About *Bash*

Bash (Sebastian Acevedo) is an overall good dude, and a ferocious creative. He knows what he's doing, it's just about execution. One of my favorite projects (of self) is one we did together, called "Two of Cups By Zane". Zane is a NOTORIOUS ebony erotic novelist, and the album was about an FDAlien I caught myself off guard by making love to her. I told the whole story, and let her know I want more. It was the type of emotion I could never tap into on my own, and I co-produced it with him. He was extremely mature, didn't add or take away from much (we used gaming headphones to produce and record), wasn't judgemental... I mean, he was a friend that produces.

As of late, we've been getting into it about his concern for my career. Because I have so many people in my ear telling me what I should do and what I need, the last thing I want to hear is a fellow collaborator asking me to interject HIM OR HIS WORK into my "rotation" (of sorts). I asked him to be patient, and when he saw what I was so tight lipped about, he got excited again. That's all I can ask for. Patience. I'm not just making "catchy lil ditties" for nothing. More is to and will be done with ALL THE MUSIC I BEEN RECORDING. And I'm ESPECIALLY excited about the music I made since 2022. In fact, I'm excited about the music I've made since the StarChaser Central Podcast!

It does seem that my ears can deceive me. At the same time, different listening devices lead to different experiences. So far, I am the king of MacBook speakers. I remember when Bash and I made "Somewhat of a Blur". He dead told me to dirty up the sound. I said "I know just what to do". The project was born.

To StarChase is to travel with comets unseen.

To travel with comets unseen is to see with The Eye.

You watched us.

We didn't let you down.

I love you, Bash.

I just wish you'd be a tad more understanding.

Oh!
Bash doesn't consider himself a StarChaser. He's a C-Chaser!!! Now that's taking it UP a notch. I'll say it on here because it's a safe space for me, but yeah I'm irritable about C. To know is to use, and now that you know, beware. But yeah. Bash's love for me is on another level. I can almost say he's on Halo's level of C worship (too soon?), but Halo kindly removed my C-hyman through art and music.

I'ma end the entry there.

You gotta know wassup before you fuck w/ me.

And I'm always willing to learn.

Bash! Holla at me!

~~Charles Hamilton~~
***beep***

The Silent Partner

The world has always gone gaga over Harlem niggas. Brothers, as we deserve to be called, considering what the world makes and makes of Black men. Granted we aren't always the kindest to each other... still, we grow to love one another (and our sisters) in the most coveted Black neighborhood in America. We (America) fell in love with Ma$e, danced with Diddy (though he's from Mt. Vernon), idolized Cam, are walking the catwalk with Rocky, are literally running the streets with Ferg... and barely know OF one Charles Hamilton. 

I'm fine with this. 
I know who I know, and I'm loyal to a fault.

But I have a silent partner.

^
^
^
Meet my silent partner, VK. Harlem River resident, AWESOME MPC artist, hood politician, podcaster, father... just an overall awesome guy. Besides the shit we talk about the state of music and the playful shoving matches of "CH! YOU GOT IT! GO DO IT! BE IT!", I can always count on him to have a place to crash and "study math at". At a low point in 2019, he let me move in and basically run things from his place. I have recorded several albums in his crib, made close to $400 in less than an hour off selling unreleased music ALONE... he knows about the glow up.

He says I don't owe him anything, just pull up on the block w/ a Maybach. I feel that. And I know he's not watching my pockets. It just feels good to know that a Harlem resident is willing to hold down "that old bum CH". And he lives RIGHT NEXT DOOR TO FDA. He insists I should go in the building and get a music teaching job. I try to tell him that there are "levels" to being an instructor there... he's trying to tell me that I'm worth it.

ALL OF HARLEM has been trying to tell me I'm worth it. From Knocka to Vado. And it's not that I don't believe them. I just... see, I see EVERYONE in Harlem as a star. And they know they're stars. It's even worse being here in LA. I can see you. I see you, Harlem! I take my title of being The Harlem Dr. Dre very seriously. I just need some artists to mold (not groom; no Diddy). Harlem got the GIFT. And outsiders have been forbidden from drinking our Arizona (I see you, *drKiwi*).

I want no problems. I just wanna showcase the work/efforts of my Beloveds. Those who have been true to me and my work through the tough times.

VK, you're a blessing. I hope we always maintain our bond. No one can get in the way of that. 

Blessings, y'all...

