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I was walking the dog and the sun was setting nicely, so I decided to recite this verse. I unintentionally changed some of the words around, which would have tripped me up a bit in the past, but now I welcome the alterations to the verses I’ve written. It shows how the lyrics adapt with practice.

For the past three weeks, I’ve been using the mornings and evenings to practice memorizing and reciting my verses while walking and jogging (with the dog). I used to feel weird doing this—worried about what others would think of me. But those thoughts don’t crop up as much anymore. I feel a bit freer being me and giving voice to the words that have lived in the silence of neglect. It feels like someone’s listening, even if it’s just the dog, the sun, the road, and me.

Hear the full song here. Please share with your friends and consider supporting my work.

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Thank you for listing,

and now Miguel

Ps. Some notes:

I love the layers and mood of the track. It automatically pulled me in and I knew I wanted to write something to it.

A the time of writing this verse, I was disappointed by all the happenings in the world at the time and also inspired by HBO’s Lovecraft Country (which came out in August 2020). There are many other inspirations and points of references for this verse, I’ll work on unpacking once I do a lyric footnote write up (See examples, in the footnotes).2 But I most definitely have to shutout Gil Scott-Heron as this verse draws directly from “Whitey on the Moon.”3

AND

Of course, as I get ready to put this video together, blesses us with a poem on this day:

Recorded live, mixed by me. Thank you for taking the time. Please show some love, subscribe, visit the website and check out A Ghost of His Former Self (free listening plus bonus track on my website).

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Much love,

and now Miguel

I plan on doing a live take of me performing this verse with the loop. I took this video while testing out how I’d approach recording myself rapping to the loop live while capturing the video. The goal is to capture the vocals through the Shure SM7b Microphone, then clean up the vocals in my DAW (Logic Pro) then bring that over to Final Cut to make things line up and do my little video editing.

I realized a little while ago that I actually like to do a bit of video editing. It is fun, and works well with my background in audio production.

Lets see what more is to come from,

and now Miguel

Ps. some notes I wanted to save:

Gilded heart of mine

Graded by gold cloth from times

Rawhide stripped heart strings.

This poem’s subject matter draws inspiration from Bodhidharma’s One Mind Precepts. I am writing ten papers on each precepts and presenting them to my Sensei. See the two precept this poem draws inspection from. I get them a bit mixed up in the video.1

Update

It’s been a hot minute since I’ve posted on Substack. I’ve been rebounding after being let go from my former employer and also, the family trip to Barcelona—I have to do a post about that trip too. My intentions for documenting and sharing this poem with you all is to capture what I’ve been up to these past few months since February.

I’ve spent the last 129 days meditating for about 30 minutes a day and committing myself to taking my lay vows as a Zen Buddhist. Big steps for me honestly. Creative work has happened here and there but I’ve been keeping it at a playful level, not really trying to produce anything per se.

Aside from that, I’ve been slowly working on a new single based off of the Fire Horse Shoes poem.2 Mixing is a very slow processes, it takes a long time. I may drop a demo of it in the group chat on Substack. And I have’t forgotten about that 66 bar verse.3 I still can recall about 40 bars of it. I plan to get back to that one in the coming months. I’ve got some new gear which I’ve been learning. I also have been memorizing some verses to show case live and through recorded video (see below).

Sources of inspiration

Shoutout to for the inspiration around the hand written Haiku poems. I love this poem.

Thank you,

I appreciate your time and thoughtful engagement. Please consider subscribing, sharing, and if you can swing it, stopping by my store, picking up the EP, A Ghost of His Former Self. Ps. The EP is available for free listing on my website, andnowmiguel.com.

With Loving-Kindness,

and now Miguel

As for improvements to the beat: the drums are very basic. I’d like to choose a different kick and snare drum, and I also plan on programming a different pattern for the kicks. I also plan on adding additional spices (sound layers) every 4-8 bars to make the beat more interesting.

With this different approach to creating a song, I plan on having the musical elements match the lyrical delivery so that the vocal cadence is dictates where the track goes. This is going to be a fun challenge especially as it will push me to think differently about the four bar vamp/loop of the sample, encourage me to place the notes of the rhythm section around the vocal delivery, and play with adding sound elements that complement or contrast the lyrics and/or delivery.

I am still working out what I want to do for the hook and outro for this track, but I think I’m going to keep the intro as is.

As a reminder for those of you who have been reading since my post on memorizing a 66-bar verse I wrote in January, this poem was partly inspired by reflections on those same lyrics. I am still working on memorizing that 66-bar verse but have been slowing down because I’ve forgotten to return to it—maybe a sign of boredom, which is okay. I am still working on memorizing that verse. It is exciting to see that memorizing can help generate new lyrics for new music.

As a side note; one of my favorite experiences in writing and reading is when synchronicity happens. I’m probably missing a bunch of synchronistic points but last night as I was wrapping up this demo to show here I was watching “Searching For Spain” with Eva Longoria. It was the final episode where she was talking about her new residence at in Marbella, Spain. Her local friend was reminiscing on how much of a small town the area used to be. There were only dirt roads back then. She said she noticed the change occurring when there were no longer horses on the street, but Ferrari’s. Eva then chimes in with, “They traded horse power, for horse power.” *Eye roll* I might sample the vocals, we will see.

The above lyrics are from the demo and poem. My intention behind these lines are to peel layers off the Mask of Manufactured Masculinity and noting that the current administration is the model of that product. The other bit of synchronicity is, February 27th was Dominican Independence Day. I began reading En Los Tiempo de las mariposas (In the Time of the Butterflies) by Julia Alvarez on February 28th, 2026—feeling the call to reread the book again, but in Spanish this time, I opened and found the Mimoraim page shows Patria Mercedes Mirabal Reyes’ birthday as February 27th. Patria, along with her two sister’s were murdered under the Dominican dictator Rafael Trujillo. They where part of a political movement that sought to overthrow Trujillo dictatorship. He ruled the Island from 1934-1961, guess who killed him. Just as I was asking the universe to help me reframe Dominican Independence Day and as we roll into Women’s History month in the US. If you are not familiar with Las Hermanas Mirabal (Mirabal Sisters), I’d highly suggest you learn of there story. Especially during these times.

