Please do… not wait
Don’t wait.
Not for your ideas to grow wings,
or your voice to find its echo,
or time to open some secret door.
There’s no perfect moment
just this one,
quiet and unfinished,
waiting for you to step in.
No one else has to nod.
No one else has to say go.
You’re here.
That’s enough.
Move gently toward what calls you.
Don’t wait.
Not for your ideas to grow wings,
or your voice to find its echo,
or time to open some secret door.
There’s no perfect moment
just this one,
quiet and unfinished,
waiting for you to step in.
No one else has to nod.
No one else has to say go.
You’re here.
That’s enough.
Move gently toward what calls you.
Please do… remember
Nostalgia is wild. One second you’re in the middle of your day, and the next you’re hearing a song, smelling something familiar, or scrolling past an old photo—and boom, you’re 17 again. Or 25. Or whatever age where life felt like it was just starting or falling apart or both.
But here’s what I’ve been thinking: the past isn’t something you’re supposed to escape or stay stuck in. It’s more like a toolbox. The stuff you’ve been through, the people you’ve loved or lost, the wins, the mess-ups—all of it shaped you. And that’s not something to forget. But it’s also not something to keep reliving like a highlight reel or a bad dream.
You’re here now. That’s what matters.
Take the lessons. Keep the memories that still make you feel something. But don’t carry every old version of yourself like luggage. You’re not that person anymore—and that’s a good thing.
So yeah, please do remember. But also, please do move forward. Use the past for direction, not as a place to live.
New chapters need space to be written.
Nostalgia is wild. One second you’re in the middle of your day, and the next you’re hearing a song, smelling something familiar, or scrolling past an old photo—and boom, you’re 17 again. Or 25. Or whatever age where life felt like it was just starting or falling apart or both.
But here’s what I’ve been thinking: the past isn’t something you’re supposed to escape or stay stuck in. It’s more like a toolbox. The stuff you’ve been through, the people you’ve loved or lost, the wins, the mess-ups—all of it shaped you. And that’s not something to forget. But it’s also not something to keep reliving like a highlight reel or a bad dream.
You’re here now. That’s what matters.
Take the lessons. Keep the memories that still make you feel something. But don’t carry every old version of yourself like luggage. You’re not that person anymore—and that’s a good thing.
So yeah, please do remember. But also, please do move forward. Use the past for direction, not as a place to live.
New chapters need space to be written.
Available on all DSPs.
please do… you
It all begins with an idea.
There was a time when I thought I had it all figured it out. Thought I knew who I was. Then, so much change happened all at once in my life and I was shown that I had no idea who I was. We become adults, and then work just to get back to that kid we once were.
please do… appreciate your past
It all begins with an idea.
In 2014, I reconnected with my homie Arshad. We had worked together before—his debut album Black Sunday (a f-ing classic)—and when we linked up again, the energy was still there. We talked about taking things further, building something consistent. Arshad’s got that engineer’s brain, so we mapped out a schedule, locked in twice a week, and just started creating. (Bro took me on my first tour as well.)
A couple years later, around 2016 or 2017, I met my bro Tyler—aka BVXLI—through my wife and her older brother. They all went to school together. From the jump, we clicked. We shared a lot of the same creative interests and could talk for hours about music, production, design—you name it (and still do). He was in the thick of exploring music production at the time, always experimenting, always learning. A true jack-of-all-trades with endless ideas and a wild creative spark. We bounced off each other naturally—sending beats, swapping techniques, building a rhythm without even trying.
Eventually, the three of us started linking up together. Those weekly sessions turned into something more than just music. It became a rhythm. Twice a week, sometimes weekends, we’d meet up and build. No pressure, just intention. We were creating constantly, pushing each other, learning from each other.
Those years—from 2014 to 2020—shaped me in ways I’m still unpacking. It wasn’t just about what we made; it was about who we were becoming in the process. Music was the thread, but the real gift was the brotherhood. The growth. The lessons in communication, discipline, showing up even when life was heavy.
Looking back, I’m grateful. These guys helped me become who I am today. They gave me space to grow, to fail, to explore, and I’ll always hold that close.
It’s important to remember where you come from. Not just the wins, but the people, the moments, the process. That time was sacred. And I carry it with me in everything I create.
Please enjoy one of the works from that time.
Avaialble on all DSPs.
please do… change ur mind
It all begins with an idea.
I’m always searching—pushing to become a better version of myself. But in a world that moves fast, it’s easy to get caught up in the rush. The highlights, the numbers, the endless stream of content. I see it, compare myself to it, and suddenly, I’m not creating with intention anymore. I’m creating for the algorithm. And when that happens, I don’t share what I make. It doesn’t feel like me. It feels forced, disconnected. Sometimes, it even hurts to create in that space.
I had to recognize this for what it was. To sit with it, break it down, and ask myself: *Why am I doing this? Who am I doing this for?*
It’s easy to believe that once we make a choice, we have to stick with it. That we can’t pivot, change direction, or rethink our approach. But that’s not real life. The truth is, change is okay. Necessary, even. We make decisions based on what we know at the time, and sometimes, we outgrow them. We shift. We learn. We take a different route.
Wherever you end up, it’s okay. Give yourself grace. Your path isn’t supposed to look like anyone else’s.
Available on all DSPs soon.
please do… take action
It all begins with an idea.
I tend to overthink. Sometimes I convince myself that’s just how I’m wired, but I can also remember plenty of times when I didn’t hesitate—I just did. There were moments where an idea came, and instead of letting it sit, I moved on it. Even the wild ones, the ones that felt impossible. Somewhere along the way, though, action became harder.
I see people out there chasing things, making things happen, and I wonder where they find that drive. That push. That ability to just go. And I won’t lie—there are days I wish I had that. But after a while, you get tired of being stuck. You get tired of watching, of waiting, of feeling bad for yourself while the world keeps moving. And maybe, just maybe, you get tired enough to finally do something about it.
So you start small. You take one step toward something you’ve been putting off. It’s not much, but it’s something. And for the first time in a while, you feel what it’s like to move. To break the cycle. And it reminds you that action—no matter how small—has weight.
Lately, I’ve been leaning into that. An idea comes, I write it down. I ask myself where I can take it, how I can make it real. Instead of letting it sit in my head, I try to get it into the world, even if it’s just the first version, even if it’s messy.
Because thinking about it won’t get me there. Wanting it won’t get me there. The only thing that will is doing. So here’s to trying, to moving, to figuring it out along the way.
Available on all DSPs
please do… not compare
It all begins with an idea.
Comparison is a thief. It sneaks in quietly, mesuring our lives against others, convincing us we're not enough. It whispers that their success makes our journey smaller, their joy overshadows ours. But comparison is a liar. It keeps us stuck, running in circles, chasing someone else's path when our own is waiting to be walked.
I've been there-watching, measuring, questioning if what I create or who I am is worthy. It's exhausing. It robs us of the joy in our own progress, the beauty of our own growth.
Here's the truth: there's no one else like you. You'r story, your art, your life is unique. When we let go of comparison, we make space for gratitude, for freedom, for the joy of simply being.
So, please do... not compare. Choose instead to celebrate your steps, however small they may seem. You're exactly where you need to be.
Available on all DSPs