Seeing as how I am without a deck, I'm low key panicking about the future. One is in reach, but moments like these when/where I get ideas for transitions and blends that I realize how addicted I've become to Turntablizm. I have DJ'd in public before, so I'm not so much a Bedroom Beethoven, as I am a musician who spends ALL his time perfecting one's craft.
And I want to do it more than I already do.
HOWEVER...
I can honestly say that even though The Pink Lavalamp lives to see another day and will live forever (November 10th, baby!), it is not immune to The Talented Mr. Hamilton! As dead ass as TPL is, it's not so grave that I can't have fun with it. I became a slave to it for YOU. There would be no "My Brain Is Alive" without TPL. But The Pink Lavalamp couldn't've occurred without Sober Karaoke. And I cheered the fuck up from "From The Desk Of..." at my expense. seez/!! See? That's my mental health. I downplay potential blessings from self and others because I feel I don't deserve it.
Let me work on that.
and I don't have much time.
Somethin' new...
Today, I:
-rode the exercise bike (breath control is HORRIBLE)
-practiced 11/10 set (not bad, but I want to have someone here to watch)
-writing this blog entry
-listened to potential singles from music on my website
-spoke with Dre the Manager; he mostly handles the day to day
-prayed and meditated
It seems to me that I handle my business so rapidly that I have nothing to do with my day and life. I guess I can call Jackie!, but she’s not all the way single yet. We both kinda rushed in this thing, not really having much other than music to hold onto.
Could be another love TKO.
And I feel like shit trying to go Keith Sweat my way back into Simone’s graces.
Let’s go digging…!
#CH
Ungh.
Come on.
I might be sinless but my mind is full of sin.
(verse 1)
Not what I'm looking for. I got what I'm looking for. Getting top from a Brooklyn whore. "Write a lot!", in my book. Some more, after. But the disaster is the Brooklyn chick isn't here. I look within to get clear. Who could I like? Who would I love? A Latina with long hair or a bald black chick? She got a Caesar but she's thick. She probably a pleaser, Jesus! Just on a three second flick I knew that she'd get the recklessness I spit, you dig? She want a piece of me, from a distance. A Modern Lacey, but kind of crazy. I miss Miss, from a distance. Can you get this?
(hook)
Somebody take her!
Shorty looking like she's a heartbreaker!
Looking like she's a heartbreaker...
I just can't take her!
Shorty looking like she's a heartbreaker!
Should've known that she's a heartbreaker!
(verse 2)
I like to role play when I'm watching porn. Stepmom, stepson I got a lot to go on with. Get on my mountain, become a Mormon when I preach to you. Leave you in The Water of St. Louis... Salt Lake City... Damn, I can't do it! I paint to it. but damn it, I ain't do it! We connected mentally through sex in a scene. Sex In The City, no. Sex on the Internet. That's digital. I get it all. I get it from the fro to the toes. She had no fro but pretty toes. Did she know that I'm watching her get off? Also looking for an officer... cuff me. Fuck me, baby. Fuck me, baby! It's just me, baby... you make me ugly and crazy!
(hook)
Somebody take her!
Shorty looking like she's a heartbreaker!
Looking like she's a heartbreaker...
I just can't take her!
Shorty looking like she's a heartbreaker!
Should've known that she's a heartbreaker!
(verse 3)
She felt me stroking my bone. I felt she when she rode on the pole. A quick scene then we role play. She's somebody's stepmom! I'm like, "okay, maybe I could be the son that she lusting after! Bust her ass! We cuddle up when after!" ...just because I love her laughter. Maybe it's forced, but it ain't forced no more! She got me! I cuddle with her thick ass! Leaving puddles after the disaster. That word. Disaster, what is that? I sit back and wish she was mine. She sits on my lap, From a distance. I give her all I have plus what's divine. She disappears when I refresh. Just know as long as I log on, she's next. Ungh
(hook)
Somebody take her!
Shorty looking like she's a heartbreaker!
Looking like she's a heartbreaker...
I just can't take her!
Shorty looking like she's a heartbreaker!
Should've known that she's a heartbreaker!
[#cHam_widdit]
The smartest thing for me to do right now is shut the fuck up. Literally. I have a showcase coming (industry stuff), and the big 11/10 show. As you may have heard in today's live, I am very hoarse, and I NEED to put the cigs down.
