Tap-outs

 

I recently read (or re-read) an article from 2015 that described how medded-up I was. They noted that I was able to articulate myself, but that I looked completely subdued and my speech was slurred. Because of an agreement I signed to be free, I can’t directly point the finger of blame to anyone. But I was definitely under the influence of HEAVY psychotropic drugs.

Lately, I’ve been working out to change the narrative. At least if I get better circulation in my body, the meds won’t be so heavy on my tongue… and fingers. I hate what the medication has done to my playing. And what the cigs did to my voice?? Fuggedaboutit. Still, I refuse to believe I am a shell of my former self. 

This show on Friday should separate the men from the boys, as far as how I carry myself.

Granted, rock stars notoriously pay for how bad they treat themselves.

I was talking to a FDAlien recently. Cant say her name, can’t *drKiwi* her. But she believes in me. Always did. We just never were in a position to make it romantic. And I feel like FAILING every time I see her. I just think she’s that awesome. It’s either fail or crash out and deck the nearest person to us. Never felt that before. 

Unrelated, I told CYoung exactly what I had been sampling for the beats of #3rdEyeMagic projects of the last 2 years. I warned him that THEY may be the cause of his meltdowns. He denied, and went on talking about his experience in the streets. 

At least I tried.

Don’t worry. I’ll be dropping some beats soon.

And expect a Hamilton Takeover of DSPs, even sooner.

My day is going, so will I.

You know the vibes.

!Jr.!

Feed.

Today, so far, only 2 cigarettes! I been gradually cutting back, allowing room for new hobbies and interests in place of my addiction. I have a little science project that I drink to flush my system. The damn (censored) pill people are taking forever to deliver my system cleansing herbs. And even if I get them this week, I won’t see results until around the November 10th show.

I really want to be a better version of who I became. I spent so much time VISCIOUSLY subbing so many people, I forgot my modern goal: rock a party. Some records are good enough to spin, but my lyrical ignorance makes me dwell on the subject manner. I’m now cool with my targets, so 2012-2017 music is damn near obsolete. We can laugh about it now, but it’s MY music that’s scorned and screwed.

Let that be a lesson, StarChasers. Don’t let your rage detract from your beauty. It is a thing to be so angry at the world or someone that you take it out on yourself. It’s not of God, but The Devil is unable to take responsibility. Find balance for yourself. I am unbalanced, with how much music I make. And though it’s not in my best interest, I can, do and will continue. Obviously for the love of you (all), but also for the love of music. 

Music knows I can make songs with irregular time signatures. Music knows I can modulate (transpose). Music knows I don’t abuse ANY record I sample (peace to “Willing To Wait” by Rihanna). Music is like …the first thing g I ever knew. I can’t let it go. I DO want to make more piano instrumental albums. I have a connect for it (a piano studio), but our schedules are both screwed. 

Here’s to hoping you’re enjoying the music I been dropping on YouTube. I’ve been working at being more concise and consistent lyrically (as opposed to abstract and sporadic). It’s work, and I do sense a bit of malice (hint), but I know I’m nice, and my circle is FAR from full of yes-men. Yes, belief is a factor. But I KNOW that. It’s just about being patient with my listeners.

Or maybe they should be patient with me…

I see you, *drKiwi*. Make better music on your own before you Simon Cowell mine.

Mike Disco, peace to ya! Ever tag team soundclashed??

~

CzH~

NiGHTS Into Hearts

As I germinate the stress of performing again, I’m reminded of a particular *drKiwi* that I have been addressing subliminally (literally) for a few years, but not mentioning the name. She’s a DV survivor with a unique name, so mentioning her and where it all went down at would jeopardize her safety. And she wasn’t a bitch. Quite the opposite. 

Just a wolf in sheep’s clothing.

I was there when she needed me, and I say this with honor. I didn’t expect our friendship to take a romantic turn. And when it did, I made love to her like a soulmate. So much of myself (as a Scorpio) was given to she. I didn’t want anything in return. I just wanted to cherish a friend of mine in ways I couldn’t fantasize about.

When we met, she had a man.

When we met, eye contact had us makin’ love on my loft bed.

Same day, same time, same instant.

We never forgot.

She never forgot (tf?).

I rarely forget shit.

The bitch got possessed by the music we were listening to (I’d share, but you dare) and (she) kicked me out. Dead the remedy was to grab her shoulders and shake Ch’utulu out of her. But she was goooonnnne. So I packed my equipment (after we agreed that I would pay rent based on the money I make from streaming; this was 2019… NiGHTS Mayfield era… jester hat) and went back to Harlem, to VK’s crib. 

