To watch growth decay

I’m bipolar. I’m clear on this.

I left #KingKiwi’s spot about an hour ago. Star Trek is great, but I can’t get into Deep Space Nine. But I promised #Kng I’d be back to sit through an episode and work it all out. We parted on a good note.

In the meantime, I am in my domicile, lonely, listening to Hi-Tek and reflecting on my relationship with love. I sacrificed the most for *drKiwi*. I treated *drKiwi* the worse. I learned the most from *drKiwi*. I was disappointed by *drKiwi*. I came into the music business with *drKiwi*, hoping to be the Gothic Dick Van Dyke.

That part.

I’m very conservative. Yeah I like drugs and good company, but I am not that rachit. I entertain it (peace to Sexyy Redd), but it’s not a lifestyle I live. That said, in 2012 I was VERY rachit. Doing drugs PUBLICLY (in Harlem specifically), walking around funky (I still do that), …as far as talking to random strangers, I been dooin that since day one. But I had a woman. *drKiwi*.

Someone recently made the comment that whatever bag I was in during #ThePinkLavalamp, I need to return to. Ima keep it real with EVERYONE… if I haven’t exceeded that album in your eyes already, it’s not gonna happen. I had *drKiwi*’s head every night, *drKiwi*’s box on the side, and Demevolist witnessing the whole thing. I barely speak to any of them. And my thoughts have expanded past pouring my heart on a track. I’m more eager to apply all that I read into music. 

But it’s true. I don’t have a woman in my life. My contact list is BARREN, b. I scroll through it hopelessly, knowing what each conversation would be like. Still I dial, knowing that hurt is what I face. I place my spirit into God’s hands. Guide me in the field of love. Show me how to love properly. Preserve my love. 

Or come down here and bag me, bitch!

#Super!

Curated rage

In this moment, I am calm. I am at #KingKiwi’s domicile (in #SZ4000, the LA-based SEGA Space Station), watching back-to-back episodes of Star Trek. I am enlightened, entertained, and inspired. This is… these are the moments I live for. 

Really my only concern IN LIFE is my grandmother. My uncle can hold his own, and is pretty set for life. My grandmother’s legacy is DEEP, and is rooted in Harlem. In a sense, I guess that’s why I love Harlem so much. Harlem reflects the beauty of my grandmother, and in return, vice versa.

Grandma, if you’re reading this, I love you and I live to love you. I pray that good allow you to enjoy your days and that they be as long as you want them to be. I don’t want you to be here if you don’t want to be. Just know that you make me want to be here.

Other than that, only linguistic stylings have me blogging tonight. I got ticked off a few hours ago, but nothing a blunt couldn’t check. Right now we’re watching #StrTrk: The Next Generation. They’re dealing with time distortions. When time harshly drifts back a few seconds.

lol I cause those 

#Super!

Daylight savings

I am now giving in to my urge to black. Bear with me.

Dreams hardly get remembered. So when one stands out and compels you to follow, redefine that dream as an ambition. Ambitions are usually achieved while conscious. Something in the land of the living inspires you. Don’t rule off a vivid vision of a potential future as a fleeting moment in your unconsciousness.

At the same time, don’t be foolish. Make your dreams work for YOU, don’t work for your dreams. That’s the fastest way to way to end up a slave, not harnessing the power of your dreams. Dreams can be chaotic. The one to control the choose is the one to win big. 

My dream used to be a Grammy. I still have my speech, grandma still has her dress. Alas, I received the greater honor of being on the Grammy committee! My vote determines the nominees AND the winners. It’s been a while since I last voted (haven’t been too happy about the music dropping lately), so I’m sure there’s some red tape I have to go through to re-establish as a board member. Still, my word counts in modern music! A win for all those who believe in me.

Moment of honesty (AKeys). While staying in CATS (Cleveland, 2011), one of my fellow clients lent me his CD player, “Illmatic” and a UGK CD. Or The Best of Pimp C. Now I was already up on Nas (d’uh, I’m a New Yorker). But I was pleasantly surprised by Pimp C. More soulful than lyrical. A different listening experience overall. Funny, because I wasn’t the biggest Pimp fan when he was here. I kept my comments tasteful, but I can honestly say I was ignorant. Forgive me, Pimp C. And rest in peace.

I was up LATE making instrumentals (as opposed to beats). Went to bed 10:30am and woke up about 2 hours ago. I guess I’m up, but I might take another nap to be refreshed for later tonight.