~CzH~

 

Chick’s intervention

As you can reference, I’ve been struggling to quit smoking and restore my voice to factory settings. I recently recorded another new album, and though I was able to complete it without vocal error, I still struggled with my new-er vocal range. My falsetto is gone, and I can’t “bend” my voice the way I want to/used to.

Needless to say, I’ve been downhearted.

Tonight, or this morning, I went digging for some inspiration. Not so much records to sample, but open-for-interpretation music that can motivate me. Lately I’ve been JAMMING to Herbie Hancock, Thelonious Monk and, my biggest inspiration of late, Sun Ra. So I searched my mental Rolodex for other pianists who speak through the music. I found myself at the doorstep of one Chick Correa.

Dude is the Latin Thelonious Monk, in that he can speak entire PHRASES with the way he plays piano. Chris Rivera gave me an Apple Music account, so I fucking BINGED on Chick’s music. I stumbled upon an album that caught my attention, for the esoteric, linguistic symbolism it contains:

“Now He Sings, Now He Sobs”

I listened to this album all morning long. I even came up with a concept for it: he (Chick Correa) or a fictional pianist, tried to sing a song he wrote, and due to years of smoking and jamming, was unable to hit the song’s notes. Did that stop the process? No! He pulled a Clyde Drexler and adjusted his shot until he got a rhythm. So yes. I do plan to quit smoking cigs (at least). But until my lungs and voice box are on the same page, I must train my voice to be able to comfortably hit notes that came easy to me before. And I’m dooinit! That’s what I been doing since first being told to stop recording (by doctors).

Even still, I’m looking at a future of me being a pianist/producer. I like how my voice sounds nowadays… raspy, Smokey, and very dead ass. But I know how to speak through the piano as well. And I have a lot to say. I just want open minds. #Supernothing has people talking ALREADY. Not a bad thing. But I do feel a bit BEYOND being a Top 5 rapper. No matter how much sense I make or DONT make, it doesn’t matter to someone who is used to being empowered (as opposed to being encouraged). Empowerment is a form of alleviating pain before it is felt. Encouragement doesn’t ensure safety, but pushes you into uncertainty. You never know until you try, type shit.

So this is a Chick Correa morning. I might bump some Em later. I kinda only listen to him when I complete tasks. He’s an indulgence that requires free time. I somewhat strive to be the same. I just want to be my own favorite rapper, ya know? And as long as I’m comparing myself to Em, Jay, Nas, Jada, Pap, etc., I’m never gonna get there. I know how much work goes into EVERYTHING ABOUT MY MUSIC, and I know that I undersell my quality. I’m tired of saying my music is best in headphones. I’m tired of explaining why I don’t like to write. And I still do it, I’m just not a spiral notebook worm like I was when I first started. 

Making the music I been making since 2012 requires EXTREME belief in myself and the artform called Magic. Even when I’m at my lowest, Magic and my music bring me to a happiness I NEVER had, when I was unsure of what (exactly) it was that I was doing. All I ask is that you give it a shot. These other guys, they might give you a perfect project. The right videos, the right producers, the right features… but they aren’t as emotionally invested in the music as I am. Dead any genre, to be frank. There’s no way I can stand corrected. I am the literal forefather of direct fan communication . Maybe Michael Jackson, but that was before The Internet and… you see what that got him.

Maybe I’m looking too deep or too far into this thing. I just know that, even in the circles where I’m SUPPOSEDLY getting love, there are slick comments and outsider suggestions. Makes you wonder if it’s worth it sometimes.

Well, I got music. And magic. I’m fine for now.

Thank you, Chick Correa, for allowing me to interpret a voice I never heard.

~#~

#Supernothing

On October 2nd, 2026, at midnight, is the release of the first single from “T.H.E.: The Hamilton Experience”. It’s called “Supernothing”. And it’s the feeling of a DJ throwing on JOINT AFTER JOINT, WAY BEYOND the witching hour of the party. You got no sweat left in you, your heart is pounding faster than blood can circulate, …you pretty much busted every nut you got left, on the dance floor, without sex.

And you still wanna see our hands? You still wanna see us dance? You still wanna take that chance? Well, keep the good music coming and, you know what? You just might get your wish!

Check Apple Music/Spotify/all DSPs for it, shortly!

~~#~~

Task at hand.

I already wake up, hacking 4-6 hours of built-up phlem. I no longer can hit my falsetto (high note; fuck if I'm off key! lol). I do work out, but not for long durations of time. Yet, if last Friday's performance says anything, it's that I can still rock a crowd. Still, the breathing is a problem for me. And it's a problem I brought onto myself, about 20 years ago. 

