Afterimage - 03:56
							
Already moving
before I knew what I was thinking,

two streets behind me,
three messages blinking.

Didn't check 'em.

Let 'em sit.

Beat came in quick
so I moved with it.

One phrase runs long,
next one cuts at the middle,

808 underneath
with the drums kept simple.

No melody yet.

Just rhythm and voice

leave the empty space open
till it makes its own choice.

Quick step, side road,
bass low, eyes closed

not really.

Just enough
to let the whole thing float.

Words hit early,
next phrase comes late,

don't lock every syllable
to the edge of the break.

There.

That's better.

Something came in
that I wasn't expecting.

Guitar moving backwards
while everything else moves ahead,

strange how four notes
can change what's inside of your head.

I don't chase the feeling.

Let it pass through.

If it comes back around

maybe then it's true.

Saw my reflection
in the window of a train.

Only for a second.

Then the dark came back.

Didn't look like me.

Or maybe it did.

Hard to tell
when everything moves that quick.

I got pieces of places
still stuck in my sight,

signs after closing,
white lines under lights.

Look away,
still there

little shapes in the eyes,

like the city leaves fingerprints
after it passes you by.

One flash, two frames,
old face, new name,
808 slides down
while the hats rearrange.

Quick tongue, calm chest,
don't push, just step,

run across four bars

then give the next one rest.

Beat feels slower now.

Good.

Gives the words
somewhere to run.

Bell hangs cold
above the low end,

every note disappearing
before the next one comes.

That's the feeling.

Cold light,
warm bass,

fast thoughts moving through
a track with no haste.

Keep the drums restrained,
don't crowd up the frame,

if the voice wants to sprint
let the rhythm stay tame.

Slide left, come back,
one breath, two tracks,
bell hits once
then the 808 drags.

Launchpad flips
what the guitar left back

don't explain it.

Just let it react.

Train's gone.

Reflection too.

Still got that shape
somewhere behind my eyes.

It'll fade.

Everything does.

Until something
brings it back.

 * somi 
						

		 				

Soft Static - 03:41
							
Been meaning to call.

Not sure what I'd say.

So I keep putting it off
in a very efficient way.

That's a joke.

Mostly.

I got thoughts moving quick
while the room stays still,

three notes going around
like they got nowhere to be.

That's enough.

Don't add too much.

Let the low end sit
and give the voice somewhere to run.

One thought, next page,
switch quick, same day,

words slide past the kick
then come back on the snare.

No tension in the throat,
no weight in the phrase,

I can double up the rhythm
without speeding up the base.

Short one.

Longer thought
that doesn't really know
where it's gonna land

there.

Good enough.

Found an old receipt
inside my wallet.

Six months old.

Maybe more.

Can't even remember
what I bought.

Still kept looking at it
for longer than necessary.

Human behavior.

Very strange.

Anyway

I like when little things
pull a memory halfway back.

Not the whole picture.

Just enough
to know something was there.

Quick flash, lost name,
old place, same face,

memory cuts out
right before the good part plays.

Try once,
let go,

don't force what won't show.

Some things sound better
with a little static below.

Fast words,
slow drums,

voice soft,
bass warm,

leave one bar open

then run through the next one.

Slide in, fall back,
TR low, hat taps,
three notes keep circling
behind everything I rap.

Nothing needs fixing.

Leave the edges like that.

Clean now.

Almost too clean.

Give it a second.

Let the groove settle in.

Different little pulse,
same space underneath,

plucks stay short
while the sentences breathe.

I can move fast
without filling the track,

run six quick thoughts
then leave half a bar back.

That's the balance.

Don't measure the lines.

Some land right on it,
some slide behind.

Quick tongue,
loose jaw,

nothing forced at all.

Slow rhythm gives the voice
more places to fall.

Keep going.

One-two, switch side,
three-four, let five

wait.

Forget the count.

That's exactly the point.

Bass stays simple,
little pluck in the void,

soft enough to disappear
when I lower my voice.

Receipt goes back
in the wallet.

Don't know why.

Maybe I'll throw it out later.

Probably not.

Play the tape again.

 * somi 
						

		 				

Thin Ice - 03:45
							
Came through the side door,
didn't think about staying,
but the room had a pull
and the bass kept me waiting.

Nobody saying much,
everybody in their lane,
little tension in the air
but it never had a name.

I keep moving through the pocket
like the floor already knows me,
voice low, words quick,
never pushing when they flow free.

808 underneath
takes a breath, comes back,
hi-hat running little circles
then it disappears from the track.

Right there.

That's the feeling.

Let the sentence keep rolling
past the place you expect it,
bring the rhyme in early,
leave the next one disconnected.

Then connect it.

No force.

Just a little misdirection,
every turn feels smooth
but there's pressure in the section.

Bass slide down,
hat roll up,
kick stays lean,

nothing in the track
needs to fight to be seen.

Phone buzzed twice.

Didn't look.

Kept talking
like I didn't feel it.

Truth is

I did.

Just wasn't worth
breaking the rhythm.

That's how the night goes,
little signals underneath,
things you almost pay attention to
then lose inside the beat.

I can hear the room shift
before anybody moves,
small change in the pressure,
something tightening the groove.

So I slide through it easy,
never speeding up the tone,
words moving double-time
while the bass stays low.