Now, The Eye of Horus has brought me much success. In fact, it's the reason I'm here. But I haven't been kind to the temple that houses it. I'm able to knock out 12-hour DJ sets to an audience that may or may not appreciate the music, for the last 2 NYEs. This is my chance to showcase my talents through songs I love and get love for, AS WELL AS get compensated from it. I don't want to squander this opportunity due to cravings and being overall weak.
It won't be easy, but it must be done. At least until this coming Christmas. Who knows what can happen FOR me by then...? I just know I'm here till I'm not. And I don't plan to be the reason I'm not here anymore.
MOON steps, y'all... lol
So I will be actively shutting the fuck up, at least until I get my falsetto back. I have at least 16 days to get my voice back. As of now, I'm nervous.
But I always bounce back in the midnight hour.
I can attest to my own doings.
Today, I...
-woke up
-read the news
-worked the exercise bike
-drank A LOT of water
-took my daily psych meds
-practiced for upcoming live shows
-meditated
-prayed (to God)
Making a blog entry like this was hard,
I guess I'm that evil.
Doing it again, today.
Nov. 10th, @ SOBs NYC
NewCo era, y'all. The manipulative muscle of Matt Michelson and the smooth coercion of "Uncle Jeff" Metcalf. NO ONE KNEW WHAT TO DO. They just knew my music was marketable, and with the right designer stuff, I can be equally as marketable (without clashing with "their" favorite artists). I sent a LOT of subs at EACH of them. Sadly, the NewCo era made enemies out of my Harlem brethren. It wasn't long into this era that I had falling outs with Boe, Dre, Sha-leik, Leroy... and a lot of these songs reflect it.
Difference is, I was writing back then.
I feel weird having WROTE little quips and lines about a serious topic. I've already made my accusations. Just... the people I accused ended up influencing the behavior of all those listed earlier. As it so turns out, it was all a scare tactic, and they did indeed scare the shit out of me. But they got bars for it. And I got my bars UP, thinking about them. As we move forward, Dre and Leroy are in the position that Matt and HchO were in. Sha and I are on better terms, Boe is the homie... all I gotta do is show up in Harlem and all will be okay.
Currently on a FaceTime group chat with Lou and Shapeshifter Dre (Stray Dogs). We're trying to figure out what to do about a wayward Stray. No details, no quotes. Just pray for Reek the Cleric. And say another prayer for Super Helpful Kwame (with the CH-produced "Black In New York"), who's facing homelessness and ...well, not being able to make music until the funds come around.
The real ones go through it.
That's how they become real ones.
Ace your test.
~!Jr.!~
Hey, Dilla.
I don't know if it's "Praise Jesus!", "Fuck Jesus!", be like Jesus, be like you...
I make noise on this shit, baby.
Come on, let me get down, Lord!.
(verse 1)
I'm only interested in committing sin with my women friends. Come back with a strap. Not on their waist; more like, "on my hip...!". Spraying anybody that's bored of the shit. More than morbid; it's the floor to the abyss. The bottom of it. Bottoms up. Raising heaven like it's a child. Getting down. Mystikal. Spitting Wild. Wild and fast... like top. Like I like it. Give me that, I just might change. Strange how brain changes the game. Yet, you don't need a brain to receive the change of the game... The Rap Game. Jesus's pain, all over they hands, head and back. Wherever they have pain. My pain's your destiny, better believe. So Fresh and Clean; better than three. 8,000 and a million. Wildin' in the building; you smiling? I guess not. I guess the stress cannot stop. Trying to make you laugh while you shake your ass... Dilla! Madlib in the back... extra rapping under the cap (sry). Niggas, get that? Mentality! Been that! No fatality, unless I (w)rap that...
(hook)
I cannot hate this guy for all.
He's done all he's done for me.
I cannot hate this guy for all.
He's done all he's done for me.
I cannot hate this guy for all.
He's done all he's done for me.
I cannot hate this guy for all.
He's done all he's done for me.
