One black cat and an oversized shadow

She looks more and more like me everyday.
Gomez must be proud.

When I formed GL/PP VillainSquad back in 2002, I had a plan.
Everyone has a dark side.
Everyone gets blind from their own light.
I wanted to encourage the exploration into these sides, creatively, publicly.

Through music, I became EdTV.

There is no downward spiral.
Just mo care.
No care anymore.

I've been fighting fire with fire.
Kangaroos died.
I dont have enough water for the brushes.
Not enough money for the farmer.
Not enough prayer for the nun.
Not enough hair for the barber.

Not enough man for the woman.

I am dead.
I exist as dead.
When you see me, feel lied to.
When you speak to me, realize I'm jealous and would stop at nothing to get life from you.

This is not a feeling.
Love is a feeling.
A feeling we came into existence toforwithbecauseof.
A feeling proven by scientific fact.

Every reason I have to love is leaving my body.
Like sweat.
A deep puncture.
Wounds of the bone.

Why am I always wrong?

This is where I leave you.

No thoughts of suicide.
Just unauthored confusion from the mind of sound.

-so mote it be

Warsaw politics

To write on my arm.

It would always make me feel good to do it.

I used to wear polos and forget to write on my arm.

If I had remembered to do that, I'd feel better about me now.

Whenever I get the chance, however, I'll definitely tag my arms and stuff.

Probably do it in public. 

You lose when you try to win.

The nicer you are (or try to be), the worse off you are.

Chivalry makes you suicidal.

Love for your fellow man is a loss in the end.

You can be kind to one another after you read this.

In fact, I encourage everyone to follow their moral compass.

I will be brooding and resentful in my kindness.

If I do something nice for you, I'm probably cursing you out in my head, hoping my ill wishes toward you will manifest into bad luck for you.

During the year of... fuck it.

I'm not mentioning anyone. 

Maybe I can cheer up.

Likely, the Green Lantern, brooding phase of 2004 is re-manifesting itself.

The Pink Panther is licking his wounds.

The fact he is wounded is bothersome to GL, StH and DrJK.

No less SatanAndTheSun.

I have my schizophrenia in check.

I don't need to be triggered. 

Expect me to be more anti-social and tragic.

Withdrawn.

I could just be horny.

A lack of attention is like a lack of affection.
Let me see... how do I phrase this...?

You need one to have the other.
Affection without attention makes you a 6.
Attention without affection makes you human.
I get neither.

I dont get along with other rappers.
Mainly because they go to God.
They want to convert me.
They try to impress me, thank God for the ability to do so, and suggest Him to me so I can be (or feel) as good.

Now I don't get along with anyone.
I love my children, but I'm raising Karma and Omen myself.
Without a mother to bear them.
My imagination.
My imaginary children.

Pretty much what I do it for.

After music, the plan is photography-based literature.

Making picture books for the 18-40 demographic.

I've done enough.
Said enough.
I get this record deal, I invest.
I dont, I rest.

I'm gonna smoke, then figure out the rest of my time.

Dont try to stop me.
Dont try and stop me.

-so mote it be

Now is not the time to play around.

Make me regret not eating pancakes this morning.

-so mote it be

Miseltoes for aliens

Little known CH-History fact:

I actually dated an FDAlien early on in my tenure at TheAcademy.

Danielle from '07.

We had Math A in Mr. Abbiw-Jackson's class.
She was a sweetheart.
She admitted she liked me early on.
The day I met her (my second day), I also met and fell for the now infamous Tiffany.
Like... I fell for almost every girl in the school.
YEARS before attending.
And moreso when I got there.

But Danielle was awesome.

Being honest with myself, I chose to date her because she had feelings for me.
I care and cared about her, but it wasn't as magnetic as me and Gaynelle, Keishana, Paula and Tiffany.
I was more the new guy/upperclassmen who was getting attention and wanted to be boo'd up to feel validated.

I felt wrong on the inside.
We broke up days later.

The moral of the story:
Dont use love to make yourself feel greater. Use your greatness to make yourself feel love.

I'm gonna totally ignore any subsurface conversation about what certain things online may have meant.
Should circumstances be what they are, my consideration for hearts is Nobel Peace Prize worthy.






-so mote it be

{making a note to check this movie out}

Venom overload

Times like these, I hold in the foul things I have to say and begrudgingly look for the positive.

Acknowledging that, I still have much to say.
However, this post is me trying to find a positive way to express rage.

I have a family member.
I doubt he's even related to me.
Many people have showed up in my life and the lives of those close to me, knowing intimate details about ourselves.
I think he's one of them.
Anyway, he always had this "I'm better", elitist attitude towards me.
He even said he always felt people with anxiety "were just pussy" until he faced it.

Ima address you here, and we can either continue being cordial or you can deck me when you see me.