Somehow, I ended up in Baltimore.

*drKiwi* and I ended up separating. And I was bitter about it. Baddie suffered because of this, Diamond got the last laugh (after all), Original was unfortunately rejected… my vision of a polygamous Atari had fallen. 

But it took incarceration in Cali to make me timid about love.

I fucked up. 

And though I normally recover from my flubs, some takes are ruined and need to be done over. And depending how deep I’m in, I can’t remember shit.

Heartbreak before you even hear.

Jackie Brown was a helluva movie (the soundtrack dictates my bipolar spectrum) and Simone Biles keeps flipping. I just don’t want to be alone. Jamaica has retreated. Asia is in stealth. White America is traumatized. Latin America is misunderstood. The Hood is making room for me.

I understand my relationship with the races.

All it takes is one.

Like a Grammy.

^

^

^

-so mote it be

gone falsetto.

Well, hopefully I can learn how to STFU in a week’s time, because as of now, I’m low alto/high baritone.

In other words, my beloved falsetto is gone.

The high notes.

I noticed it dwindling when I went to visit Drew. In fact, it was going away when Rivera came to visit. Drew got me some specialized cough drops, and I was able to save my voice for at least another 2 or so projects.

Yes, I’ve been chain smoking… to the thought of returning back to NYC and putting on a show. I also been sitting in my air-conditioned apartment, recording like manic. I was told in 2022 by a doctor to STOP RECORDING AND LET MY VOICE REST. That one day, whatever I love about my voice will be gone. The shit about it is, my medical coverage doesn’t permit me to get the spray I need for my throat.

It is Smoker’s Cough, but my case is pretty prolonged.

“Maybe I’m a slave to Republicans, but baby I’m a slave to your love again…”

-Charles Hamilton, “Catch Me Next Week”

I can make it clear, or I can be ambiguous. It’s like this… I picked up a habit out of desperation, and now I’m desperate to kick the habit.

Text me, if you need to talk to me.

I’m only expecting my Dad, my caseworker and Porter to call me today.

I really don’t wanna let down my team.

And hey!

This could be a good thing! I find that my voice can be rather Bugs Bunny-levels of irritating. Like a preppy Westside Gunn, in the tone (respectfully). This could be a proper reintroduction.

Whatever Tomorrow brings, I’ll be there.

-so mote it be

Aborted Hamilton

Don’t call *drKiwi* about this shit. It’s not that serious. Nevertheless, abandoning projects is like removing a musical fetus from my creative womb.

I began work on an album called “Survivor’s Guilt”. The title struck me, and though there is a solid definition to it, I’m not all that sure I survived my test. I’ve been clean from H for about 5-6 years now. Cold turkey, minus HEAVY weed binging sessions. I recently caught a SERIOUS jones for it, and called my dad for support. I would’ve called mom, but most of the lies I told about using were TO my mom. That, plus she’s dead.

I don’t wanna let anyone down. I also can’t say I survived addiction because I’m still struggling with cigarettes. I feel weak about them. I’m down to 2 a day, but I wake up hacking and wheezing. This year also makes 20 years since I bought my first loosie. In Harlem, after FDA closed for the night, on my way to Toya’s. I wanted a blunt so bad, and Sha didn’t have bud or money for it. B/A, I don’t remember why I didn’t smoke with him that night. But yeah. No one had bud, and I had $1.50. Enough for a cig, a brownie and a Nutty (.50 soda).

I may come back to “Survivor’s Guilt”. I just don’t feel strong enough for it right now. It would be a motivating album… motivational… kinda like “Jesus & Santa Claus” (2016). It’s just one of those titles that grabs you by the collar and insists you break the cement shoes The Russian Mafia put on your soul. Or is it Italian…? Still and all, I have some other projects in the works. 

Infant of the Malice

Malice of the Infant

I still have some rage in my heart to air out. I fear I missed out on what the world is now hypnotized by. So my perspective is officially out of this world. Just gotta stay focused on the tasks at hand (shows, meetings, etc.) and remember that I’m loved.

I don’t want this love to fade.

#CzH

Sorrow 0fficial lyrics

(verse 1)

As I lose my censorship... same time, I lose my penmanship... same time, I lose my pin... men ship... at the same time, I'm just as lost as it all. Three strikes and I'm... at the line. Base is whatever I'm high with. Facing forever, the assignment. Never is it better, though. Better get it together! And Quickly. Officer Quimby. They getting to me again. The sweetest sin, the sweetest scent. Missing from me. Misinformation. Can I get it? Can I get it, for free?

(hook)

It was all me.

Then it was all she.

Now it's all *we*,

and she don't want no more.