Where I can do it again.

#Super

Sonic the Hamilton x Charles Robotnik (Hambotnik)

Sonic was, is, and always will be my Jesus. My hero. What it means to stand up for your beliefs and friends. Though I was privately referred to as Sonic on my block on Broadway (Harlem; ask me how I found out), I always kept a place in my public display of self FOR Sonic. Meaning, I wanted Sonic and SEGA to be reflected through my being, even if I didn’t say a word. 

Dr. Robotnik, on the other hand, represented an evil to be envied and destroyed. The way he enslaved animals was despicable, and the traps he set for Sonic were inhumane. To my understanding of the game, Robotnik created zones through woodland creatures, in an attempt to lure in Sonic himself and use his speed (je ne sais quoi) to his advantage. 

My experience in the music business being the catalyst, I found that most artists want to do just that: strip you of your je be sais quoi (swag). Yet they lack the intelligence to be considered Eggman and GROSSLY lack the talent to be Sonic. Hindsight being 20/20, I represented Sonic WELL. But I can’t help but feel my intelligence is being questioned.

See, Sonic is ALL soul. I’ll go so far as to say Sonic is HEART & SOUL. I’ll fuck you up for using the aforementioned knowledge against him/her. Robotnik is all mind. Me as Robotnik would enable/entitle A LOT of #folks to fuck you up (on my behalf) for using the aforementioned against me. Yet the journey to #how is worth the excursion.

As you know, I think a lot. I overthink. Some of my thinking should be left to Leroy Benros and Andre Stancil (my management team). Still, I’m always working on my self-presentation. Conscientiously, I went from preppy to Bohemian to Goth. I’m working on bridging the style gaps. For me, but for you to be proud to REPRESENT me.

I have been getting NOTHING BUT REQUESTS for THE OFFICIAL FINAL SONIC THE HAMILTON, #InnerPeace. As of 2022, it’s 50% done. 

And I leave it there.

There are plans to rerelease “The Rise of Dr. Robotnik”, as well as drop “The Reign of Dr. Robotnik”. 

“No matter what stacks, ya got ta bounce back! Make no mistake. Make NO mistake!”

-cHam, “Bounce Back”

So much to say.

I want to share it with you all. Right now. But time and life beckon. I just wanna… I just wanna share this moment with y’all. My most vulnerable state, your most impressionable mind… we’re a match, y’know?

Was up late last night, went to bed late, woke up late, went back to bed, woke up again and started my day. Here’s to further creations!!!

#Super!

Midnight purge

 or purging.

My mother always said “if you purge your gifts, your gifts will make room for you”. I think I’m turning into Norman Bates, in that my invisible mother is who I take direction from. I might even go so far as to worship my mom. 

In her dead state.

I’d continue, but inferences influence the current climate.

I influence EVERY modern influence. From Candace Owens to iShowSpeed. And is how, in this context, is a metaphor.

You know who you are. Bring honor.

Anyway, I finally decided to listen to my music on YouTube courtesy of a YouTube mix. Humbly and briefly, I been LACING y’all for the last 5+ years. I don’t even count DOOM Williams! stuff. I was working out the kinks of being fresh out of county/prison. But y’all held me down with the support, and I worked it out on the mic and behind the boards. I see some of you have come around to enjoying Hypergoth!. Me and Rivera still talk about it to this day. 

Can’t wait to see him again.

Shouts to Mike Dee Jackson. He’s been a positive listening ear. I’m proud of him for both not succumbing to the temptation of weed and not drowning in liquor. If he should dive in however, me and my music got his back.

I had a drink for the first time in a few months the other night. The pills make me a lightweight (as I’ve complained in the past), but I handled my liquor well. Didn’t jump on social media, didn’t puke, didn’t start shit outside. Shit, as gangsta as LA is, that’s not the smartest shit for me to do.

Lol Harlem caught me buggin. Peace to Lenox Ave.

#GrandmasterSexA

Insecure you're.

Before I get into a post that will/would ostracize/isolate/OFFEND StarChasers, I want it clear that I love all of you. No matter your tier of StarChaser. 

I remember in 2014, I was on 142nd and Hamilton (Harlem) and Marty Baller (ASAP Ferg's little brother) yelled out "WHERE ALL MY HARLEM STARCHASERS AT?!" 

The silence didn't mean no one heard him.