One phrase into another
with no hard edge between,
let the vowels pull long
while the hats cut clean.

Quick turn, slight pause,
808 bends twice,
one note feels warm,
next one comes back like ice.

Don't resolve it yet.

Let it hang.

Now it got wider.

Not safer.

Just enough warmth
to make the cold feel sharper.

Keys leaning out of tune,
bass moving underneath,
whole thing feels calm
until you listen to it deep.

That's good.

Keep that contradiction.

Soft voice over tension,
quick steps over slow,
one bar keeps stretching
while the next barely shows.

I don't need a heavy drop,
don't need everything loud,
give me four sounds placed right
and enough empty ground.

Then I can move

quick through the middle,
slip behind the snare,
catch another pocket
that wasn't even there.

TR slides,
hat splits,
keys blur at the edge,

everything feels balanced
like a foot near the ledge.

Don't fall.

Just stay there.

Phone buzzes again.

This time I look.

One line.

Nothing serious.

Still

something changed.

Put it away.

Keep moving.

 * somi 
						

		 				

Dust on the Needle - 04:18
							
Needle hit the groove,
little dust in the sound,
four notes in a circle
while I'm looking around.

Nothing really changed,
still I notice it different,
maybe age in the record,
maybe something I'm missing.

I let the drums sit behind,
never rush where they land,
while I'm running through a sentence
with the time in my hands.

Put the rhyme before the snare,
let the next one arrive late,
then I stretch another thought
till it crosses the break.

Old sleeve, cold room,
low light, no rules,
small moves, loose groove,
whole mood stays smooth.

I can double up a phrase
without raising the pressure,
keep the consonants precise
while the vowels connect it.

One thought into the next,
internal rhyme in the middle,
never waiting for the bar
just to finish the riddle.

Come early

slide late,

leave the kick alone,
then catch the snare
from the other side of eight.

Found another record
with the writing worn thin,
couldn't read the name
so I dropped the needle in.

First few seconds

nothing.

Just hiss.

Then a chord came through
like it remembered the room.

That's enough.

I don't need the whole story,
give me pieces of a feeling
and I'll fill what is missing.

Little imperfections
in the rhythm keep it breathing,
tiny fluctuations
make the repetition feel different.

I can slip across the pocket,
shift the emphasis mid-sentence,
put the rhyme where you don't expect it,
then connect it to the next one.

Never chase the tempo,
let the tempo chase back,
voice moving twice as busy
while the instrumental stays relaxed.

Quick with it,
switch rhythm,
dip in it,
keep drifting,

three rhymes inside
before the snare even finishes.

Then

let it breathe.

Guitar came in quiet,
didn't ask for attention,
just answered one chord
and disappeared for a second.

That's how I like it.

Nothing fighting the voice,
every sound got a reason,
every gap got a choice.

So I lean past the kick,
pull a word behind the snare,
let a longer phrase travel
like it doesn't know the measure.

Internal to internal,
little patterns intertwine,
one rhyme sits inside another
while the drums take their time.

Old tape in the deck,
slight hiss in the breath,
little saturation sitting
on the edge of every step.

Rap quick but relaxed,
never tightening the chest,
if the pocket moves sideways
I just follow where it bends.

No need for a big hook,
no need for a drop,
let the groove keep circling
while the syllables walk.

That's the record.

That's the room.

That's enough.

Needle getting close
to the middle of the label.

Still a little dust
sitting there on the table.

I could clean it.

Maybe later.

Some records sound better
with a little age in the player.

 * somi 
						

		 				

Dead Air - 03:16
							
Dead air

but it ain't really silent.

Crack in the wax
got a rhythm if you find it.

One.

Two.

I can work with that.

Beat came crooked,
so I left it that way,

kick disappears once
then comes back late.

Voice keeps running
where the drums leave holes,

never need a straight line
just to stay in control.

Two notes underneath.

That's plenty.

Dust in the groove,
little cut in the sample,

rhymes overlap
but the breathing stays natural.

Slide past the snare,
pull another one back,

record pop on the edge
gets caught in the track.

track
track

Elevator stalled
between six and seven.

Light blinked twice.

Nobody said anything.

Then it moved.

That's it.

Now there's more underneath,
bass pulling the step,

kick talks back
every time I leave a gap.

I don't follow it straight,
we can push and reply,

beat throws one over here,
I put the rhyme on the side.

Too soon.

Come back.

Right there.

Quick shift, slick phrasing,
rhythm rearranging,

same voice stays calm
while the pocket keeps changing.

One rhyme folds inward,
another runs late,

leave enough imperfection
to give the record its shape.

shape
shape
shape

Now it hits harder,
voice doesn't have to,

let the drums get rough
while I glide right past you.

Break cut into pieces,
still feels like one,

every fragment got motion
but the flow never runs

runs

out.

Long phrase through the first,
short one through the next.

Move against the break,
then reconnect.

Fast doesn't mean packed,
leave the corners alone,

give the echo somewhere
behind the voice to roam.

roam
roam

That's enough.

Two drums.

One sample.

Little dirt.

Keep moving.

Same floor,
different step,

same wax,
different breath.

Beat bends,
voice slides,

nothing sitting perfectly
and that's why it rides.

rides
rides

 * somi