Weekly Outpour #1: Finally writing a first. Opening thoughts.

Today I write. Today and every possible week. I wish it didn't take our loved ones dying for us to remember the urgency of life.

I've been wanting to write my first Substack article for a while now. I've been stuck somewhere between the internet, the outside world and my head. Which is an infinite amount of places, so the math explains the behavior—somewhat. We're here though. I’m here, and I’m ready to talk. I’m ready to stop holding back.

Walk with me.

Moe Alim—one of my best friends and basically my brother, passed away about two weeks ago now. My therapist said something about death bringing the most existential of our thoughts to the surface, so of course I was an existential mess—still am. Denial has helped me carry on, for better or worst. Maybe he just went on a trip somewhere that’s too far for me to access just yet, you know. Somewhere he’s preparing for the second half of all the conversations we didn’t get to finish.

Moe & I talked often. We talked about all the crazy things we wanted to do in the future—together and independently. We shared our grandiose dreams, in the safety of our unwavering willingness to believe in what the other person said just because they said it. Most of those dreams connected to writing, living a life that allowed for the kind of freedom we always yearned for, the entertainment industry & social change in some shape of form.

I was never a coward about my dreams and my aspirations. I also wasn’t always the bravest. Moe was different. He would often say “We come from nothing, we return to nothing. Fear nothing. Fear no one.” He lived that way.

He would set his sights on something, decide that he was going to do it, find out what the early steps were, and before you knew it he had embarked on a new journey. It was as though he’d been waiting his entire life for the opportunity to explore this thing he just decided to do. If he could see it in his mind, he believed in it 120%. I realize now how much of a blessing it was that he saw me in his mind as clearly as he did. I wish I had thanked him more for that. I also know that it’s in committing to the thoughts I will share in these next few paragraphs that I will be able to thank him and honor his memory best.

Moe had a truck driving license, an ABC license, several construction licenses, experience dealing cars, a boxing license, management credits, connections in every environment in the city at shocking levels and a constant desire for more. Where he found the time, the energy, and the space to do all these things while still making time for parties, trips, hiking, spending time with his friends, watching movies, talking shit about the news and reading is between him and God. He always made time for all of it. He was always on the go. A doer’s doer.

One of the executive functions I know I lack most is “Task Initiation”. And I think that very function is one of the things that defined Moe best. He was a fearless initiator.

The last time we talked, which at the time I thought was just one of many more conversations we would have, he told me “It’s gonna be up to you now.” He was in the hospital. Sick. Though I believed he was going to recover.

I wonder if he knew we were having our last conversation. Our last hug. Our last laugh. Our last “love you bro. I’ll talk to you later.” Maybe he was acting on an instinct that preceded what his conscious mind had the capacity to accept.

He reminded me that he had absolute faith in me, and that I needed to stop selling myself short. He’d say “You’re gonna be one of the greatest bro. You already are”. And I would nod. More because I received his sentiment than because I shared it. This first article is me accepting to share it in full. As a songwriter, an artist, a producer, an audio engineer, a thinker, a casual philosopher, an advocate of compassion and social change—albeit still subtly, a cultural ambassador of sorts and more.

It’s me choosing to radically initiate and focus on immediate next steps, instead of spending my life energy in my head, and only letting 20% of it escape through clumsy outbursts of execution that only look good because of the size of the talent I didn’t have to work for, and a drive that won’t let me sit down for as long as I’d like. It’s also me getting my friend Zefan off my back.

I commit to that. I open a new chapter with this. I welcome an abundance of initiations that I’ll shape into the successes & experiences I’ve always wanted for myself—for my life. Most importantly, I let go.

The other day I wrote a story about a swan and a phoenix falling in love. They were flying next to, around, with and into each other.

They were making their way to a melodic explosion of passion and flames at the intersection of spectacle and death.

Out of their ashes, new life. A new bird, half swan, half phoenix. One who'd be able to sing about its last hours in the key of harmonious universality. One who’d experience a fulfilling end, and from its ashes cycle back to life. Young and eternal. Old and transient. Living in a cycle of rebirth, death, passion, exploration, beauty and song. One that only remembered the best. Natural selection in a karmic cycle. A potential metaphor for the ever renewing mind.

Every day I think about this story, it means something different. About different people, events, concepts and thoughts.

The more I think about it the less I feel like it's about me. The more I think about that, the more I see all the ways in which it very much is. And that is basically my relationship with everything I write.

My words, fundamental parts of me yet also transducers of a nature that often eludes me. Painting pictures that have yet to fully form in my conscious mind. Connecting my being to the flow of time it so often dissociates from. Finding self in the process of escaping it. Exploring our world in the process of hiding from it.

I've been writing music and chasing my dreams for over a decade now. Dancing on the potentially fatal edges of the realities they exposed me to, as they stripped me of arrogance and entitlement.

I'm a so-so singer, and a decent rapper. The combination of the two, my life experience, my creative thirst and my thirst for freedom & fairness, translate to pieces that amaze me. They feed me, hold me, connect me, love me, grow me and give me clarity. My hope is that they do the same for as many people as possible.

I often wonder how any of it ends up translating in the ways it does, on the days it chooses to make sense. It's the emotion, I think... Or maybe I know.

I say "I think" a lot when I'm sure about an idea, but still unsure about how it'll be received. “I'm going to write these Substack pieces to gradually become the cross discipline writer I’ve always wanted to be—’I think’ ”. “My true love is for storytelling regardless of the medium ‘I think’ ”. “I want to write for film, books, publications and TV, ‘I think’ ". “I'm more interested in creative direction than in audio engineering & songwriting, ‘I think’ ”. “I still want to get a Grammy and sell a few platinum records, ‘I think’ ”. “I want to represent artists & people, ‘I think’ ”. “I’ve learned enough to stand tall for the people & the principles I believe in, ‘I think’ ”. “I'm going to make it where I’ve been going for the past 10 years soon, ‘I think’ ”. “I'm good enough, ‘I think’ ”. “I actually think I'm great, ‘I—’ ” actually this one's for real. This one I know. I just need to act like I know now.

I want to think less, and act more. Keep it all as simple as possible to give the inevitability of my full potential a chance to exist free of the shackles of my anxiety, and expectations. Mine or others.

So I’ll be here, once a week. Rarely for as long as this piece has been—which, thank you for reading. Making sense of myself in these lines. Sharing music, love, reflections, fears, hopes, dreams and faith. Developing systems & philosophies. Connecting. With hopes that it all leads to a conversation larger than the dread that keeps me from myself, even on the days I’m at my best.

There’s food on the table. Bring a plate, your most curious self, your favorite poisons and let’s have a chat.

I’ll see you next week.