In the last close to 10 years, I've been dealing with a different type of insecurity. I no longer am the harmless boy next door. Not only am I a convicted (yet exonerated) felon, I was convicted of a crime against a woman. Granted it wasn't SA, but DV is just as bad. Make matters worse, I wasn't in my home state(s) and I DO NOT BANG. EVERY felon in prison/county looks like Scooter (in their own felonious way). Since moving in this building, I've SOMEWHAT warmed up to looking at another woman who isn't #Kiwi or *drKiwi*. But in here, EVERY female looks like they can handle ...at least 6 rounds with Ronda Rousey. 

Which isn't to say Rhonda isn't pretty or that they're ugly. They just been through the ringer just like me. And, from conversations, are more capable to bear with whatever circumstances.

I am, too. I just know I represent people who look to me for strength. Strength that I'm not clear on having or are even clear that I have at all. Blame determination, if it must be noted. But whatever strength you need... whether it's healing or courage... it's within you. As real as God is, you can find him within you. It's kinda the Super Sonic/Super Sayan factor as discussed in anime/SEGA. That level up.

It's almost Summer. Go outside, StarChasers/Goths-who-are-still-here-after-the-North-West-disclosure. Even if you're wearing all black. I don't recommend wearing black in The Sun, but I do it. Tomorrow I plan to do it even bigger. No special occasion. As long as you yourself are in The Light, #theshadows can't hurt you.

As tempting as it is to be Shadow sometimes...

Speaking of Shadow, I wonder how Keanu is doing. Another temptation is to claim/reveal the other multiples of myself. 9th is considerably out of commision, Al is overworked, and Green already knows what BOTH of them are going through. Columbine Gang, btw. STRAY DOGS!, the new movement!!! (shouts to Scotty Demon, free Rama, safety!!!!!!)... regardless, I wonder how Keanu is dealing with the absolute reality of Shadow being the bane of existence. To be the voice of such, for pay. 

Can you dig it?

Does it make you squirm to know that I know EXACTLY who you are, and I am not allowing your existence to trouble me (anymore)? You are in a position of power, comfort and authority, and your mediums are making things worse for the dove-like image I had etched out for you. I knew you were reckless, and the closer we grew, the more despicably lovable you became (Chuck, I love you evil/dark you are...). But you... cost me... YOU... unless you ask for forgiveness, I can't let that slide. As many sacrifices as I've made for you, this one is a no go. If it costs me anything, know that your friendship is worth more. And that's what you costed me. 

Back to you, Arabia!

#Super!

It HAS been a while, huh?

I swear it only felt like a few weeks. Or maybe it was and I missed doing this. Missed dooinit. Missed my high. My his. My hiss. My miss. My Misses. My Ms. Not my Mrs. My Mrs. missing.

The latter... or the current former, completely up to my imagination. Of which is abundant and untouched. I glorify it, by creating with it in mind. Abracadabra, in the face of prescription based-psychosis. I know what I did to get here. I take responsibility through elevated censorship.

Whoever I end up with next will not be sexually exploited through my music. Maybe cherished through it, maybe a muse for musical sculpting, but... whatever is in her mouth stays between us.

Salute to N0rth West, for stepping out as a Goth! Hopefully, PopPop West is proud and inspired.

New music!, by the way.

The blueprint has evolved. The archive expands. 🤫

THE CIPHER SHIFTS 🧩
The ZONE 0 mainframe has been re-coded. New coordinates are now live on the left pillar:

🌫️

TRINITY ALIGNED 🏛️: Three pillars, one frequency.

STARCHASER ACTIVE 🛰️: The sequence is complete.

The signal is… pic.twitter.com/AuOaIdlhQ4

— @kanye (@kanye) May 1, 2026

In case the link ain't available, click here. 

click here.

click here.

click here.

click here.

click here.

click here.

click here.

click here.

click here.

click here.

Very excited for y'all to hear the new stuff. 

Oh yeah. 
That's me, dancing to Curtis Mayfield.

Happy Sunday, y'all...

you all...

everyone.

(definitely check out "Slave", in the #SuperCharlesHamilton folder)

#Super!

Producers

Like writers.

From an early age, I’ve always had an affinity for the PRODUCER of a record. From Jimmy Jam & Terry Lewis to Quincy Jones. Over the years, I’ve developed biases (Dilla, 9th, ALC, etc.), but I remain open minded. I also know that there are architects to …one genre in particular. D’uh, nigga. Hip-Hop. The first sample-based producer IS Marley Marl. A huge win for hip-hop, but the first artist to smoke is Herbie Hancock. This making it a big win for Jazz.