(verse 2)
...no other damn direction to go. Stretching your throat, Giraffe. Geoffrey. Let's get it o-n. You know that I be o'in with a poem. No other choice but to go in. When the wind's blowing, innuendoing. Then, the dough I get is not mentioned by no one. Shit. Going in like... no one would if no one was in the crib. They coming in. How sick is that? Picture the fact and wrap it up. Like a condom. Fuck with that Fuck me? Fuck your (w)raps! Fuck you! It's a Wrap. What the fuck is up with that? Jesus got me! Holes in my hands, and I'm bleeding sloppy! THAT's the pain I feel, holding the mic like Rodney Dangerfield. No respect. So I hold your neck. Poltergeist. Holding a beer. Know what the fear is... my spirit. Hear this!
(hook)
I cannot hate this guy for all.
He's done all he's done for me.
I cannot hate this guy for all.
He's done all he's done for me.
I cannot hate this guy for all.
He's done all he's done for me.
I cannot hate this guy for all.
He's done all he's done for me.
Dear Jesus, how does it feel to be mentioned in The Sun's powerful yield? Like I give it up to you, cause you died. I can't die. I provide immortality to anybody that want to battle the rhyme. You live forever as a loser like me. I guess we all losers to God. Under my -scope like Inter-... Wynter, I hope it don't blow me away like a baby's placenta. Yo, it takes a lot of age... takes a lot of rage. Break a lot of stages, make a lot of dough, become a fucking sage. Either way, you grow. Either way, you know. No sense in the radio. You're not projecting your spirit, you're sexing and you hear it. Intersection of the spirit. Dead in your chest. Hennessy. Better believe. Rest In Peace in the MC Getting at me!
(hook)
I cannot hate this guy for all.
He's done all he's done for me.
I cannot hate this guy for all.
He's done all he's done for me.
I cannot hate this guy for all.
He's done all he's done for me.
I cannot hate this guy for all.
He's done all he's done for me.
Wow. I posted 2 Columbine Gang entries on my Enter the Hamilton blog. Nerd shit, but a sight that I MUST SLOW DOWN. Actually, I should STOP.
I need to reload.
Bear with me, y'all.
*drKiwi* became a way of anonymously addressing people in my life, without saying names and having people search for them online. In this situation, I won’t *drKiwi* you, but I won’t say your name.
To protect the sanctity of our friendship.
Dude is like StarChaser Enemy #1, with how devoted he’s been to me. He’s gone from distant supporter to damn near manager. His love and support means EVERYTHING to me. Some things he’s helped with, I can’t mention on the blog for administrative reasons. Dude is an angel.
We only disagree when it comes to the means of songwriting.
He wants me to write.
I’ve tried repeatedly to explain that not only do I make sense when I don’t write, but it’s better for my mental health. Though he respects that, he feels the world was a better place when I wrote. I recently wrote a project. Pentecost. He loved it! No complaints. But went so far as to say it was the best body of work I created in the last 5-6 years. I was almost offended, but I understand that my music, in general but specifically when unwritten, is an acquired taste.
I let it go, but I wrote this.
I ask that homie understand that I’m not trying to ignore requests, but I’m on some other shit. Eventually, I’m gonna stop putting music out. I may continue to blog, but my music is meant for healing. My newer music is meant for MY healing. I can’t claim to know how you feel if I’m wounded myself.
I see that being a StarChaser requires patience. Well, wherever you end up going (fan wise), know that I care about you and am thankful for your input. No one I know is on the path I’m on, including you. In fact, I’m grounded in what/who I am. I’ve never been more confident about it. I wish my confidence could exude in my music, but I’m too busy dancing to care.
I go stupid. Those that go stupid, know stupid.
And it’s all the pleasure in a moment’s time that once existed with writing. I literally made #Pentecost for the enjoyment of a written CH song. I shouldn’t have sent it to you, but you are the main catalyst for me writing. I wrote a song a day for this project. And it’s not just rap! StarChasers are in for a treat.
As for the StarChasers who love the unwritten/freestyle work? It gets no more raw than #CorporalPunishment. HOLDING the mic, in an Iowa basement, in front of ANOTHER longtime StarChaser and his family. I wanted to catch the slightly awkward family vibe, and I’m pretty sure I did that.
Back to you, my beloved StarChaser. I don’t think anything I say will ever convince you to accept the unwritten style. But I know the love is there. I just don’t want to write ONLY because of you. I was inspired to do it. You gotta let it happen.
You gotta let it happen.
Things have changed. As of 2025, I am no longer managed by Jr.CORP (self). The trial run was amazing, but I couldn’t break through the way I...
