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https://www.flickr.com/photos/jacqueline_ca/15712779234/

Such a good pairing, Danrell and Småland. The Swedish/Los Angeles based duo came together on this track that can be comfortable playing in the background until you focus in on the lyrics laid over the upbeat production. 

I’ve been looking for a way out of this cage you keep me in
Your hands touch my neck as your breath creeps up underneath my skin
I can’t help but to want it
If you want my love come get it
And I can’t fight the grip on my heart”

With a similar sound to the 2o15 breakthrough duo Milky Chance, the lyrics are simple and the vocals are soft as they melt on the trickling notes at the bridge.

And if love is a drug I don’t want it
Because I don’t have any self control
The harder I try to get off it
The more I can see that I need it”

Although not much information can be found on the two who came together for this auditory treat, there is something to be said about the track which has come to be. It is the familiarity of the song. The toxicity of a lover and need for a methadone patch to move on. It is a bittersweet symphony of love and desire and the result of such when you pull away only to realise you no longer can live without. When that is the case, why are you pulling away at all?

And I can’t break free
From your hold on me
Throw away that key
This love don’t wanna let me leave
And I am a Hostage”

The last few days have been crazy for me, so I haven’t had a chance to sit with some real music and just let it take me away. Music has been my drug of choice for a few years now. It’s how I make my escape from everyone else’s morbid realities. I say; “morbid“, because that’s what I see. So and so, yapping about their back pains and headaches, wondering out loud if they’re dying. And even when people aren’t being morbid they are being morbid. Baby momma drama, late payments on bills, depreciating assets purchased on a whim.

Meanwhile, here I am running around like I have no worries. Wine bar (il vino) on the Upper East Side the moment I land in the city. Upper East to Lelabar in the West Village. Quality Eats? Not worth the wait since we’ve been to Quality Italian and Quality Meats already. Tropical in Little Italy and then the unannounced after hours with the sexy girlfriend?

Why the fuck not?

Mind on my money, money on my mind. Above all, my son is heavy in the forefront of my thoughts.

Best friends become strangers. Love turns into danger.

I’ve been so afraid to write about my reality from fear of the repercussions of my son’s mother, that I’ve cheated myself, and ultimately YOU, of some good work. Watching The Breaks on t.v. a little earlier made me realize that the part of me that doesn’t give you my rawest stories is like that wack ass M.C. that no one ever relates to. The part of me that gives you: “The Real”, is what ends up being great. Therefore, “The Real” parts of me is all that I have to give. And here, those real parts go:

I tried telling my son’s mom that I have had a girlfriend since before she announced her pregnancy to me. To backtrack, I sent her an email explaining why we shouldn’t and couldn’t be intimate anymore prior to that announcement. Which incidentally went to straight to the garbage can the moment she did announce. I was happy. I won’t lie, but I was also conflicted.

Now, my definition of “girlfriend” is not what you would expect. That just means: “girl that I’m fucking with no condom, frequently, and kind of diggin'”. 

A lot has happened in the past few weeks/months. I guess being faded is the only real way for me to deviate from those morbid realities that I’m surrounded by, in order to create realities that everyone else wishes: “could be”. I assume that the only real way to be honest to those that know my true identity is through a pen name that they could have all guessed if they were paying real close attention to me.

2016 is going to be all about vibe. I don’t care that you want more EDM in your headphones. Fuck you, actually because when we put the planet on to EDM you were still figuring out how to use toilet paper properly.

2016 is all about energy and mood. It’s about feeling confident in the craziness that occurs in your mind. It’s about no longer wondering if you are crazy or not and just taking chances.

If you don’t fuck with this, then fuck off and come back another day when there is something that you do fuck with. Life can be just that simple.

The ball drops at the stroke of midnight and he pulls you in closely to plant a kiss on your awaiting lips. Thursday, February 11th, 2016, you get a text from him that says he has to head out of town for business on Sunday the 14th, so he will celebrate with you on Friday the 12th and Saturday the 13th. Two amazing dinners and a beautiful new watch later you are still smitten. Aspen in March, Coachella in April, Thailand in May. You convince yourself that those ten to twelve days you get with him every month are all anyone needs. Questions never arise as long as he continues to come around.

A couple of weekends in The Hamptons for June and July, and then he whisks you away to Burning Man in August. Labor Day Weekend is spent somewhere on the French Riviera with some of his business associates.