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry.

(verse 2)

Please forgive me.The deepest sympathy. I can't give a reason. I deserve a hit, indeed. At the same time, I'm consider perfection. Disturbed perfection. Rose from concrete. Got a discreet way of being what I'm peace-ing. Each being wanna see this. No other reason. Just to be it. Wanna BE the definition. I see it's never listening. Whatever you see from here, let it agree from here. I bring peace to here. Wherever I be, it's sincere.

(hook)

It was all me.

Then it was all she.

Now it's all *we*,

and she don't want no more.

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry.

(verse 3)

Watch your greed. Nothing's stopping me. Juxtaposition. I just want you to listen. Adjust to my listening.

My ways are different now.

I think SEGA's different now.

The way I view it, ...no PPV. A different view. Who can see? Who can say? Trying to dis-spew a different -splay. No dissing. You don't listen. No kidding. You won't get it.

(hook)

It was all me.

Then it was all she.

Now it's all *we*,

and she don't want no more.

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry.

^
^
^
You know who you are. I still get the shakes from how I treated you. Just know that such is not in my nature, and that you drove me wild. All apologies.

#CzH#

My heartbeat.

^
^
^
Hopefully, you read the post about your return.
I'm excited to have you back.

Much has changed.

Love comes from a dry heart.

Water is for tears.

My love comes from a dry heart.

My heart.

I bled my heart dry in your name.

I am willing to follow the deception.

I enjoy your war scars.

They compliment my battle talk.

My tongue is scarred from said battle.

Your scars make you sexier.

If, when, it.

 

~!Jr.!~

Darralyn 0fficial lyrics

(verse 1)

I am the kind of love that Wyclef reminded your mama not to worry about. Worrying. Worrying out of my mind is you hurrying out of the house. Upstate. Westchester. Shower. Devoured by the jester. Chester Cheeto. Ego infested by a coward. Eisenhower. Hi. The Tower. Deep as it gets. I read you. You read in my mind. I see that it fits. As good as it gets. A reason to be... an actor. Collect the paper. Stack a wrap. Stacker 2. Get in shape and get them away, no matter what the attitude is calling for. Attitude is calling for more grooves! Back to... whew!

(hook)

Darralyn, darlin'...

You got me carryin' on!

O, I made you wanna holla!

Fit in to my life.

You make me wanna holla!

But this just is not right...

(verse 2)

Trouble Man is an troubled man. Trouble Man is a martian. Marvin. Smoothest brother. What a muthafuckin man! What a brother! Not a brother. A Gothic muthafucka. Lookin for Rih Rih, so I can make love to my pee pee. Being easy, since there is no level lower or higher than The Devil. You gotta drop low to see the pain you feel. "Not so!", says the game for real. But... then they say you should stay still... get right with me. And as you see, I try to live sorta light-eously. Righteousl-... right to B... right to C... right to... you alright with me?

(hook)

Darralyn, darlin'...

You got me carryin' on!

O, I made you wanna holla!

Fit in to my life.

You make me wanna holla!

But this just is not right...

(verse 3)

Sleep. Good night. I keep you tight under the sheets. The secret, I would like to leak. You keep me inside. TMI. I am not on TMZ. Like running for president; "am I?" Question mark, in the middle of my hand. I am my ammo. Columbine Gang, and you happen to come to school that day. Go away, go away! You are... in the midst of where I don't want to play. Sidewalks (are) gray. So is my bubble coat. Pants, blue. Hands of a dude not making me handsome. I am not... Luke. Cyber. Look... you. Fire. Inspired, now I got to ret-... Father, come and kill me.

(hook)

Darralyn, darlin'...

You got me carryin' on!

O, I made you wanna holla!

Fit in to my life.

You make me wanna holla!

But this just is not right...

^
^
^
Somethin' about FDA love, man...

~!Jr!~

Here she is…

Many people have cited the absence of *drKiwi* as the first sign of my downfall. I may agree. Well, we spoke today. We’re getting closer and passed the hang up’s of before. She was good to me, I was good to her. Thing is, I sinned against women. And Jamaica, if we’re being ambiguously honest (figure it out). 

But as the conversation rolled on, my homoerotic brick wall crumbled, and I was back in puppy love with…

Simone Porter.

We talked about everything. The rise and fall of us, our influence, justice, rage, copycats… she’s still as sharp as ever. She just doesn’t write anymore. Shit, neither do I. Sidebar, I may get back into writing full time. It’s a feeling. Back to regularly scheduled, I can’t front like I’m not under her control. She has a swag that consoles you as it puts your lights out. I’m not even thinking about sex. I can’t handle sex with anyone at this point. I CAN, however, trust Miss Porter.