Much love,

and now Miguel

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Ps. Help Me Keep The Work Going

Thank you for listing and reading. As you may know, I am an independent arts based in Los Angeles. I recently broke ways with my employer on Friday the 13th of February, 2026. Although emotionally difficult I am grateful to be of sound mind and body to share my art with you. Thank you for allowing me to stay connected with you during these times.

If you or someone you may know needs help with editing some dialog, spoken word, ect. please feel free to reach out to me. You can contact me via my website; andnowmiguel.com

Also, if you would like to support my work, please share my music, save my work on any streaming platforms you may use, or consider purchasing my music. Aside from the time I put into sharing my work with you all, it does cost money to keep my music available on my website and on streaming. If you gain some value from the work I do, please consider supporting me through a paid subscription, or buy me a tea.

Press Play So You Can Hear the Audio. Written Poem Below

Audio Recored at my home and mixed by me, Hear No Evil. Let me know if you need any audio help. A note on the image.

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Fire Horse: Draft 1 - Verse/Poem in Processes

His brain feels like

A house galloping upon

Squid ink scallops

It’s iron U shaped shoes

Pushing past through

The scalp and skull, red glue

Feet laced, new drip

Fresh bloody kicks with

Red bottoms horse hooves

A bipartisan rapper in Porsche new whips ooo

Straight whippin’ it1

The image sticks

Sick(ly) and yet

The sensation of recoiled recall

Trotted through his body

The moon’s mood swings

M(i)s. Characterized masculine

Divine Deviance by

Those phallic fibs he glibs

In the media and

All while the fiction of

Horse powered cars; A diction

Designed to disguise

The size you are

So he saddles up his cock.

Held by a sponsor supposed For[d]Broncos

There is no horse powered car, just

Seesawing pistons popping

Liquid tyrannosaurus chickens2

Bawking and clucking see

They’ve made it so you don’t hear

Prehistoric roosters

Thrashing in gas takes as

Brittle U shaped boots push

Pedals to metal

A gas guzzling of old gizzards

Gobbling goblets of fire

The meaning? Every man wants

To be King

Taco

But he’s soon fossil

A Horse treads on em

The new year gospel

Said we don’t got to

Live as a snake hiding in a cage

And yet we still grapple

With the fact

That yesterday

The snake

Had its

Day

The context of the poem and my current practice

As you may know, I am working on memorizing a 66 bar verse.3 If I’m going to be honest, I’ve been kinda tired of memorizing it. It’s been slow going and some days I forget to recite. Yet, it is about the only thing I can sustain to work on these past a few weeks besides writing these poems. I am often writing during my son‘s bath-time, while I’m sitting down eating lunch or dinner with him, or the evening times sitting with my wife. So practicing memory becomes a free, flexible practice you can carry with you anywhere you go. I don’t need a computer, headphones, or electricity in order to practice memory. All I need is food and water, basic human rights, which we all are entitled to. When I do remember to practice the 33+ bars that I have committed to memory, I’m always impressed by how much better I’ve been getting. This feels like freedom. To have something that I can carry with me in my mind and turn it over and over again. Coming up with new interpretations and meanings as I explore the verse through recall. Allowing recall to naturally remix and rewrite for me.

I’m finding that memory, and practicing recall is a great way to meet the existential question that artificial intelligence (AI) poses. When I remind myself of these things, memorizing a 66 bar verse doesn’t seem so daunting. It is invigorating.

Currently, I am memorizing an 8 bar section that uses chickens as a metaphor for that good old unwholesome American brand of masculinity. The poem above explores that metaphor within the context of the Year of the Fire House.

I wrote this poem with the intention of it just being that, a poem, but, when I went to record the audio, I decided to record to a metronome. I’m now exploring a song based on the words of this poem, and will build music around the words. An excuse to make some new music as I’ve missed making beats. So consider the audio and poem above as a sneak peek into the first draft of a musical work by yours truly.

I’ve left some of the original bits of the poem, but struck out lines that did not make the recorded audio. This is a work in progress. I will be editing this poem/verse as I go.

I’m enjoying this process as it’s now opening up questions around what is the difference between a poem, rap, and lyrics? It’s fun to explore this in a practical way rather than just having theoretical debates.

Stay tuned to see how this potential song comes about. Maybe it’s just an excuse to move on from memorizing that 66 bars. But I am enjoying the active writing and recording again, which is always fun!

Reflection

The poem/verse is reflecting on the closing of the year of the snake, Feb 16, 2026; a hopeful shedding of the collective ick from the last batch of PDF files from the head PDF file in charge, and the “hope” that victories gained by the Courts ruling on US tariffs. Plus, I’ve been reading Homegoing by Ya Gyasi4 and fire plays a big part in that story—oh the synchronicity, thunderCLAP, you can hear my synapses snapping!

I wanted to play with framing the disconnected language of commerce as illogic language; disconnected form life. The line;

All while the fiction of

Horse powered cars; A diction

Designed to disguise

The size you are

So he saddles up his cock.