This year is 20 years since my first loose Newport was purchased.

Like, Toya, Sha, Nate... a few of us... we would split a loosie on drunk nights. But I mean, buying MY OWN poison stick and smoking it as I walk from FDA to Toya's block (133rd and Amsterdam; a WALK, if ever you try...). I think the 20 years are setting in, because breathing, walking distances, excessive coughing/hacking... here they come. 

I notice that I smoke when I'm stressed. I use cigarettes as a stress reliever. And because I got into the habit of smoking cigs when I can't get weed, I smoked more cigs, more often. Now that I have access to weed, I'm blocked by cigs. This sucks, because weed is legal in NYC and I plan to spend time with some longtime friends, of whom we bonded BEST when we smoked weed. The weed still gets me high, but I don't want to kill the vibe needing a cig. 

It kinda was a complaint back then. They just understood it because (a) we were young and (b) I was struggling.

A lot is on the line, with this SOBs show. And I got EVERYTHING DOWN... EXCEPT my voice. It's deeper than usual, and that is okay. It's been 20 years... puberty, cigs, sex, pressure, alcohol... rarely does ANYONE's voice stay the same through all that. But... one's voice requires one's breath. I must look passed whatever may stress me in a moment's time, to get to the glory I am destined to have with a knockout show ON MY BIRTHDAY. 

Hood cigarettes are designed to keep you needing them and from using your voice TO GET OUT OF THE HOOD. They just banned the single-use vapes, but eventually that will turn into a dangerous black market. It stops a surface problem, that flavor and variety will make a greater SUB-surface problem.

Such is the story of hip-hop.

I'm not gonna let y'all down. Nor am I gonna punk out. I'm gonna put on a show, and have the breath to tell the story.

I know there are people out there who don’t want to see me succeed. Whether it’s because I don’t need them or I can do it without them, they’d rather me be fucked up and dreaming than lucked up and being. I need to put them in a proverbial submission hold. I don’t need to see you to know that you’re tapping out. But, like the difference between The Sharpshooter and The Figure-Four, I WANT to see you. It’ll be proof TO MYSELF that I made you submit to a champion, albeit I fought dirty/too clean.

To fight clean is to not see the submission.

To fight dirty is to be vindicated by such.

Let’s get it on!

~CzH~

The Count, down.

I don't see myself staying up late on November 9th of this year. Lately, waking up is a task. I go to bed at a decent hour, wake up 7am EST, oversee my online development (as The Internet itself dies...), rest until I get a call. Today, it was my Uncle Mark (Hamilton). 

Dude is a baaaaad father's brother.

We've been meaning to be in better communication, but he works blue collar and I wear a dirty pink polo everyday. So yeah, a bit of phone tag. But we have a knucklehead-neph-and-unc relationship that's been a long time in the making. I don't want to put his business out there, as far as his past. I'll ask permission first. But we link, through the halls of justice and through our very genetics.

Nothing is stopping me from "being" Charles Hamilton. Charles Hamilton is a being. With gifts and abilities that make room for him. Just by having them, my nature is to be humble. And just "DO" what "being" would entail, when the time is right. That's one thing about California (Los Angeles, to be exact). Every time you step outside, it's GO time, SHOWtime!. "Being" a being is what I would consider being not so Tinseltown-flattering in the outfit when I step outside. Obviously I know how to dress (sans my 2015 run), but this time around... SPECIFICALLY since getting to CCM (House 649, halfway house, etc.)... I'm making it ALL ABOUT THE MUSIC. Flaws and all. 

And when you meet me, 

the pleasure is all mine.

~!Jr.!~

1k1!!!

This is the 1,001st post on this blog. There were more, but a certain *drKiwi* deleted EVERY post out of a jealous rage. All I could do was rebuild. And that’s why I did! 

Not sure if this is seen, but the blog entries have gotten more cohesive and less intrusive. Less elusive, more clear grievances. 

^
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^

I dropped this record early morning yesterday, and the response is the absolute projection of my life. The Universe/Astral Plane says it’s a hit, my immediate circle of friends have something to say about it. It’s never a clean sweep with them. They can’t accept new direction (without them), they don’t want to learn anything new, and finally (the straw that breaks the camel’s back), they don’t know music (theory, at least). Their reference to music is whatever was hot when they were growing up.

No exploration. Just a need to make hits consistently.