Halloween in Dubai is epic. He can’t make Thanksgiving dinner with you and your family this year because of work travels. You get boxes of gifts for Christmas, but not him. It’s still enough. It’s still all very dreamy.

New Year’s Eve comes back again and in 2017 you vow that things will be different. You vow that he will have to become a full-timer. It’s not at the top of your New Year’s Resolutions List, but it is surely in the top 10.

Another year goes by like the ticks of this tune and New Year’s Eve 2017 is spend with your girls. He’s away on a business trip that could not be moved. The deal is one of the biggest ever, for him. No “Happy New Year’s” text message at the stroke of twelve.

When I began writing poetry at the age of five, I did so to be great. I wanted to be remembered for all time. I wanted to be grand and have people talk about me in schools for eons to come. I wanted to be a legend. In my head, every word that was written down on those blank sheets of paper was another upward step on the staircase to greatness. Every syllable, a keystroke in the concerto of eternity.

Perhaps one did not want to be loved so much as to be understood.”
― George Orwell

It wasn’t until I got into the music industry and began studying patterns that I realized that there is no such thing as “forever”. Songs get remade because the old versions become forgotten. They are erased the same way historic accounts get altered in Orwell’s 1984. Slowly, the truth is chipped away from all record and the new versions take their place. This happens everywhere throughout history. Writers become replaced by the greater writers of newer generations. Songs get sung by newer Sirens, and the people know none the better.

He who controls the past controls the future. He who controls the present controls the past.”

That’s when I knew that I wanted to write for the simple act of creating. I didn’t want to live this life working for someone else for a few dollars that would only get spent on bullshit, in the long run. I wanted to leave pieces of me and my life behind that would last long after I was gone until humanity forgot and erased me too. The creation wouldn’t be the writing, but the curated emotion that I made you feel as you read my words; as I pull you in to a story that once was and make you hear all the sounds as if you were right there with me. As I make you smell every scent and feel every fabric.

Power is in tearing human minds to pieces and putting them together again in new shapes of your own choosing.”

Like this remake of The Ronnette’s 50’s progression smash, my writing is to be taken apart by newer generations to be made their own. The power to assist in that continued creation was the only thing I was ever after. The influence over those who do not know that they have been influenced long ago.

Until they became conscious they will never rebel, and until after they have rebelled they cannot become conscious.”

Driving up the boulevard this sunny Sunday on the Treasure Coast headed towards the beach, life seems a tad surreal. The sky is as perfectly blue as the ocean. The white suspension bridge we are crossing looks like it’s going straight up to heaven. Underneath us, about six marinas full of the biggest yachts any of you have ever seen. This Cobble Remix of “See You Again” integrates itself seamlessly into that scenario.

Rays of sunlight trickle in through every window of the car as we drive. Our sunglasses reflecting their own reflection of another reflection without skipping a beat or anyone else thinking “how?”. The cruise control makes everything feel as if its the ground that is moving towards us as we watch the world pass us by. We sit there silently, headed to our destination for a late lunch on the coast and bask in the beauty of what life has given us in-the-now, right now. We bop our heads in sync with the quirky synths and snap our fingers on beat with the claps. We tune everything out as we vibe hard to this. We vibe hard to this.

Destination ahead, we pull up into the parking lot as the song finishes. Only God could have curated this all. Only God has that sort of perfect pitch when it comes to life.

Enjoy.

As I sit next to my nephew playing video games I wonder about happiness. I’ve been super blessed over the last year, but failed to realize the depression in my 14 year old nephew once I started making time for him.

As an entrepreneur holding down a full time job, I have limited time. However, I saw the importance of carving out part of my week dedicated to him. When we first started kicking it he didn’t say much. He didn’t eat; he was closed off. After many moons he started to come around. He began to smile.  He got his appetite back. He was open.

My goal as an uncle has always been to love him, push him in academics and drop wisdom on him so he doesn’t make the same mistakes as I did. This song brings me back to a moment where we had a talk about life.

We talked about missing opportunities. We spoke about not taking chances. As I’ve been through a season of depression, it’s yourself who is your biggest critic. Once I got over myself and danced, shit became easier.

Songs like this just make me happy. I can’t sit still. Here is to my nephew’s happiness this new year coming.

–Matthew C. Torres

Sometimes I wear my headphones to listen to new music. Sometimes I wear my headphones to not have to hear the rest of the world’s mundane rants and topics. You’d be surprised at the nonsense people spend their days discussing. What a fucking waste of breath.

