~Enter the Hamilton~: September 2026

“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.

Soulmate bitches…

So here I am, early morning, doomscrolling Facebook. No one I know (personally) is up/on Facebook, so I start to switch screens. As I do it, I see that… a woman I share a deep bond with…. Is not only getting married, but… has JITTERS about it.

Ain’t that a bitch?!

When we met, I was with Enjetic, and he had introduced me to ANOTHER woman for the night. It was clear: me, Enj and the crew go out for the evening, me and homegirl cap each other’s night off. At the bar, my “soulmate” came up to me with EXTREME interest. Because I was with Enj’s hook up, I politely curved her.

We stayed in touch via Facebook.

I feel bad. We could’ve been something special. And because I refused to play the game (of which I need “game” to play) I am in my bed, 5 years later, missing my soulmate bitch.

Here’s to you, soulmate bitches.

~#~

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.

(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.

(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.

^
^
^
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

“I heard a kiss from you…”

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

Thickassdaphne (Heartbreaker) 0fficial lyrics

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]

Hoarse Horus...

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.

^
^
^
"What's that smell? Oh, I'm just boiling some agua!"

-The Throne, "Made In America"

~!Jr.!~

Jitters of The Talented…!

As I listen to The Pink Lavalamp and prepare to perform it IN FULL on my birthday, I find it incredibly hard to find newer music of mine (2012-present) that can measure up to/follow-up A LIVE performance of TPL.

So I might not be djing that night. At least for an after party. The Pink Lavalamp is THAT AWESOME. It’s to where… I don’t want to listen to anything else, for the whole day! I really put my foot in this album.

It’s not about writing, or that my newer music isn’t good. It’s a completely different vibration all around. ESPECIALLY my 2026 stuff. The music on the website reflects a newly found appreciation for freedom, as well as music from the Lavalamp-Hamiltonization era. I can definitely do it. I just don’t want backlash saying my music since TPL can’t hold a candle to it or music made from that era.

I’m tired of explaining myself. I had an inflated sense of self during The Pink Lavalamp. Bad Harlem chick, bad Harlem side chick, a Harlem crew, and a whole double life that included poetry, sex, drugs and beats. My memories come back in flashes, and only remind me of how publicly private I was. Harlem knew I was on drugs, no matter how much I deny it. I was imagining myself making the songs I make NOW, BACK THEN. That’s why I’m so proud of my current work.

But FUCK.

The Pink Lavalamp is The Tower.

I guess because I KNOW what I did for it is why I’m not beating my chest about it. But this is what a proper CH album sounds like. Do I feel I’ve done better? Yes. “My Brain Is Alive” and “Mr. Black Cat”. But the nostalgia and overall touch of the album make it one-of-one.

But what happens when and if I do it again? Is it still one-of…? What if ALL my music from 2012-202present were one-ofs, meant to be enjoyed with discretion?

“Something you should think about while you walk around…”

-Charles Hamilton, “Savannah”

#CH

...as it continues...

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

The irony of love.

I hadn't met Miss Jackie! yet, at the time of making this song. In fact, I could've used ANY Jackie in my life, no less the one here already. I knew a Jackie in FDA. Same grade, too. She just liked the bad boys. And I was more interested in her upperclassmen friend. Nothing came of either, so no feelings to be had. Just... all I wanted was my laptop. Especially during this time.

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.

^
older picture. lol.

~!Jr.!~

CH x JPEG

^
^
^
I had only heard about dude from underground circles. Never officially listened. He reached out during the week, and I was compelled to listen. Glad I did. BRILLIANT production and lyrics. And A HELLUVA COLLABORATOR. We made some shit together yesterday.

But he's GOOOOOD.

Peace to JPEGMAFIA.

Only the real ones reach out.

#CH

Hate This Guy pt. 2 0fficial lyrics

Hey, Dilla.

I don't know if it's "Praise Jesus!", "Fuck Jesus!", be like Jesus, be like you...

Check it, there's a such thing as the seas

Obviously the bees

but all my J's, where you at?

I make noise on this shit, baby.

Fuck it.

I'm gonna give it up to Jesus on this one.

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)