DJ Premier is the architect of “SPIT TA DIS TO COME UP AS AN MC” type beats. From the beginning, might I add. Every time I feel trash as a rapper, I throw on a choice Preemo joint and go McStupid (peep the song on the blog). Preemo dead tells you whether you’re ready to spit, IN THE BEAT. I love him for that. Outside of whatever alien identity Preem has, I respect and honor him as if he revealed the secrets of the right ball to me.

Still, this post is about how grateful I am for Pete Rock.

My first beat folder was called #Hamiltonstrumentals. I flipped the title #Petestrumentals. I heard Petestrus at HMV in Harlem. Fell in love. PR became the architect of my melancholy soulful groove, as applied to ANY AND EVERY GENRE. This is the early 2000s, and though I had a web presence, I was VERY sheltered. I didn’t have access to as much PR, Deezy, Preemo… and we were poor. I caught what I could, stole what I could, and begged mom for the rest.

I can go on for days on Pete Rock’s influence on me. And we are connected through family. I just don’t want to exploit the man. Many people have. 

Since *drKiwi* gave me their subscription to Apple Music, I been raping the catalogue. I’m now caught all the way up on all my favorite producers and artists. ALBUMS, tho. Not just the singles. Long live Alice In Chains!!!!

Long live Pete Rock.

Peace to Hi-Tek, Stu Bangas and Apollo Brown.

Columbine Gang, bitch.

#CzH

To the tune of Beck...

I spent the last 2-3 days working on another new album. Nothing new, really. Just vibing out a recent discovery about myself. I don't always put this out there (I founded the religion Positivism, for Sun's sake), but I find the negative/downside to things MUCH quicker than I do the bright side.

I was on the phone with... a rather positive  *drKiwi*, and they were somewhat giving me my flowers. I kept dwelling on the negative. And when I tried to stop, I got sick to the stomach. My comfort zone is self-depreciation. I initially used this as a battle technique. Enough people got used to it, so I had to switch it up. With that being the case, I hadn't had any real battles since the "cypher" against Rone in 2008. And even that was bs, because I didn't see it as a battle. I was tired from a 30 minute performance set, and he asked me WITHOUT a camera if we can cypher. 

I was caught off guard.

A lot of my demeanor was railroaded by some behind the scenes stuff. Still, I kept my battle spirit ready for hardcore action. I've battled small time cats (Tsu Surf included), but nothing worth looking at the downside of myself as often as I do. I have every reason to love myself. Nothing is (technically) wrong with me. Type shit, all the ammo there is to fire at me with, I PROVIDED. It's like I'm battling myself.

It's not hard to believe that The Sun is shining somewhere, ALL THE TIME. And The Sun is big enough to be a target and a resource. It's just... The Sun is so addicting. It can be an alibi, if it wants to be. I do find myself charging up in The Sun more often than not. And I project positivity to those around me. But what if I want to be a light for myself? Is it possible, without thinking about all the people who have a problem with me (for whatever reason)? I give reason to hate me, in my own smart ass way. 

I can stop, but why?

Right. For my own peace.

#cHamEra, still under way.

Then, #CharacterHop.

4/20, next week!

Load up, roll up, go nuts!!!

#CzH

From a DM...

 I think I found the keystone of the difference between my 2005-2011 (written) and my 2012-present music.

Early on, I didn't think about the DJ/party music. I knew how to make/provided groovy music you could (at least 2-step to), but I wanted to share my testimony as a survivor. The deeper I got into production techniques (J Dilla, Madlib, Dre, ALC, 9th etc.), the more I felt compelled to DJ. When I spun my FIRST party at Corpy's crib (SAME time as the other bullshit), I ROCKED IT. Mostly my music and mostly beats, but EVERYONE was digging it. Off that energy, I skipped town and the rest is history. But while locked up, I planned to make music that I (and almost only I, exclusively) could DJ. And make a whole thing out of it.

My written songs and projects are crafted from beginning to end. First adlib, last fade. My non-written songs are STRUCTURED like written songs (music theory), but are very LOOSE. Too much is left up for interpretation.

2014, I fixed that. And that music, though I semi-slighted you (in particular) in it, is up there with 2005-2011 music. 