Diddy really raped Harlem of its ambition. Its ambition, its vision, its village vibe, its need for community… I know my neck of the woods is invested in the fight. It’s usually drugs and street wars that delete possibilities. I’m blinded, if I’m being honest with myself. Crabs in a barrel lead to a great seafood dish in Harlem. You just gotta know where to get it from. 

If I could open my brother’s eyes, he would never stop creating. He’s just on this Jodeci tip that keeps him from seeing the purity in my music. That, plus I gotta go lighter on him (and many others). I am pretty smart, and I’ve been exuding my intelligence in my music. And not from Day One, because I dumbed down for The Pink Lavalamp and “Brooklyn Girls”. People should feel insulted, truth be told. And even with me simplifying the rhyme to “amplify the noise”, I dropped JEWELS AND GEMS on TPL. 

I just set a new standard with “Brooklyn Girls”.

Good sir, I'm not trying to compete with you or show you up. I just want you to be proud of how I grew. I'm literally doing my own thing, owing NO ONE but those who decide to listen. Maybe your search for perfection is your insecurity crawling from inside of you to the outside. What you do is excellent. You don't need anyone. Reach that level. Just know that I have a lineage of artistic expression that I walk on the path of understanding. To understand. I've tried to explain to you repeatedly. I've even heard my technique in your music. I've even heard you RESPOND to my music where I got at you. You don't even take music serious, yet you ask for my feedback. I think you get off on me valuing your opinion.

What happens when it stops?
The care, the concern, the camaraderie? 

Would I be unclear then?

#CH

“Two black eyes…”

As I prepare for Night of the Lavalamp, I find/found myself MUMMIFIED by “Boy Who Cried Wolf”. The beat was from the same beat CD “Shinin’” was on. Ted Wheeler, a neighborhood hustler and “ally” to HchO, came through with a beat CD with tracks from other underground producers from “all over the country” who just want a placement. Swiss (Jmeans) took a beat that I really wanted, but he let me sing the hook. I find no irony in the song being titled “Pimp Shit”.

Anyway, “Shinin’” was written first, and H’s intervention bought me more time to creatively blossom. Both #Shinin and #BoyWho were only a minute long, so I looped them on ProTools and wrote (at least) #BoyWho on the back of the BX5 bus. I wanted #BoyWho to be my “Yellow Brick Road” (Eminem), where I lyrically speak on the hardships that fuel my musical ember. I found myself speaking on an incident in FDA where, after assaulting an 8th grader for slapping me in the form of the Dave Chappelle/Rick James skit, I got jumped and suffered a broken nose by two Latin brothers.

I’m not mad at them. They were serving justice. I’m not mad at the kid. He did what you’re “supposed to do” when faced with adversity in your home village: go to an ELDER, not the police. I’m not mad I had 2 black eyes for most of the school year. All the aforementioned did was add to the depression I was getting over in FDA and still manage(d) to feel everyday.

I elaborate on this story on “8am pt. 3: A Kingly Flashback”. Instead of making it a stupid race war/turf war, I took the time I had off from school (to heal) to internalize the actions, learn from them, and make myself better through them. I’m not a saint, and with the whole story out there, I can live with it. It is safe to say that I play and played the victim role a lot. It’s hard to hear myself think that, but I am a bit passive aggressive. Mainly because the bottom line exists to serve me, and all I want to do is make people happy.

It’s a cycle.

~!Jr.!~

Inheriting the Earth

It's well-documented in the last 21 years that... I'm conceited. I think highly of myself, and I reflect such in my music. What isn't made clear is how much I care. Reason being is the very conceit I... acknowledge. Whether I inherited this conceit through being a Cam'ron-loving Harlem resident, or my knowledge of Music Theory itself, it's been what makes people hesitant to show me love. 

This concept has me feeling like a Poodle of sorts. A sight for sore eyes, but no place uptown. In fact, here we are. My Pekingese theory. Mom and I adopted an abused Pekingese from the corner store. We named him Chauncey. He became my best friend. Hands down. Me and mom spoiled him. But yeah. He had no business being in MY neighborhood, without an owner to cherish what he has. Do your homework on Pekingese dogs. They're royalty. Chinese royalty.

Foreign royalty is seldom appreciated in the hood.
Watch "Coming To America".

I am now of the mind to ask, is the hard time I got from both males and females, THROUGHOUT MY TENURE ON PLANET EARTH, a form of sexual harassment? If it is, what am I gonna do about it? Has the double standard finally reversed? Can a man appreciate what he brings to the table without being typecasted? Can a woman stomach herself after subjecting a man to what SHE went through? I haven't been taking the best care of myself, but I know that Black don't crack (albeit crack being White). 