I don’t want to be like this. Love shouldn’t motivate my life this way. I’m dependent on love. I’m gonna rock these shows, for the love of Dre and Leroy. I’m gonna get fly, for the love of Porter. I already don’t harm myself for the love of YOU. 

I imagine Sun Ra being critically suicidal. To imagine what a piano can do, OUTSIDE of playing melodies, is a task for the human mind. The nigga had an orchestra (Arkestra, rather). He probably couldn’t get the music out of his body fast enough.

I love you, Miss Porter. But you know that.

Let time be the judge of what we already put into The Universe…

I know. Briana. But she was post-Porter and… yeah. I guess I need a shot like that rn…

#CzH

She Smiled (For Once) 0fficial lyrics

Back outside...

Back outside.

(verse 1)
I'm not a scrub. I got a love that drives. Lets me sit on the passenger side. My glove provides (all) the love she rides with. I'm a lucky guy! I don't have to drive! I'm a master, on the passenger side... "...show me a good time!" So silly, am I... really, I define the Air. I am here, the pioneer of the five-plus-one. I be The One. ...that makes Seven! ...Five is like Six, and Six is forever. Sixes forever. Get it together. Mind my business for pleasure. Still, I get it in, on no measure!

(Hook)
I walk around neutral
I walk around on cruise control.
You make my life... unusual.

In a good way!

You... make my life...

Beautiful

(verse 2)
The flow is an Eleven. Didn't know that it was heaven. Reach me! I beseech thee! I smite thee, Almighty! I be trying to commit blaspheme on the mic. Ask for me, on the mic. Write down why. When your brown eyes lay down as I define my... recognition/resurrection/a better listen/a better lesson whenever this is the effort gevin...given, pardon. You're living with the Harden of rhyming. So retarded-ly raise your thighs, make it mine. I mean it's too damn indiscrete to be seen but... maybe I can't take it away... baby, I made a mistake! Save me with Grace... one of these days, okay? I'm a boss, and you know... it's kind of hard for me to stroke without you... I won't doubt you... you know I'm all about you.

(Hook)
I walk around neutral
I walk around on cruise control.
You make my life... unusual.

In a good way!

You... make my life.

Beautiful

(verse 3)
A slew of things, by me doing things. I be truly singing to the wind with my whispers. Whispers are psychic, I know. The Wind blows it so many times, it's pyrotechnic! 4th of July!, every time you start the lie... when the stars divide and let Charles be silent to the thought of violence in his mind being awesome, having ratings.

What am I dating?
A monstrosity, I believe,,,

(Hook)
I walk around neutral
I walk around on cruise control.
You make my life... unusual.

In a good way!

You... make my life.

Beautiful

#cHam

The Muse’s Beauty

My first album was written in deep depression. As I finished it, I ended up in a relationship with a BEAUTIFUL Jamaican girl. It changed my perspective on the music I was making, but it was too late. An album full of suicide letters was born, without real experience of what life can bring (albeit personal tragedies).

That momentum pushed me to album number 2. Super confident (because I got a girl), super creative, but developed a bond with melancholy music.

Ahh. Music.

The muse of all muses.

It’s safe to say that every song is a love letter to music. For better or worse, till death do us part. I get ugly (w/my fine ass) when it comes to music. From keeping coughs and belches to only recording one take, I literally build the gumption necessary to say what I wilt and put it all on the line. Rivera saw it. Tony New sees it every time we record. Portals… astral projection… doom force… Hell… Heaven… Harlem… Egypt. Space.

I go there.

Music is my muse. Music gives me the courage to explore. Can’t say I’m a coward, I just defuse more than engage in combat. Though some niggas only learn through physical means. God got my defense. Even if I make a song to another (love song, diss track, etc.), it’s done with love. And not blind or vacant love. Like I love music. To express it is to open my chest and bleed gore onto whatever you’re reading this with. 

To do that would be to make another song.

Expect a downpour of Hamiltunes.

It’s Charles Hamilton.

In arm’s reach

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 need to. 

I am now being managed by two long-time and trusted businessmen, Leroy Benros and Andre Stancil. Leroy handles the boardroom, Andre handles media.

For professional inquiries, hit THEM up at Leroy.benros@gmail.com and andrestancil1@gmail.com. 

We’re doing things a bit different this time. Even The Browns win a game.

That’s Leroy w Badu.

If charm wasn’t enough this go-round…

-so mote it be

The Talented... strikes!(ikes!ikes!ikes!ikes!ikes!)

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...

Can one pray for a Wiccan?

#CH