Held by a sponsored supposed For[d] Broncos

And, this is also a plug to ’s story “Finance Options.” I have not read M.P. Fitz’s story since he put it out, but I’m excited to reread it. Go check it out! In my verse I am playing with the idea of masculinity being co-opted by commerce, then sold and financed. This processes disconnects us for the cycle of life that powers our drive to own vehicles here in the States. I remember reading about the Black Box Theory and found it to be very valuable to my creative work.5

The poem/verse talks about how we take for granted that horses do not power our cars. And oh, their remains are the color of Tar-Baby. Some sort of marketing sorcery doesn’t allow us to see this.6 But when you take a step back and think about it from the poem’s perspective, these ploys should be playgrounds for craft (see popular culture as muse).7

Some potential angles for more writing as I expand on this poem/verse, would be weaving in 2 Chainz, “Horse power, horse power, all this polo on me I got horse power” off of the song, “Mercy” (2012).

and that is the end of this reflection. I forgot to mention. I’ll be sending my news letter updates on Tuesdays now, rather than Monday.

Ps. Help Me Keep The Work Going

Thank you for listing and reading. As you may know, I am an independent arts based in Los Angeles. I recently broke ways with my employer on Friday the 13th of February, 2026. Although emotionally difficult I am grateful to be of sound mind and body to share my art with you. Thank you for allowing me to stay connected with you during these times.

If you or someone you may know needs help with editing some dialog, spoken word, ect. please feel free to reach out to me. You can contact me via my website; andnowmiguel.com

Also, if you would like to support my work, please share my music, save my work on any streaming platforms you may use, or consider purchasing my music.

Audio From Followed By Written Poem Below

Audio Recored at my home and mixed by me, Hear No Evil. Let me know if you need any audio help. A note on the image.

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Poem: A Rose Grows Old

Dust settled the floor

A rose grows old

Right there

By the entry Door,

and now cracking

It’s colored

Of dried molded

Peddles

Wilting because

Opening is no more

Hingeing on a call

A Jaw creeks. Rusty. The cause?

Pain the wailing

“You need to respond”

Maybe a pause

words come at a loss

A lowering, You know him,

The father’s stall

Pressure grips the lips

Arteries speed is quick but

Signals dribble right through

At a clipped and flickered pace

Whats this …

Blood now drawn from thorns

Traversing through chords

He rehearses poems

Of course from his

Concordance well sorted

With bitter p[s]alm

On his phone.

Dust floats from wood panel. Blown,

By Fingers that wrap

Their roots ‘round

The foam

Shoulder

Rest is worn

Pulling iron to

Lungs chords

Once tangled

Now hung as

He recalls

Home.

Where it all began.

Reflection

A bit about the approach I took in writing this poem: I worked with sound as the main narrative anchor. Still exploring what it means to root my work around sound and rhythm rather than word-meaning. This experiment is grounded in to my effort to memorize a 66 bar verse by focusing my recall on the cadence of the verse rather than the words/lexicon.

And about the poem. It is a story about an old grumpy elder, perhaps the archetype of the hermit in all of us, who is stuck in their ways but now decided to pick up the phone. A phone that is connected to a dusty wood panel wall. The phone has a shoulder rest or maybe the act of rest has worn him out. He decides to act, which is painful as he is works to open his jaw. But he stalls.

I tie this poem to the first song, “Bring It B[l]ack” off of A Ghost of His Former Self by ending with the chorus of that song.

News Update

I’ve been putting some finishing touches on a square mini zine for A Ghost of His Former Self. I plan on mailing out a gift copy of the zine along with some stickers to those of you who’ve supported the project. I hope to get these out by early March, 2026. Also, I finally purchased a printer which really helps with getting these out to you all. I’m excited about sending this thank you note to y’all. Purchase a copy of the A Ghost of His Former Self by March 1st to get a gift.

Post Script

Thank you for listing and reading. As you may know, I am an independent arts based in Los Angeles. I recently broke ways with my employer on Friday the 13th of February. Although emotionally, difficult, I am grateful to be able to share my art with you. Thank you for allowing me to stay connected during these times. I’ve been working on these spoken word poems as a means to practice vocal editing and clean up and after doing a full late EP and these poems, I can say that I have confidence in my understanding to now offer vocal editing service.

Below is a quick A/B example of the vocal editing I did on today’s poem, “A Rose Grows Old.”

What is vocal editing?

Vocal editing is the process of refining a recorded voice so it sounds clear, natural, and engaging to listeners. It involves removing background noise, clicks, breaths, and distractions, balancing volume, and shaping the tone so your words come through with warmth and clarity. The goal isn’t to change your voice, but to present it at its best—polished, consistent, and easy to listen to.

Beyond developing the technical skill and trained ear required for professional vocal editing, I’ve also invested in industry-standard tools like iZotope RX Standard for advanced noise repair and cleanup, as well as analog-style enhancement tools such as UAD Oxide Tape to add warmth and depth. These tools allow me to deliver broadcast-quality results while preserving the authenticity of your voice.

If you of someone you know is looking for some vocal editing and mixing for voice related content; reading of story, article poem, or podcast, feel free to reach out. My rates are affordable, as I am looking to build trust and create a portfolio. All human intelligence. Using my eyes, ears, and hands to get the best sound possible. Happy to share my processes.

Again, I appreciate your continued support. Be sure to save, share, and purchase A Ghost of His Former Self so you can help get the word out that independent music matters.

Audio From Followed By Written Poem Below

Audio Recored at my home and mixed by me, Hear No Evil. Let me know if you need any audio help. A note on the image.

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Poem: Homegrown

Lines slip from memory

The tung skips

A stones throw by a rebel

May-haps

Some-womb

With a Pebble.

Babblin’ towers tumble

While the rich be humbled

Stowed away

On so called coromantee

Sand castles

Stole away the gumbo

While new souls born who wait

With grumble

Cause, lotted Hindmilk

Gave us watered down memory

My recall is skim like silk

And still this body is blazing

FIRE!!

Outside their huts

A fore(st)shadowing

To the bald wind

Stoking 3M smoke

That every

Creed color and sex

Still chokes

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The Process of Memorizing

If you haven’t read the previous two posts, I am currently working on memorizing a 66 bar verse. This demo is tied to a new music project I am working on which I have 6 demo songs completed thus far. I recorded a demo for it back around Jan 15th. Haven’t listened to the demo in about two weeks because I am choosing to focus on recalling from memory.

