I felt invincible.
As much as I resent(ed) my mother for having me hospitalized, it brought me closer to where I want to be (mentally).
Lithium may or may not have to do with the rest of this post.
But here goes.
I made almost $150 selling my first album, From the Desk Of..., hand to hand at FDA (Frederick Douglass Academy).
I made NO money off of Sober Karaoke, but I got a buzz.
Every dime I made off of "The Binge vol. 1" went back into mass reproducing and selling it through Harlem.
Still got me a buzz.
Since then, I made a cool million via Interscope.
But it got spent by people other than me.
(why do I reflect on the past so much? more, later)
Didn't make any money off of Brooklyn Girls.
The sample was cleared, but I didn't have publishing.
Didn't make any money off NewCo.
Like... maybe a $500 advance.
Of which I spent on a ring for Karen Civil.
And... if it's worth anything, records.
Like... that's all I spend money on.
I didn't get paid for the Lupe tour.
Didn't get paid for The Black Box.
And the way it's looking now, I won't get paid for "Hamilton, Charles".
I'll let you know if I do.
Basically, I want everyone who's ever listened to a bar or a beat of mine to be thankful.
I'm truly doing this for the love of YOU.
I would've been stopped if I was in it for money.
You don't make a dime off of music.
You better love your craft.
If you do make money, you're either not that good or your moves outside of music are so uncanny (*cough* Marvel *cough*) that no one questions you.
I'd love to get a Drake check one day.
Then again, who knows how much money he REALLY makes?
And who knows how much money I really have?
I love the struggle.
I love the grind.
I DON'T love being pimped.
And I've been pimped.
Everyone from Corpy to Piff to HchO has pimped Charles Hoe-milton.
Can't help it.
Now, there's a new breed of niggas comin' around.
People who have watched me come up.
People who know I'm worth more than meets the eye.
I can't say I welcome them, because I don't feel I have much more to offer.
And since EVERYONE is a God damn critic of how my music should sound, there's no way I can articulate my need for artistic freedom.
Then my mama and Joe died.
So there's no one else to vent to about this shit.
Expect changes in the new year.
Will your money be a matter?
~follow the buzzards~