Tuesday Night Introspection
Am I destined to die alone,
Old and reclusive,
Far beyond the reach and thoughts of those who at one time referred to me as brilliant?
Departing years after those who really knew Tyrone,
Not just Nitty or Monday?
Am I solely to blame?
Is this penance for sins committed long ago, when I was young, eager and careless?
Ignorant, omnipotent and relentless?
Is self hatred,
long veiled by pseudo-narcissism,
The source of my solitary demise?
Who actually dies alone?
He must have been the worst of the worst, he had to have been the product of bad parenting.
Had to have been. If you let them tell it.
I was the last of a dying breed,
now extinct with my final breath,
Foreign to all others.
What if…the only thing keeping you from universal acclaim and greatness is yourself? This is in direct correlation to the oft overlooked third verse of Kendrick Lamar’s classic “Sing About Me” off his epic album Good Kid, m.A.A.d City. There's no self doubt, no fear of failure. Yet, there is a fear of death, but not the typical fear. I know I'm a mere mortal. I know I'm gon leave here one day. Me, you and everyone else has an expiration date. Shit, to keep it 360 with you, a couple times I was damn near close to ushering myself to perdition, intentionally as well as unintentionally. But I'm speaking more on racing the clock. I felt Kendrick. How I interpreted it is, what if I leave here before I make my mark? I realistically feel like I'm within striking distance of the world knowing my name and our brand. What if I die before fulfilling my promise to my mother of making it financially feasible to put her feet up? That's damn near everything for me. She went through hell for me. It's imperative that her golden years are genuinely golden. And then there's me. Am I game for acclaim and attention after living a life of relative obscurity, outside college love on the yard or my trap days on 1-7-0 in Highbridge? The crazy part is, I've felt this way throughout life. The last time I felt this way was right before I released my first work, 100 Blocks Stories. My fear was finally getting to the front door, within grasp of glory, only to have it slammed shut in my face. See, glory to me wasn't defined by commercial gain three years ago. I just wanted to prove to myself that I could do something positive in my life, that I could use my God given talent to do something that my folk could be proud of. Lord knows I've had my share of underachievement. We say we want the money, we say we welcome the bright lights. But that also means there's no more running to the corner store for a Dutch or in the liquor store for a quart or posting up in the plaza of your home projects. Here comes the media going through your trash, posted on your lawn, hiding in bushes. Here comes the slander and unwarranted hate. Am I ready? Is the team ready?
As always, send all love/hate mail to firstname.lastname@example.org. Most of the time I'm dolo, but it's always Crew Love regardless. We do it better than the rest in esoteric casual apparel with our iconic unbearable teddy. Our fall lineup includes long sleeve tees and hoodies donning our greats of WWE unbearables. We’ve also got some other fly ish on deck. Catch us in the streets or peep game on IG as theunbearablescrew. We’re also on your friendly neighborhood Twitter, @crewunB. Follow the squad as well: @tymonday, @TheMisterCeizzo, @CraftyLefty57, @UnB_Lo, and @TLC_herballNK.