We clearly aren't alike.
You lit me up with the sour you were selling, I allowed you to rap on a song that was supposed to be on my debut retail album.
I performed with you at the BK Hip-Hop Festival.
You were my hype man at the 2015 Summerjam.
I understand I'm not Desiigner, but you could and should definitely see me as on whatever level you're on or higher.

You're not tough.
Most of your "squad" consists of niggas younger than you and lower classmen of mine.
If you dont fuck with me, let it be known so I can fall back.
But dont act "woke" and call me crazy for expressing what I believe in to you.

Flat out, any career you're trying to persue, I can make it very difficult for you to win in.
And i am telling you now, youre better off doing videos for your BK boyz, because you're not going anywhere with the attitude you express to me.

You're bigger than me.
The exact stat to get you killed.

Read this, sub me on social media, we keep it pumping.
I would be surprised if you read this.
And if you do, I win/won/am winning.
What, I'm special because you read my blog?

Stupid nigga.

Take it, big boi.
I'm a one-hitter quitter.
This is me throwing rocks at your throne.

And you know good and God damn well you dont want it on the mic.

So be easy with your Damon Wayans, "Hated it!" approach to whatever I do.

Christina never liked you.
I have/had my issues with her, but shes a female.

I hate men.

All any man needs is a dick in their ass to release pressure from their inflated right ball, and a hot Latina to tantalize their left one.
And most of you faggots only have a leftie.

See me and fight me.

Or bow to my right wing conspiracy.

And all battle rappers fuck each other before the battle while Smack watches.
Bring it on, or never use me as a punchline so long as rhyme is something you consider.
I already took out Tsu Surf and Aye Verb.
Arsenal is definitely on the menu, and Clips, I am not your son.
Watch how you talk to me.

Hit the showers, men.
I'm plotting on how to make a woman climax through salutation.





Fuckin wombats.








-so mote it be

Daddy diapers

Fear and it's long term affects.
I may not be strong enough to have a son.
I may be too weak to have a daughter.
I may come up short as a women's man of the house.

Who do I talk to about this?
I know the proper stance for boxing/kickboxing.
I also used to model, so I know how to strut.
Runway style (hi Ticia).
I know my manners.
I understand morals and ethics.
I cook.
I can clean.

But if I'm a bitch a heart, no woman wants to be in a hetero-lesbian relationship.

I feel the desire to join a gang.
Have incentive for random acts of violence.

My eyes cant stay open.
I am super cozy in Mike (my landlord's) bed, and I am freezing cold.
My current fear of sleep is provided by CYoung.
Read Enterthehamilton.blogspot.com for the blow-by-blow of my blown high.

I didnt rape Sarah Holland.
I was never inside of her.
We were never romantic.

Whatever Karmatic games are being played has to stand clear of the closing doors (please).

Boom-boom.

It's getting unhealthy for me to live, yall...



I love you, Cildren of The Hamilton (#CoTH).
I just want to be Superdad.
Protect you and be the one you trustloveadmire.


I'm now nauseous.







-so mote it be

The itch of scratch

Turntablizms have been my release therapy of recent years.
I am currently having a panic attack.
CYoung is at the house right now.
I want to spin right now.
Spinning replaced carving.
Maybe i carved (as deep as I did) in 2014 because I left my Numark deck at The Ruperto's office in LI.

My latest deck was actually Markus's.
HamilVision.
He would edit videos on the deck.
Pioneer DDJ-SB.
I left with it when DJ Nick threatened to shoot the studio up with a revolver.
The gods know how scary and hilarious that is.

I burned the decks out.
My Numark just STOPPED working.
The Pioneer's right turntable (or iTunes, as I call it) STOPS working.
I've been working to avoid thinking about cutting.
Cutting up.
Cutting.

I really want to spin.

Indeed, I can cut a fucking block of cheese with just the laptop itself.
But the feeling.
The feeling of cutting on a deck is...
...supernatural.

I treat the decks like the piano, the piano line the (electric) guitar, the electgut like an electric bass, the electbass like the drums, the drums like I'm seasoning food...

I have techniques.

If I catch you biting, bad karma falls upon you.

Karma is Tomorrow's baby sister.

Omen...?

(lunges towards Nature and Nirvana)

I really want to spin right now.
I can feel the highs and lows that get me called bipolar taking over.
I can feel my paternal instincts (I might have to take yall niggas to church).
I can feel my body maturing (I dont want what every man is designed to want).
These are things I feel.

I just want to throw on a joint and CUT.
I have some patterns in mind and stories to tell.

Once I get the deck, however, I have to prepare to doooit at a venue.
My music making process is special.
Sacred.
I want to show the world, but I dont want anyone to take it.
The special.
The sacred.
The spirit of the sacred and special.

I can turn up.
I can make you turn up.
I can also DEFINITELY sitchyo monkey ass down.

If Louisiana Buttersworth over there didnt go by the name Mystic, I would professionally go spinning places as Charles Hamilton the Mystic.
Pete Rock, C. .

And the above punctuation crisis made me laugh during this panic attack.