A bit about the process (feel free to skip this paragraph if you’d prefer to read the reflection): I am taking a cadence first approach which means that I am recalling the cadence which then triggers the words. This is teaching me that words often sit on top of hidden structures like rhythm. In order to train in recall/retrieval, I have not been listening to the demo because I do not want to rely on recognition. Recognizing is a passive gaze that say, “oh I know this thing here,” retrieval is active; it is going to a place in your mind to show and prove the thing is there. Retrieval is demonstration. So, for the past two weeks I have been challenging myself to recall the lines without listening to the demo and I should add I have not written the lyrics out. I am refraining from passive listening so I do not get comfortable with the type of remembering that is recognition. I do write the lyrics from memory on paper but refrain from looking at it once I’ve written them. With all that, I have 25ish lines of the 66 committed to recall and can recite those 25 fairly well but I still mumble here and there (bars 14, 15, and 20 need improvement). However, the past 3 days, I have done focused listening sessions which I’ll listen to 4-8 bars of a specific section that I have a question about. The question is often around needing clarity on cadence. This type of listening is intentional around internalizing the demo in order to show and prove. I decided to start doing these focused listening sessions to speed up the processes (I’m going on week three and I’m starting to get impatient).

As I work through this practice of recalling lyrics, I begin to think about memory beyond the personal and toward the collective body-mind of Black people. The tension of living between what is remembered, withheld, or inherited sits at the center of that collective consciousness; and the work of healing wounds withheld from the salve of one own words. This is why I spit raps. The sentiment is echoed in my current rereading of Yaa Gyasi’s Homegoing, where the burnt marks of unspoken (often withheld) inheritance links my poem to Gyasi’s narrative.

Reflection on “Homegrown” and Homegoing

This poem started with, “Lines slip from memory/” because I’m struggling with skipping lines while working on memorizing this long [ass] verse. This can be annoying. But reflecting on the practice of recall allows me to reframe what I am doing.

I am not performing; I am practicing recall. In doing so, I am a rebel, this is what line 4 mean. To rebel is to continue to trust that I can draw the lyrics from the well of my mind. That is what the first 4 lines are about.

Line 5 transition to Yaa Gyasi’s Homegoing; I am rereading for the second time, it is a life changing type story. I am currently on Chapter 2. This line ties my practice of memory to my reflections on Homegoing.

The “pebble” in line 6 is a key stone to the bridge between myself and the family history Gyasi crafts. Effia, the main character in chapter 1, receives a stone before she is given away to a much older British soldiers settled in castles on the coast of Ghana. The soldier was taken by her beauty. She was to be the soldier’s “wife” away from Britain (as he was already married in Britain with children).

“… Baaba [Effia’s mother] stood tall. She walked over to Effia after Abeeku had left and handed her a black stone pendant that shimmered as though it had been coated in gold dust … ‘She is the one who left you that stone you wear around your neck.’” (Gyasi 16, 27).

The poem uses “Coromantee” which was a term used by British (and European) flesh traders to refer to the Akan peoples of modern day southern Ghana. In Homegoing, British soldiers referred to their African wives (who they would marry) as wenches.

Homegoing and this poem deal with the children born to the secrets that are foced to hold for sake of social order. Children, in Gyasi’s narrative are often outcast to both societies they have blood ties to (Gyasi 15, 21). Women’s reproductive rights are at the center of the manipulation and abuse of these narratives. Something that is important to contend with in how we engage with remembering, recalling, and transmuting the history Black forced labor.

Baabe, Effia’s mother says to Cobbe, the father “‘… a demand who will never become a women. Think about it. What creature is that beautiful but cannot be touched?’ … Baabe said, spitting on the ground for emphasis … ‘she [Effia] has the body of a women, but something evil lurks in her sprit’ … ” (Gyasi 15). Effia is then sold to the much older British man who makes the young girl his wife.

Tansi spit onto the clay floor and swirled the spittle with her finger, creating a salve. "‘They will kill it [the baby], I’m sure,’ she said. The baby was conceived before Afua’s marriage ceremony. As punishment, the village cheif had sold her [Afua, the mother and her baby] to traders” (Gyasi 29).

Gyasi’s book emphasizes the burden these women, adult children, have to carry. The burden of controlling and containing a unspoken fire. A burden that is inherited at infancy. Effia and Afua where both sold because of shame their families carried and their sex or womanhood was commodified/weaponized in order carry this out.

Both Chapters 1 and 2 open with babies crying and the need of their mother’s milk. My wife brestfed our son. I witnessed how profound a mother’s milk truly is. What it means for a child to be without it. And a hint of what Toni Morrison was getting at in Beloved.

“Watered down memory so it’s skim, silk/ And still this body is blazing/ FIRE!!”

This line draws us back to the present issue of remembering while maintaining the inherited threat; Fire. In Gyasi’s Homegoing, the fire in chapter 1 spreads throughout the book, uncontrollably. The fire is something Cobbe and village elders wielded against Afua and her child (chapter 2) it is a Big Man’s switch cracking the back of a little dove while mothers watch with tears held back (chapter 2). Acid burns in their throats.

A heat that sc(o/a)lds1 the soul and as children, you are given fables to reinforce the threat of socially ostracized when you let that inherited fire go.

This poem allows Gyasi’s fire to spread further. Cross the shores of Fanteland, through the Atlantic and pass into the 20th century by referencing Zora Neale Hurston (her magazine, FIRE!!2), James Baldwin (The Fire Next Time), and Kwame Ture (Stokely Carmichael).

