the sound of God.
The melodies are simple.
So are the rhythms.
But the chords are God-related.
Safe to say that's why your spirit rises.


Also, there are 4 masters of The Galaxy.
See the pictures at the bottom of the blog.
Use Jack's boldness, Dilla's ear and George's skull TO TALK TO ME!
If you want, replace Jack's boldness with the accuracy of Daft Punk.

You're not ready for The Supernatural (Mystic), The Spiritual (Davina) or The Potent (Curtis Mayfield).
What I will say is, you will run into Davina, Mystic and Curtis THE MOMENT YOU START CREATING.

Don't fake the funk.

Ladies, PRAY before you enter the creation of music.
According to the ancient, women aren't supposed to make music.
It's actually a rougher task than it looks.
But most men fell by the wasteside and rely on us (the gods/goddesses) to do EVERYTHING.
Such a burden is carried by women EVERYDAY.

Back to my point.

We were lucky to HAVE a piano.
Or access to one.
For such, we thank God.
Then there's possession.
The drive to speak in colloquial terms about what's going on.
For such, Satan is to be... thanked.
And blamed.

But you can't glorify God through Satanic music, and Satan detests God's music.
Yes, Gospel is a spell on God.
God + spell = Gospel
But it's a love spell.
You better mean that shit!
And by using God's gift to make money, you curse yourself.

Hence why all my Satanic music is/was free.

I may be doomed to Hell.
But I brought you/y'all to the light.

I am The Sun.
Only those who are bound to me can claim such.

As irritating as it is.

More, later.

~the forgotten~

Monday, 18 September 2017

Mic Turner

Today, I established a bond.
Before today, I established a bond.
With a woman.
Any real man knows how such a bond is established.
And to you industry niggas, I bonded with her like that, too.
But she doesn't understand the depth of this bond.
And there's no turning back.

"Where's Karen and Simone at the CAT scan?!"
-Charles Hamilton, "She Speaks"

At least Karen (Civil) respected skills.
And Simone used to try to rap.
For me, at least.

Simone Porter, to clear the ambiguity.

Apparently, the ol' school sixes (6z) don't know what it means to be "stripped".


No one has out-6ed them.

I'm in the red with Green(e).

I spent the last 11 years hardening up.
To defend aliens.
There are 6 letters in *aliens*.
English amongst humans wasn't a factor when we stated.
Math was our communication.

We started it all.



Everything else is secondary.

Why am I so angry?

Maybe the four of us (Llama, Dog, Spider, Scorpion) have inner wonders about ourselves that we can only ask ourselves.

I found my purpose.
I have the purpose for you other 3.

Just come around.

Just come around.



Pete Rock vs. ?uestlove

I don't like doing versus matches with music.
But this is a serious situation.
I sleep on Pete Rock as a DJ.
I sleep on ?uestlove as a producer.
I have love for both of them.
Watch both videos and...

Notice something.

(Ahmir, you might have seen the same thing Jay-Z, Em and Max B saw; thus making you guilty)
(Pete, it's a real as nothing you've ever seen before)

be back later.


Thursday, 14 September 2017

Silent night.

"I killed Superman! I killed Super! Man!"
-Eminem, "Rain Man"

Before I wrap it up for the night, I'll just say this.
I'm tired of doing things for the approval of... anyone.
I've become a slave to my "cult fan base".
I'm a slave for aliens.
I'm a slave to family.
I'm a slave to women.
I am the enemy of all men.

I am The Enemy.

A nice little 5 to put you to bed.


I do need to learn how to love.
Beth showed me that.
That women would've done any and everything for me.
I just wanted to study her.
She was a hip-hop occultist, too.
We learned from each other.

But I didn't reciprocate the "affection" she was giving me.
We had DEEP, emotional sex, but I "didn't communicate" after.
But what's an artist to do when you're with an artist who's attractive and reads the same literature as you?
She was poppin' mental cherries.
I was too.
So much so that sex and affection couldn't be a factor.

I hope I get/got it right with Diamond.
It's not even official yet.
A lot of confusion.

And then, there's Keesh.

I'm not bragging on the women in my life.
That's a sophisticated form of misogyny that only the elite could and would relate to.

I'm not with it.

I just want any woman I've ever come in contact with to know that they posses a

je ne sais quo 

Of which makes it hard to just appreciate and keep it moving.

I've said that before.
Nothing can save me from the rapture of women.
And though I'd LOVE to indulge, my decadent value of music is what's going to keep me out of certain scenarios.

I'm going to bed.
In my dreams, I'm going to Hell.

I will reign one day.
Only 3 others can stop me.

"All these bitches think I'm nasty!
And these niggas try to play me!
Only SEGA can save me...
...can't fuck with my TunnelVision!!!"
-Charles Hamilton, "Flawed"

Good night, StarChasers.
We are in 

the come down



I got my mind right.
Money, light.
This is my war.

Rest in peace, Sonic.

You have made YOUR ONLY FRIEND your biggest rival.

It's not gonna work for you.

~i am~