Sometimes I wear my headphones to drown out the unnecessary noises in my head. How I can’t stand so and so. How I wish things were the way they used to be. How I hope that some day we will be what we all once were. All those noises, plus a hundred thousand more, simultaneously going on in my mind.

Sometimes I wear my headphones on trains and planes with no music happening inside them just so no one gets the bright idea to spark up another moronic conversation with me about shit I give zero fucks about and people I will never meet. I don’t care about anything in your world. I have my own that keeps me quite happy the way it is.

Sometimes, I never even pull my headphones out of their bag. It’s usually then when someone finds a way to chat me up. I just politely listen, repeat a few of their last words until their stop arrives, or mine, and then I go on with my day because sometimes those stories they just had to tell someone are like music all on its own.

Sometimes, I fall asleep with my headphones on and dream of a world where any song we wish to listen to, plays over our heads through a magical speaker that flies over each and everyone of us.

Sometimes I wake up from nightmares only to find that I had fallen asleep with my headphones on and the world isn’t so bad after all.

Sometimes I just hit play and let the laptop’s speakers talk to me as I kickback, listen and smile. Headphones at both our sides.

Merry Christmas.

One of the hardest things to maintain in this life is consistency. Exercise regimens, feeding schedules, diet plans. They all become meaningless fantasies without it. They become dreams, thoughts or just words simply said in conversation to let others know or think that you have some sort of grasp on your very own life. The truth of the matter is that most of us are only consistent and being inconsistent.

I can’t understand what “consistency” means for any of you. I can only explain it until my fingertips bleed down to the bones and those bones wear down to dust.

Consistency is doing the same thing you did yesterday, today and tomorrow. If you have four days in a week and you are consistent with your diet plan for two of those four, then guess what? You are inconsistent at trying to keep that diet plan consistent. It’s really just that simple. That black and white. That abruptly bare.

In order to see change and progression in something, whether that something exists in ourselves or outside of our selfs, we must learn to be consistent. We must understand that the moment we change a variable in the equation then that consistency goes out the door. It’s like plants or trees. They need consistency to grow; to thrive. They require a certain amount of consistency to live long and beautiful lives.

Think of the next thing you need consistency in as a seed that you want to see grow into one of those beautiful trees. The moment you become inconsistent in its growth becomes the very moment you kill it. Just like your resolutions last year, and probably many of your ambitions until now.

Oh, and here is another quick lesson. Never devalue someone else’s work because your own career may be more of a joke, in reality, than what you think might simply be someone else’s hobby. When history has its day, you just might be the only fool that is forgotten.

Anyway, consistency must be maintained in order for you to reach your dreams and goals. Let’s all try to do more of it in 2016.

Escapism is better than racism/ and racism is better than blatant hate on rape victim/ who made children based on the dumb mistake of a straight villain/ there’s always something worse than you and me 

I slit my wrists, no blood exists/ my heart don’t pump, it gives no shits/ I pump my fist to tears you sniff/ the perfect beat we don’t forget/ no metronome can keep the bliss/ if Cupid aimed he must’ve missed/ my monthly arrows keep me focused on you and me/

I’ve been dead for the longest/ 

So high, the spongebob I’m watching looks like a rhombus/ 

With the TV on mute/ and the music on tune/ and my sobs in the background thanks to me loosing you/ 

And I can’t tell if these are tears are not/ But forget em, I forget that I’m supposed to be a juggernaut, an argonaut, a high school jock/ But I can only think about you talking about the gaping holes in my sock/ I miss your mom

This ain’t a poem, it’s just the only way I stop myself from going/ going insane, cutting my wrists, drinking goose to a coma/ and crying to the Aroma of the bracelet that you borrowed/ I still have the bracelet you let me borrow/ 

Escapism is a track off of Kenny Jones’, aka, Indigo, Tha Blu‘s latest EP titled: Dystopia.1. It’s not a poem, and his EP should not be considered music, but pure art, instead. You may also want to take a listen to the title track “2 Live N’ Dystopia” which showcases his rap skills over a mellow and super chill trap beat. Think: Live.Love.A$AP album material on this one. Indigo, Tha Blu is a cooler Toro y Moi, a cooler Frank Ocean, a cooler Travis Scott and a much cooler Tyler, The Creator. Hopefully for the rest of us he drops much more music in Twenty-Sixteen.

2 Live N’ Dystopia