“…he had always said that the joining of a man and a woman was also adjoining of two families. Ancestors, whole histories, came with the act, but so did sins and curses. The children were the embodiment of that unity, and they bore the brunt of it all. What sins did the white man carry with him? Baaba had said that Effia’s cure was one of a failed womanhood, but it was Cobbe [Effia’s father] who had prophesied about the Sully vintage. Effia couldn’t help but think that she was fighting against her own womb, fighting against the fire children.” (Gyasi 21)

This poem serves as a reminder that the practice I am working on, even while I fumble, is a quiet and rebellious act. It is drawing and releasing what has been held from an “Unknown lineage. [that’s] Molding (s)words from the ashes/“ (bar 13 of 66).

Thank you for reading and listing:

A bit of synchronicity. I was “fired” from my employer this past week. It wasn’t a shock, but, it still burnt nonetheless.

Please consider supporting my work by sending good vibes, purchasing the audio version of this poem, and/or buying my recent full length project, A Ghost of His Former Self so you can be a salve to this scalded ego of mine (lol). You can do that all on BandCamp or my Website.

Also, please consider saving and sharing my music on streaming platforms—all though the payouts are small, the saves and shares do help a tone.

All of my work is made free and accessible. If you ever want to listen again, just press play on the audio player on the top of the page or visit my website to listen to A Ghost of His Former Self for free and ad free.

Audio From Followed By Written Poem Below

Audio Recored at my home and mixed by me, Hear No Evil. Let me know if you need any audio help. A note on the image.1

Staff of Office: Figures, spider web and spider motif (okyeame) (detail), 19th-early 20th century, Ghana, Akan peoples, Asante, gold foil, wood, nails, 156.5 x 14.6 × 5.7 cm (The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York)

Poem: We (W)rite On

If the body keeps the score

Then what is the source

Of this symphony

Poured

Way before

The Juice Crew2 took the sport

The rhythm was stored

Etched as echoes

Syncopated

Pushing metals

Vibrating the marrows

From the head-toe tapping

To the teeth matching

Mumbling

Wrapping

Black Kemetic

All while Babylon

Lives on

We

(W)rite on

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Reflection

A truth I am coming to experience is that structure and cadence survive the pressures of suffering; That the squirming childlike energy that arises comes up often. To deal with the unpleasant mental state and brain chatter of toxic shame. These feelings are awkward at best but can be harmful if not handled with care. What’s at stake? Burn out, pushing myself too hard, or speaking abusively to myself. Hating myself.

So before I self destruct like Mr. Jackson, I am writing so you can evaluate my efforts in (re)claiming memory from abuse. I’ll know I’ve done a good job if this adds some value to how you live life. Being of benefit is the benchmark, not performance.

So, about practicing memory; I do this here and there. For example, while driving my son to school, I practice retrieval in the quiet moments between him protesting that he dropped his robot claw and me reaching back to pick it up.

It’s a slow process. Being a husband and a father is not what gets in the way. It is the wrong views encoded on the body due to the red inked zeros on spelling quizzes and bio exams that test vocab.

It’s a slow process. Memorizing without listening to the demo. Forcing myself to recall, trusting that what I need is already in me.

So far I can summon the first 16 bars. The words are not perfect. But that’s okay. In the past I would go spiral regarding not being able to recall the exact words.

The adolescent fear of the perfective parent’s presence pushing the pressure, por dois, to have their hijo perform miracles.

Jesus, if you could just let me turn water into wine then maybe she would …

Perfection fixates on the correct words in order to grade performance. And so, I trip over bars because I missed or mumbled a word. The stumbling feeling is just like weak knees shaking. Solid ground not built underneath the words. Words cannot survive the pressure of performing on beat.

But mumbling can. Cadence can.

When I try to recall a verse perfectly, I freeze. I miss one word and the whole line slips out of memory. But if I let myself mumble and hum the rhythm my body keeps going. The cadence carries me through the bar even when the language drops out. The verse doesn’t disappear. The words sit on-top of the cadence/rhythm.

Yet, fixation on words and the weak knees keep showing up. A weed stem from childhood that needs care and delicacy, not a heavy hand. Even dandelion root has use.

I have always been a horrible speller. I stumbled my way through memorizing the Apostles’ Creed to the deacon when preparing for confirmation. This was 7th grade, the deacon was a cop who happened to think us Dominican’s were alright enough I guess. He passed me through.

i was taught to fixate on the word. It is tied to a [collective] core wound; and yet there is the mumbling cadence of a memory of teaching myself my first home phone number.

I’d say it in a rhythm and repeat it over and over. Exaggerating it. That cadence stuck. The rhythm was the groundwork and the digits stood upon the ground of that pattern.

and so, I realizing that fixation on words is built upon false narratives.

i can effortlessly mumble (or scat) the cadence. don’t be hating on the youth who (re)claimed it. saw and heard the foundation that survived the forced labor slave ships. this is the thesis. lexicon sit on whats deep, beyond the [fascist] façade of a western ga[u]ze that raided the pharaoh’s tombs. the rhythm is always loose. don’t confuse what Shelley’s Modern Prometheus was really about when Mama Morrison already showed you deep earth truth via a Tar Baby[’s] blues and her trilogy too.

So this is the end of this letter. I hope I’ve done a good job of adding some value to how you live life. Being of benefit is the benchmark, not performance. May all beings be liberated.

Loving knowledge kindness,

and now

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Listen Again on BandCamp so you can support my work

Listen to the poem again (free version at the top), reread it, so you can judge, but let me know! Write me and/or purchase the spoken word version so you can let me know if this was of any value to you. You can always listen to the free version above, but, if you select the verse below, you can listen and purchase via Bandcamp. Missed part 1, check it out below:

Audio From Followed By Written Poem Below

Audio Recored at my home and mixed by me, Hear No Evil. Let me know if you need any audio help.

Poem: How Do You Memorize?

How do you memorize?