God humbles me about my good looks. I'd go outside on a sunny, South Central day, looking bummy because I'm just going across the street to the store, and I'd see a DIME walking the opposite direction. Now, I doubt my game, and like I said, I'm looking bummy. My sex appeal is that of Hank Hill ("King of the Hill"). I can "do something about it or own it" (Eminem, "Road Rage"), and that's what I'm doing. I'm down to 2 cigs a day, I'm working out (gut won't go anywhere; water weight from the meds), still making music, still doing this (blogging)... but the validation comes from ...well, both me AND you.

I know I'm doing better than ever. I FEEL better than ever. But that will only be conveyed if YOU (all) can see such. It sucks and it's an unfortunate truth, but it is what it is. The more I make you rant and rave, the more you... rant and rave. Critical reviews influence, but it is YOU who is influenced. I know, "direct-to-consumer". Explain that to Andrew Howe, who flew me out to meet his family and friends who know me through the music I gave for free. Explain that to Chris and Bev Rivera, who MET AND CONCEIVED A CHILD through my music. 

My Ministry is Music.

Not all the way God, not all the Devil.

I allow ANY AND EVERYONE to get down with me.

I (musically) create altars and sacrifice my self on them, for YOU to live again.
Or WANT to live again.

My beauty has suffered through Magic, I admit. I have a HORRIBLE case of eczema, my teeth are on some other shit, obviously my malignant gut, I snore viciously, ...like I can't imagine a new woman in my life. At least my living conditions are good. My apartment doesn't smell, my clothes are lined up and in order... I'm not living wack. I'm just living for me. WHILE I live for a community of music lovers who wouldn't be around each other if it weren't for music, MY music, and MYSELF as a being.

Believing I'm Sonic is a joy. Survivor's guilt it may be, but I don't feel worthy of being Sonic. I feel like an insane, cold and calculating genius who's projects are misunderstood and FULLY involve Sonic and his whole universe. No one wants the conversations I want to have, yet they parade it all over mass media. I'm tired of talking about it. I spent so much time and energy trying to make the blurred lines sharp, BEFORE THEY GOT BLURRY. All I want to do is travel the astral plane while I create a utopia for Indigo Children with my words. I do this, I want to do this, and I've already done it ("Abandoned Nature Walks"). I just find joy in creating.

The Big Bang Theory.
Bang is an onomatopoeia.

onomatopoeia is a sound.

Sonic is sound.

To be the creator means to be faster than your own mind.

No one wants this job.

even ugly lil you.

~#~

Unhappily ever after.

Long story short, she ended up married, I ended up alone. My door is subsequently closing. I tried to hold out for old flames to come back, I tried to look out for new love, all of which are well-documented in my music. I already have intimacy issues due to one reason or another (ala PRISON). I wouldn't mind laying up with a lady after a long day of making music. The cost is just too great. I am as presentable as I want to be. Everything is on my own terms. I got fly for my show last Friday (9/25/2026), and I don't mind doing it when it's showtime. 

But every day I'm here in this apartment is another day in the musical war torn terrain. 

It's already me vs. the algorithm. I'm allowing my listeners (StarChasers) to convince me to put my FREE music on streaming services. It's like they miss the point, completely. Even "Ian R. Schwartz" (from Death of the Mixtape Rapper) told you that the focus was MUSIC FIRST. I begged and pleaded for them to keep me out of the scope of Pop music, and allow for my music to make room in the mainstream. They listened, only to be met with reservation with regards to my sanity.

Insanity is doing the same thing over and over expecting a different result. I hear y'all. Get my money.

Right?

Long story short, she ended up married, I ended up alone. Who am I doing this for? I'm comfortable where I'm at, and I'm still able to supply what the demand is. No one knows what they want anymore. No one is a breakout star. No hit was the runaway hit of the summer. It's every man for themselves, in a BLOODTHRISTY business. I do have plans to get into the production side of things, and I might bring back Connor Harrington for a visual project. Regardless, I'm in no rush to "ball outta control". I just want to make music I can stand behind. And I do. It's just not reaching the way music I made FOR the people does. 

Thus making me a slave to my audience.

I find that StarChasers want to be motivated, more than they want to hear a testimony. My theory was that, if I share my story of survival and offer you a chance to "walk with me", you'll be inspired to... not so much do the same, but use your pain as a catalyst to survive. Whether it's drugs, alcohol, sex, whatever. Those moments of despair can translate into a lifetime of learning. And learning can be fun! Just learn how to transmute your learning into a greater earning. And yes, you can probably earn a living from such. But you won't know until you try.