And Isa Valera just called.

Greetings, Shalayna Greene.

Say it ain't so, Jackie...

Judith, uhhhh... pp.

This burrito kicks ass.
I still want to spin.

Maybe my obsession with heroin comes from turntables.
Arm.
Needle.
Grooves.
Tracks.
Silver in the hole.

Fuck it.

I want to spin.

BoB bit my cater-to-the-DJ songwriting style, of which I innovated in 2010.
Not to mention the bite marks on me from everyone except Asher Roth since I allowed you to see me.

I'm not stuck in the past.
I just made history.
And am not being acknowledged.

Like ARod and CdoubleH.

Figure it out.





-so mote it be

Picture and mug

You know, to prove I was there.

-so mote it be

Chocolate rain. (a freewrite)

I bought a box of chocolates for you.
For a day of infamy.

Love already exists.
How can we make love?

So I bought you a box of chocolates.

Heart-shaped.
Still unopened.
I bought it weeks before this day of infamy.
Didnt really have enough then.
And I dont have enough to come see you now.
So this box of chocolates is here.
Until the day I can deliver them to you.

You haven't been in the mood the last few times we saw each other.
I've only been in the mood for you.
A ripe banana, drowning in chocolate soy milk.
Thick from the cold.
Hot from your thin.
Too good not to be mine.
Too mine not to be gone.

Just enough for me to buy you a box of chocolates.

Which is not enough for what you need.

I owe myself a binge.
Chocolate, vanilla, caramel, cookies and cream.
But then I won't be loved.
The care would be reluctant.
The concern, well worn.

There must be something to do about this craving.

If i cant have you, I dont want nobody, baby!

But you're bad for me.
Like this box of chocolate.




That's all I can write.

-so mote it be

Breakin' wake.

I was there.

Retirement means something different in hip-hop.
The money you've earned dooin it matters more than money made on the streets.
And it still doesn't add up to the love you get from listeners and critics.
Sometimes the love replaces the money.
No money, no more love.

I dont want particular things in my life to matter.
My secrets, you already know.
You know I know you as well.

Today is laundry day.
I have been influenced to say cleanliness is next to godliness.
So maybe this is a form of self-discovery.
I can use a clean pair of drawers.

God is looking dead at me while I write this.
In this sense, I won.

It is now time to get money.
Get the money.







Not even looking.

#captivating 

Replenish the menace

Evil snickering about the title.

Today was the day I returned to my essence.
It started with my dad texting me about a heart attack.
Then my ex told me she had a baby not long after we broke up.
Then my cousin called me delusional.
Then a Blood tried to play me for some fashion show he was at.

In recent years, a day like this would be cause for me to flip out on everyone.
But... I'm back.
I can handle bad news.
I dont care about my exes anymore.
Or, as much.
I already have beef with family.
It's nothing to add another member to the "Do Not Fuck With" list.
And gang members and I dont have anything in common.
I dont fear the individual, but even wolves are more viscous in packs.
So let's leave each other alone and no one will have anything to worry about.

I dont want to rely on anyone for anything.
If you present an opportunity, it can only be expected that I have questions and am very leery about everything.
If you know me personally and I ask you if you would like to listen to my music, it's up to you to listen.
I'm not gonna force you or go any further than your yes or no.

How i was is how I am meant to be.

Add my belligerent further self-development and... here I am.

It's never been about who I am.
That's the problem.

I now soothe my beast with... the potion of yesteyear:

Listening to unreleased Eminem and 9th Wonder joints.
No one will have a copy.
No one has a copy.
And i will not play it in front of you.
I dont even want to be around anyone.

2012vis, baby.
All yall niggas is good for is buying my records and complimenting my Gothic fashion sense.

"I can feel the juice flowing back into my balls already!"
-Robert DeNiro, "Analyze This:




My middle finger itches.
My mic is dead.
I'll figure something out.

Until then, breathe.







-so mote it

be

The New God.

If God was Dr. Dre, would you put your trust in him?
If you were a homosexual (or lesbian), could you face Dr. Dre and repent?
Would you be able to say your prayers aloud if you knew Dr. Dre was God?
Would you forgive Dr. Dre if he was gay (gaay) himself?

In The Hamilton Quasar, the more you allow Charles to get away with, the closer you are to God.
But I'm not a gangsta and I have a crush on J Dilla, and Dr. Dre produced Eminem and, rather ignorantly, calls opponents faggots.
Would I be able to shine as The Sun in The Hamilton Quasar with the man that allowed light blocking my wonder?

How would you feel if, in The Hamilton Wuasar, Dr. Dre played the role of God (with Timbaland and Satan and Hi-Tek as The Architect)?

Leave a comment.




-so mote it be

Columbine Gang Welcomes...

The poster girl of establishment.
The modern Mary Nintendo.
The anti-Christ of average.

When you see Bey, see me.

One day, you'll see Bey with me.



They may understand soon.




-so mote it be