When learning loboto[pti]mized1

Those hallowed eyes

That witnessed life

From inside.

How do you remember?

When kindred homes

Kindled embers in bones

That branding iron burnt holes

7 marked deep by C(h)ain’s of old

Oh how they’ve inflamed you so(ul)

From outside in.

How do you retrieve?

The place.

That has been.

Your home

Within.2

about the image.3

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INT. CATHOLIC SCHOOL CLASSROOM — DAY

Rows of paint chipped metal desks atop beige, and white colored checkered board floors. Fluorescent light shines over the glazed floors. Black chalkboard powdered white.

Down facing shot of the eyes of christ. Looking down from the cross. Front facing shot of the eyes of painting of a white male. Jesus on a crucifix and President Clinton smiling with the flag draped. A shrine in a corner. Both seem like they are watching it all.

The clock to the right wall ticks too loud for a room this quiet.

Scantron sheets exhale relief from the scratching pencil tips. Students turn the papers over and lay down their pencils.

The teacher’s gaze pass over the aisles. No one looks up.

A boy steals a glance around the room as the teacher looks back down at a book on her desk.

He is in the back row near the window.

Fumbling through the test. Scantron sheet filled with eraser shavings.

He takes another quick survey around the room. All others around him are done.

A bell rings.

He nervously looks up.

The rows of peers in seats stand to turn in sheets. But his test remains incomplete.

CUT TO PRESENT:

I’ve always struggled with memory, not because it failed me, but because school and testing trained me to distrust my ability to retrieve what was already mine. I hope you read till the end so you can apply some of what I’m sharing with you and tell me if it is of value.

School was equivalent to Pennywise’s horror house. I wasn’t aware of it then, but my body still holds the fright of flight when it comes to demonstrating memory.

The past week’s exercise of writing a long rap verse paired with the goal of memorizing all 66 bars reminded me of the deep fear I continue to confront as a rapper, poet, and writer.

What I fear isn’t memory, but confronting the shame-bound belief that forgetting means I am deficient. A belief that say, “I can’t [fill in the blank].”

I’ve written and recorded a 66 bar verse. The demo is fun to listen but it is a demo. My delivery is lacking and tone varies in a unskilled way.

I want to be a better performer of my written work. In order to do that, I realize that I need to train myself in retrieving memory rather than passive recognition.

Retrieving memory is active. You’ve got to get to the place where the thing exists and demonstrate, “here it is.” Sankofa.4 Recognition on the other hand, not that there is anything wrong with it per se, is a passive gazing at the thing from a distance.

In short I have run away from where memory is located because conditions were not favorable for me to cultivate retrieval let alone recognition.

School uses test which are rooted in recognition as a sign of demonstrating retrieval. But recognizing is different than showing and proving. To truly preform and cater what has been memorized based on the crowd or audience, you need to be able to retrieve that information, assess the environment and perform it accordingly rather than prescriptively.

Retrieving, showing and proving, is scary work because I have to confront the child who got left back twice, the boy who got made fun of when he read, the kindergartner who couldn’t recognize the word ‘it.’

Thankfully I’m older, and have some distance from those wounds. So here we go. Entering my own home of memory. (Re)Claim the temple from those institutions that tampered with the sacred.

This is what creative practice is about for me. Not forcing mastery, but learning how to sit beside what is avoided. Doing the muddy work and then sharing the map to the boon with others. Practice and reflection wins out perfection because we can provide insight. Below is an inversion. Please share whatever you might gain from it.

May we all get to the root and transform it.

Invitation

I invite you to reflect on one ability, skill, or capacity you’ve quietly decided “isn’t for you” so you can benefit from me facing the horror clown(s) that lives in my mind.

Not because you lack but because an emotional block formed.

Write about:

• When you first learned to be afraid of it

• What forgetting, fumbling, or failing came to mean

• What it might feel like to approach that place now—not to fix it, but to listen

As Jon Kabat-Zinn reminds us, we don’t heal by avoiding discomfort, but by gently turning toward it. By romancing the edge of what scares us, rather than running from it.

If you found this of benefit, message me or drop a comment so you can share you thoughts with me. I really would like to know.

Listen Again on Bandcamp.

Support my work by purchasing the audio version on Bandcamp, so you can help me continue creating meaningful art. Every contribution helps me tend the garden of my inner world and share it with you. You can listen to the poem for free in your inbox or via Substack, but purchasing the poem will allow you to support a ever evolving independent artist like myself.

Thank you,

and now Miguel

and now . . .

A Poem

Saliva like heat

Sweeps his neck

The lillate of a latte

Kids-temp

Dehis(e)[cencia]

Cracking sheen

A mask and tape

Limp by steamed

S p l e e n

Unwrapped

The fealty

Unseamed

The wet

Dream

El callipigio

Of a hero’s

Fiend.

But

tocks

his desires.

Already

H e l d

As Irer’s treasure.

But it is through her

Anasi becomes

The story of kings.

In Atanasia’s feather.

Or so[w] one

Thoth

Reflection

Kid’s temp, the title draws from this past weekend’s experience of taking care of my son. He was sick with a fever and upset stomach all weekend.

The poem itself has nothing to do with a child’s fever.

I end the poem, pointing to Anasi the spider and his desire to be keeper of stories.

A hero’s quest that was supported by his partner, Aso Yaa.

There is much parallelism in my own quest as a writer, poet, music artist, and the quiet strength and support of my life partner, my wife.

I’ve been on a healing journey and your eyes, the acknowledgment in the form of likes, substitutions, and purchases have been extremely helpful in that journey. As artist, that is what we often chase, but, we can often forget about the home, the people that already support us, that keep us grounded. That is what this poem is about.

From a Buddhist perspective, this leans on the notion of emptiness or interdependence. That everything is penetrated reliant on one another to be born into existence at every moment. Desire loses sight of this marvelous wonderful reality. But a part of the magic is desire helps us realize how wonderful everything truly is when we lift our heads up and behold the valley that holds our ignorance.

