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ralph scent on me
logos on me

leveled up my schedule
got credits and bookings
lenses on watch
heather grey distressed
used as fatigue

models vacuum packed

screw tape
four in the morning

went to her audition
now she dressed like she invictus

adobe smudges on the facial
giving paleolithic

at least that's what the intern said

iridium fishtail parka
from the internment

in that mechawarrior
looking like the orioles

when tilted row houses
were just prototypes for foreigners

she gone' said what that gotta do with meeeeeee
that's what put liquid crystal display on em seats x2
she said what that gotta do with me
everything she places
indicative of my influencing

nuanced silence
she could be violent
i mean it

daniel arsham
watch band

rusted marbling
patina

they took kizer
they took scat
they took dare
they took bradley
they took the safe haven for non sequiturs
they took norma
they took reggie

every instance
of purveyed inscriptions
i that do for them

furvor replacing ennui
like i lost all my best friends

now it's just me and them bottles
me and them sparklers
without you there
i know the squad is still intact
just watched stallone light up a square

indicator still pixelated
posted hubris on highspeed

roasted parsnips
at cafe colette

i surveyed to my liking
the displacement is not replacement

we already came back with everything
breaded up laugh at incredulous
crumbs while the bread is leavening

i can still hear that urethane
riding over that grating
hacking the tapes tracking
before approaching that railing

some totally went the other way
dismantling their destiny
i know your pain
the tree isn't yet full grown
why did you take off the leaves

why did you take off the leaves
but who else could we be?

she said i like that engine
is that an A Ü T O/M Ö T O R
piston housing frequency
like premium automotive

rubber wide treads
on the countryside unlit
she said i know the back of the pathway

like she know where the veins of my hand is

after all the packaging doesn't mean much

just a reference marker
from where our old streets was x2

but that's the prequel
guess you got everything that just matters
i know she keep her stability
like she always keep her a rapper

now you got you some press
i mean what more are you after

you retreated from the glisten
and reinitiated that rapture

im with the one i want
but the proximity is paramount
wear it around my neck
your desicion was angsty anguish tantamount
still finding statis
last time i bring her up
and speak her out

hindsight heralded
norma wouldve never let you in her house x2/

crisis sak:
they keep on forcing me to ride like the usual
i reinvent myself with times of what i used to
the only thing i never hide is how my unit move
i stay devoted to this life
that's how i move and prove

they try to put me in positions to get ridiculed
i swear these people got it twisted like a rubik's cube
i hold her tight and tell my shorty i aint losing you

they keep on forcing me to ride like the usual
they keep on forcing me
they keep on forcing me
they keep on forcing me to ride like the usual x2

michael tousana:

i don't wanna waste your time your time
you aint gotta waste no time dont waste no time
i dont wanna waste my time

my time x16

crisis sak:
"chi-town, this is my town" x8

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2008—79th and Essex.

The beauty supply store is more than just a storefront—it's a catalog of Black survival, a portal of self-preservation disguised as commerce. The racks are lined with Doo Gro, Luster's Pink Lotion, Murray's Pomade—textures and scents woven into the fabric of childhoods, aunties, and corner-store conversations.

vyle. stands at the window, caught between the now and the then, staring into a world both familiar and distant.

The signage, the products, the graffiti-stained walls tell stories of those who came before and those who are still holding on. The counter holds a Telfar bag, a quiet nod to the future, to another artist carving his own lane. Fellow NEW INC member Telfar Clemens, reconfiguring the relationship between Blackness and luxury, creating something for the ones who never had access.

The city moves outside, but vyle. is locked in place, his mind untethered, moving backward, circling, grasping at something just out of reach.

Hyde Park. Regents Park Apartments.

His mother—Norma—rolling out in a wheelchair.

"Just bloodwork, I'll be back soon."

The words were simple, meant to comfort, to assure.

And he believed them.

The morning blurred into the afternoon, the world kept turning. He didn't know.

That night, he was somewhere else.

Wicker Park. A DJ set. A party thrown by a collective of women nightlife promoters. A scene built on movement, on escapism, on sound and sweat and flashing lights. His birthday was days away.

The realization would come later—slow, brutal, irreversible.

The Present. 79th & Essex.

He watches skate videos on repeat, the glow flickering across his face, filling his mind with muscle memory and old habits.

KRAM, forever 14 in his mind.

The kid he used to "watch"—not as a chaperone, but as a comrade. Skating through the city, tagging walls, dodging security. The Real World: Chicago house, sprinting from security after they hit the back door with their names, leaving ghosts behind in ink.

The echoes of old voices come back—gang members on the block telling him, "You too smart to be out here." They saw something he couldn't yet see in himself.

He thinks about Judi's house, the 24-hour party house, freestyles that should have been recorded but never were, lost in the thick haze of smoke and powder and regret.

He thinks about the people who didn't make it out.

Some left. Some didn't get the choice.

He thinks about the city itself—Chicago, the place that raised him, the place that took from him, the place that keeps whispering in his ear.

He thinks about women, about authenticity, about what is real and what is performance.

And then he thinks about Norma.

What kind of woman would she have let into the house?

Not just anyone.

Not just to fill space.

Someone real. Someone worthy.

The city moves. The clock moves. Everything moves.

But for a moment, vyle. stays still.

Letting the memories settle.

Letting the weight of it all rest on his shoulders.

Knowing that the past can't be rewritten.

But the future is still his to carve.