But what do I know?

Long story short, she ended up married, I ended up alone.

Where's the love song for that, Mr. Hamilton?

8am, 11/10

If you ain't up on thangs, I started a new birthday song series. "8am". On my birthday in 2023, my dad informed me of the exact day and hour I was born. So ecstatic about this new information, I decided to make the song "November 10th" (in which I graphically disrespect my dad) obsolete. The first "8am" was peaceful, campy, and lighthearted. The second had (literally) more grit to it. And the company I was keeping during the literal time of recording it became the biggest non-family opp I had/have to date. The song survives, but I'm still haunted by that *drKiwi*.

This year, I took a COMPLETELY different approach to celebrating my birthday. Essentially the difference between Thelonious Monk and Sun Ra. Just in the future they were representing in their eras. I’m excited about it, but because it’s so new it can draw some pushback. The last thing I want is to release a FREE expression of joy on my birthday, only to be told it’s subpar for any reason. That, plus we’re celebrating 20 years of musical excellence on that day, with a performance of The Pink Lavalamp. I don’t want one to taint the other.

All the above in mind, I probably won’t release 8am pt. 3 ON my birthday, but it will see the light of day. The stakes are higher than EVER, and I don’t want to bet against myself. 

You only get what you give, in this business…

~#~

Enemy with the Sleeping

“Aight… sorry, Rihanna. You know you still my baby mama. But again. I’m a piranha. No time to be LadyCharmer…”

-Charles Hamilton, “Look At Me pt. 2”

Last night’s show was a success. The crowd showed love, as I took them on a “20-year journey, in about 3 songs”. I kept it at music. I didn’t gloat about my accomplishments, I didn’t throw anyone under the bus, I didn’t lip sync (though I rapped over the songs)… I showed up and did my thing. 

Let it be said that I appreciated ALL of the performers and performances. Overnight I forgot names, but they’re all on the flyer. I wish them all the best of luck. They got the right eyes on them, and they rose to the occasion.

I also want it said that cigarettes are death agents for artists. As therapeutic as they (technically) can be, your breath is connected to your voice. As a musician-moonlighting-as-a-revolutionist, it took for me not being able to speak this morning to realize that… my voice is more important than my synthetic orgasm.

I wish my mom knew what her voice meant to me. I can access our random memories, but… it’s not the same. And she would want me to soldier on. I know my dad’s voice better than he does. He quit smoking. Now he’s remarried, in the same state he was born and raised in. I don’t really know that many smokers. And the few I do know are substituting their real vice for a cig.

Only one cig today! It’s been 3 a day for a week, and chain smoking (out of nervousness) for MONTHS. Even cigars. My breathing, speaking, singing and MCing have been impacted by this. I’m actually workinonit. I promised Harlem a show at SOBs, and I’m not one to break those.

Earlier on X, I admitted to utilizing some of Lupe’s wordplay in my own work. Not exact bars, but… technique and delivery of… really whatever. But yeah, I can acknowledge Lupe as someone I been measuring my own against. And like I said on X, we talked about it (on tour together), laughed about it, and exchanged notes.

I didn’t bite. I built.

Much like the artists from last night’s showcase.

Expect footage, soon.

~#~

Sleeping w/ The Enemy

This *drKiwi* deserves ALL the shade, considering what I went through with them. However, I know their past and… quite frankly, they deserve a break. As I think this and about them, I’m reminded of red flags that scarred me from relationships from when they were first thrown.

I don’t listen to modern rappers. No matter how dope you are, I came up as a battle mc. With that state of mind, every rapper, from favorite to greatest to latest, is an opp. You have to big me up to get out of that record pool. And even then, your character keeps you on (or off) my Nice list.

I think we’re all clear on who my opp is on the music business. They catch a *drKiwi* from me from the point of insertion. That in mind, this *drKiwi* was listening to THEM, *IN MY HOUSE*! It’s not like I wasn’t making music, and it’s not like I want taking care of the *doc*. I was so insulted and hurt, ALL I COULD DO WAS CONTINUE TO CREATE. 

But that drove a dagger into my chest.

*DrK* has long since moved on. And if they are who I believe them to be, I’m better off without them. Her new man is more than capable of putting her in her place (without violence, of course). But yeah. I don’t need her energy in my life. Obviously I wish her well, and yeah she comes to mind every so often. But I take pride in the peace I find for myself. 

I hope *drKiwi* finds peace for herself as well.