I hope this poem can help you stand in gratitude for those loved ones that hold you as you continue to grow in your career, practice, and art.

I removed the word valley from this poem but it ties into my previous one. The idea of looking up, discovering the wonder in front of you as we look beyond

The [carcass] canvas

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I’m grateful you’re here.

This poem, the visual, and the reflection lives beyond the page. It is yours now. Free of charge. Independent creation takes time, energy, and attention, and your support helps sustain this practice. If you made it this far, support the work directly by purchasing the recorded performance of the poem “The Pollen Kneaded Hand” Bandcamp. For more information, visit my website, andnowmiguel.com.

Warm regards,

anM

Poem was inspired by save the word, week 11.

Spoken word followed by the written poem below

Audio Recored at my home and mixed by me, Hear No Evil.

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Pollen Kneaded Hand: Poem

Poles pulled near by

Seashores

The Pollen Kneaded Hand

Seasoned the man

Sesame colored blush held by

Brush

The dye once clutched,

Released, that lure used

To draw in

By force

Of Tug

The catch(er)

Will definitely pause to look up

Fisheyed (spectator)

Standing

On edge

Wide-eyed

. . . and now

Framed

Stone(d)

Below is the painting that this poem is drawing from:

If you enjoyed this poem, please consider purchasing it on Bandcamp as a way to support me and my work.

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Some context before we jump into my reflection. This poem was written as part of ekphrastic poem challenge. Much graduated to JC and the poetry community who’ve participated in the challenge. So, with that being said, I would have never written this poem had the call not come out let alone know what the word ekphrastic ment.

On The Other Shore, Reflections Behind The Canvas Find the Audio Here.

I use the beautiful language of poetry to draw out the violent beauty that is in and around this painting.1

In a broad sense, this poem is a reflection on the Western gaze. I’m thinking of Edward Said’s Orientalism in order to encourage the reader to self examine how this pollenates all our hands.2 I also ground it literarily in Joseph Conrad‘s, The Heart of Darkness with the call for us as writers to craft with intention and respect for the well of the Humanities.

“Pollen” points to Western progeny, patriarchy, and how it needs hands to physically act. How our hands transfer it. Western institutions produce hands through its offsprings either via parentage or almae matres. The writer and artist who is unaware or apathetic to how forced labor in the service of colonial-imperial agendas Ca[i]n stain the artist’s hand; even if their work is beautiful. “Pollen” is also a play on the word Polynesian, (The term “Polynesia” comes from the Greek words “polys,” meaning “many,” and “nēsos,” meaning “island,” which together refer to the many islands in the Pacific region. It was first coined in 1756 by French writer Charles de Brosses). Avoiding calling the shore in reference by the colonizers slang is intentional here too. and using the same sounds to examine the one signifying is what I intended to do here. This sets the tone, the energy I am putting out.

“When the missionaries arrived, the Africans had the land and the missionaries had the Bible. They taught us how to pray with our eyes closed. When we opened them, the Africans had the Bible and the missionaries had the land.” — Jomo Kenyatta3

The word “Lure” in this poem is doubled by lore, or story. The lure/lore I reference specifically are Western travel narratives (See Edward Said and Ngugi Decolonizing the Mind). The lure/lore are the literature and media, which are backed by arms, that play at dominating the collective human imagination. The domination is an attempted assault on all of our imaginations; I’m pointing to Carl Jong here as well.4

In lines, “Standing/ On edge/” I am engaging both the painter and the viewer of the paining. The painter, John La Farge, born to French parents in New York, is rendered as a voyeur on the shores of “French” Tahiti part of “French Polynesia” and the other person(s) is every viewer—including myself—positioned at the margins of the culture represented in this piece.

“Dye” and “Stone/ Bust” are tied superficially on the artistic level as material and product, but, they both deal with dying, the inescapable reality that lays 6 feet under us, and the other kind of dying that occurs when we write, draw, or affix anything to a medium—even ourselves. In other words, to affix something through symbolic figuration (Morrison, Playing in The Dark) and then the fixation to forms (pointing to the Buddha, the grasping mind) is crucifixion for, Christ sake:

“… [John La Farge] has one asset that always works, can only work, in third-world countries. He is white, he says, and therefore suited in some ineffable way to be advisor to the king whom he has never seen, in a country he does not know, among people he neither understands nor wishes to. What begins as a quest for a position of authority, for escape from the contempt of his own countrymen becomes a searing process of reeducation. What counts as intelligence among these Africans is not prejudice, but nuance and the ability and willingness to see, to surmise. The European’s refusal to meditate cogently on any event except the ones that concern his comfort or survival dooms him.” Tony Morrison from, The Source of Self Regard.5

An Invitation to Reflect

See footnote 4. In these times we live in, I encourage creators to reflect on what is the intention of the artist, the distributor of the artist’s work, AND the market place(s) where their work is showcased? How are all three representing the diversity of The Humanities? Are artist, institutions, distributors, and marketplace owners brave enough to make equitable partnerships with civilizations that have inspired us all, invest in the former to develop artist within those spaces, and respect the audience that support the whole process?

SUPPORT MY WORK: LISTEN AGAIN

I’m grateful you’re here.

This poem, the visual, and the reflection lives beyond the page. It is yours now. Free of charge. Independent creation takes time, energy, and attention, and your support helps sustain this practice. If you made it this far, support the work directly by purchasing the recorded performance on Bandcamp. For more information, visit my website, andnowmiguel.com.

Warm regards,

anM

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🙏🏽

This piece was inspired by ’s Save The Word Sunday’s and draws from tidy whitey underwears. Enjoy. If you dig it, you know what to do!

