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i came up on the upper west side of manhattan in the 1980s and 1990s. crack was real. we used to make a game of counting up the different color-topped vials on the sidewalks. the 80s was no joke. the 90s was lit. or live, to use a word from that era. nyc felt like, and maybe was, the epicenter of the whole world that got wise to hip hop. it was amazing to be an "early adopter" of hip hop, because it went from fringe, "is this just a fad?" territory, to mainstream pop, on the chart at the top. shit felt amazing to be a part of a phenomenon like that that had super-humble beginnings in the bronx where power from a street lit made the place dark. i left home at 15 to take this opportunity to attend an amazing boarding school, and would come back to the city on breaks to link up with my city public school friends to learn what new slang was popping. by the late 1990s into the early 2000s, i became a full-time addict. got cleaned up in 2003, linked with former pro fighter Ricky Young --- shoutout Rick!!! --- to train at boxing. got "crossed over" into the streets just prior to training to box. that crossover, plus the boxing, had me relating to the realities of rap in a new way. and i started feeling like, f*** it, i know what these streets are about i can rap too. plus the five-percenters had this poster that said sthg like "if you're going through the valley of the shadow of death -- be the baddest motherf**** in the valley." plus biggie had me on some "picture me bein scared of a 🥷🏼 that breathe the same air as me" and Rick had me on some "sky's the limit" i'll tangle with anyone. i ain't like that now, though. but i pushed this rap sh*t to the world famous apollo theater at age 27, then self-destructed and self-sabotaged. the silver lining? i'm still alive. in the rock'n'roll era members of the 27 club hit death itself. i just had a metaphorical death at the Apollo. But I'm still here! and Jesus saved me from a pool of sin i couldn't escape on my own or even with lots of human help.

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