My father ran a rehab center. 35 Chestnut Street was his first one. That was the house I came home to as a newborn. Growing up I thought my life had no adventure and was completely empty of characters. It wasn't as vivid as tales spun by the recovering addicts in my father's program. Back then I didn't see the contradictions and complications as a process of making me more human. Time taught me that my life is tragic, hope filled, explicit, and blessed. This is my Illmatic, my Reasonable Doub...

1972 was the year, January 22nd triple-double’s for the first born on the third day of Aquarius. Grew up in a green van with ex-fiends, rolling by currently future relapsing ex-fiends, leaning without touching the ground in mix matched, knee high, tube socks. The van was always filled with songs of redemption, vocalized by those on the receiving end of newly found divine forgiveness and a well worn family distrust. You can’t sell the kid’s Atari, your wife’s jewels, and your momma’s TV and th...

I love days like today, the ones in March that have a hint of spring to them. Even though we know New York won’t see real spring-like weather until the fall … we always seem to skip from winter straight to summer. On a day like today, you would find me in Mrs. Warner’s 7th grade Spanish class. The only drawback to this situation was that Spanish class was right after lunch and it was an elective. I elected to take Mrs. Warner’s class not because of my love for the romantic language of Spanish...

As nicotine and in-dough-nee infiltrate Well-traveled and convoluted paths through out my bloodstream, I see silhouettes of, plastic hearted minions, Manic perpetrators in well intended destruction, It is altogether use-less for you to con-test The pleasurable in-gest, Of this sticky green blow town induced lyrical maa-lest-station Specifically delivered into your inner listen, Birthed from the, unchecked passions of an ancient harlot Makes me the sum of witnessed brutality to soul and spirit...

Prologue: The room was completely dark-just the way he liked it-except for the flickering light of a flat-screen television. There was one in every room, an over indulgence he promised himself from as far back as his memories extended, it’s ever watchful eye surveying the room. Transporting half awake viewers to exotic locals overrun with yachts, beautiful women, opulent jewelry, and cash-lots and lots of cash; filling the entire screen, as feelings of deep seeded envy conflict with the allus...