Things got difficult in 2016. Mom was gone, living in LA w Uncle G, moving back to NYC under Uncle G's roof (can't record late night/at all; no #bedroombeethovens)... so from 2016-early 2018, it was drama that decayed the music. Mentioning George, Jack and Dilla dead became reason to drop me from both management *and* Republic. I pushed, though.

I say all that to say, I know what you prefer from me. It's up to me to execute, enhance, or bypass. But the note is taken.

Fuck witchya boy (yeah!)!

I got what you need, y'all!!!

#CzH

Thunnie...

Music is why I'm here. I found that every time I want to crash out, it is my IMMEDIATE desire to play bass. Now, I love and adore the piano (beyond words) and the guitar is my declaration of independence. But baby?? The bass is where I'm at!

One of my StarChasers may be visiting me for 4/20. This *drKiwi* wants to record music for the first time with me. And I'm down! I just have to redirect the bass energy into hospitality. Why? I don't want a -Chaser to see me at the point I get to when I want to play bass.

With all the above in the eggshell, I think I would've... either relapsed or bodied myself without the turntables/DJing. DJing opened my eyes to another level of understanding. My 2 biggest DJ influences are DJ Jazzy Jeff and Dr. Dre. And NO shade to DJ Green Lantern. I just am a little less rigid than Green. Interesting, because Green gets LOOSE. But yeah. Dre knows when a record catches you, and Jeff won't play you unless you're hot l.

Trust. I CAN spin other's music. But... no record and handle The Hamiltonization Process. And you have to develop your own process to fuck w mine.

Only Halo can fuck with me.

Me and Sciryl is #Top2NotYou.

#CH

Tourism

I addressed you (anonymously) on my X page, but for all I went through in the last 15+ years, I deem it necessary to continue.

For the longest time, I fought for the attention and affection of a big-named-yet-nameless relative. If only to vindicate his private hazing of me. It was when it impacted my MUSIC that I went psycho. I already didn't trust him because of how I was introduced to him and the circumstances surrounding it. His music would APPEAR to value me, but it was littered with talk of his own worth and aspirations of such.

Mom and I were poor.

So when I picked up the pen, he and his quasi-wealthy ass became the target of my "generic" punchlines. I fucked around and achieved a level of success, in spite of an industry-ending incident. He comes around, and convinces grandma and uncle that he needs to be there to protect me. Subsequently, he moves in, and proceeds to clean house.

Only problem was, there wasn't much to be cleaned.

HchO took the MPC (I used to master ThisPerfectLife), Saintvil took the Jordan's and Penny's Pharrell bought for me, Woody lived with us rent free until dude asked him to leave (THROUGH ME)... I wasn't allowed to smoke weed (supposedly my lawyer and the label wanted to drug test me; never happened)... original music was remixed, much to the dismay of said relative who was "personally invested"...

It just... was a bunch of bullshit.

Now, I'm not marred by any of this. I'm still making music on a high level, as you can see I'm still blogging, my faith and belief in the alien race SEGA is stronger than EVER before... I just remember vividly what the streets did to me. I wasn't looking for trouble then, not looking for it now. But I was at war with this man. Still, in the midst of this war, I realized something: for every time I go off on him for free, he doesn't mention or acknowledge me and gets paid for it! Breaking down the disproportion would give it all away. But I been giving it all away to break down the disproportion.

"However, God help me."

#CH

The follow-down

So yeah. 36 hours of The Hamiltonization Process and the finest LA weed. I am left speechless. One song from this era that left me cold and full of tears was "Honesty Box", off #Intervention. It ate at me, because I only really converse with 2 of my "niggas" from that song's era. And who I wanted to share the glory of being a signed recording artist, I inevitably did, but it was almost too late.

I have no problem investing into the crafts of my loved ones. I was gonna buy one of my homies and SP 404, because of his admiration of one DiBia$e. Not that the notion would go unrecognized or un-reciprocated, but I have worthy investments I can make on myself to make me as much of a champion as I see them.

You can't get mad at me for that, *drKiwi*.

I had a good time with the music I introduced you to me with. Now that I can look back with red eyes of green, I know I left you with good grooves and good vibes. That's more than what's being offered, anywhere else. Maybe my vibes got a little more spiteful and "catty" (I don't think anyone is as sexy as me, despite how ugly I feel), but it's all coming from a genuine, regal place.

How I feel about me should only hurt those hoping to take advantage.

I'll be around.

#CzH

#phenomenal