“Schoolboy crush, and it ain’t [gotta be] on a hush[ed]”1

A Bad Habit (Poem)

An Image flickers

Candle light licks undress

An apodiopsis slips2

My shyness hides in Ires

Froward wand of mine warn

By bleached tidy whitey

Now wooden by unwanted foundlings

Underwear near torn

‘Cause Rosaries have been Quatched

In your valley

Embedded beads of sweat

Or so my lips imagine, yes

Two butter colored calabash.

Squash

Frogged beads held by

Indented chain marks

Line your skin. Why don’t stop

A gasp

Your lips whisper, ay dios mio

The urge to ululate finds me

As I recollect

Those beloved

Hung

Under your

Nunnery dress

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Post-Poem Note

… and now, some backstory about the author, Miguel (thats me) with some cookie crumbs to follow.

I was an alter boy once. I attended Catholic mass regularly, and went to Catholic School for a good chunk of my childhood. That former life some time revisits like Christmas past. But now I’ve taken the Buddhist vows to feed hungry ghost. With that out the way, and resisting the urge to footnote an trauma dump all while unpacking this poem, I’d rather have you explore how this piece ties into my post “Water Moon Howling (Ululate) Part 2” and my song “Milky Way” off of A Ghost of His Former Self.

If you perches A Ghost of His Former Self, you’ll get the bonus track, “Greasy Guilt,” which deals with unhelpful adolescent shame tied to creative expression and sexuality (i.e. “Milky Way”). Can you resist the heart stopping lustful goodies for those who like doing a little bad.

Purchase A Ghost of His Former Self on BandCamp or directly at my website. If you can’t afford to do so, support me by streaming and saving my music on any of the major platforms.

Much respect to for putting together these incredible promos every Sunday. Please check him out and support his work.

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This is an abridged version of part freestyle, part mumble, and gibberish rap bars I recorded Christmas Eve, 2025. I give some love to folks who I’ve built relationships on Substack. The first portion of the track is me vibing out to the beat, one some Jay-Z “Party Life” stuff, I really dig the whole vibe of that track. I felt like the horns in on this beat felt some what holiday festive and a low key wind down after finishing up Christmas with the loved ones.

So here it is, a little thank you to those of you who I’ve had the pleasure of being in conversation with. This is really rough and raw. I made the beat and recorded the freestyle and shoutouts in one take all on Christmas Eve, Dec. 24. Then mixed the joint myself to get this to you today on Christmas.

I said one, in a note, being a Capricorn, or being a GOAT, means that if I got love for you, I’ma say from the mountain top. Shoutouts on this track start at 1:26 below are the folks I mentioned in the order that they come up in the track.

If I forgot you know ain’t forget you. My fault I missed shouting you out on the audio!

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Thank you for listing and reading. Deep thanks for letting me live in your inbox.

Many thanks, Happy holidays, and Happy New Year.

Ps. My newsletter hits its first Birthday on December 30th, my official birthday is January 1st. Please share with your friends!

A New Moon is here so I’m doing some clean up with the intention of returning to myself without excess weight with a poem and reflective piece as I get ready for my birthday, January 1st. See the end of this post to read part 1, “Not Another AI Art[icle].”

New Moon in the [Ink] Well

Dear New Moon

I release those

Legacy bond of trauma

The bitterness in the heart

The grief and suffering

You know …

That acid sting

Please accept this

Let the Earth and my efforts reflect it

Anew

By telling, tilling, and toiling

On this soil[ed ink paper]

Let my efforts lead not to sorrow

May we bear fruit from this passion

And pass it on

My prayer; for all us

As we stare and dare

To draw from this

Well.1

Self Reflecting Light In the Dark Well

Here is a letter I wrote to myself to frame how I’m cleaning house for the winter solstice with the intention to free up space for more creative work. I’m also preparing for Capricorn season, my birthday is January 1st. I thought the insight would be of benefit to you all.

What you inherited cannot be consciously altered, picked and turned over. Legacy can.

The four set of grandparents afford the treats we take or are given. Inheritance is what it is. It is you. Do your best to love what was either given to you or chosen by you or whatever higher power you believe in. As for legacy, that is a very complex thing that we can conspicuously pick up or put down, discard or mold, fold or display. Whatever you choose, legacy is yours to do with as you see fit.

Now, the challenge is to be aware of what is artificial inheritance (legacy) and ancestral inheritance (AI).

Artificial inheritance is legacy. Wholesome and unwholesome legacy can be transmuted. With awareness we can make the distinction.

With awareness we can move mountains.

So here is to a new season, with a refreshed realizing that I do not have to continue what was offered to me as family legacy, cultural legacy, or creative legacy. Picking up the mic, the pen, keyboard, my body and moving to craft my own legend and legacy.

and now

Not Another AI Art[icle]

Dear Sentient Beings…

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9 months ago · 13 likes · 10 comments · and now Miguel

Cadence And Signal

Miguel in Full Color.

There are artists who seem to carry entire neighborhoods of memory inside their voices. Miguel is one of them. His music does not shout to be heard. It rings with lived history, a patient intelligence, and a mind that treats creativity like both an inheritance and an inquiry. When I first encountered his work through a restack from my friend…

Read more

9 months ago · 22 likes · 14 comments · Cathy Ben-Ameh and and now Miguel

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Dear reader,

Thank you for reading. Since you made it this far, please consider purchasing the recent release, A Ghost of His Former Self or Buy Me Tea. Purchasing or becoming a paid subscriber would help continue to support the work I’m doing.

Deep thanks for letting me live in your inbox.

Many thanks, Happy holidays, and Happy New Year.

Ps. My newsletter hits its first Birthday on December 30th, my official birthday is January 1st. Please share with your friends!

I hope you can be receptive to complements.

You are a glorious wonder; A are a precious parcel that arose from this earth. Your body, and the very eyes or ears through which you receive what I am saying, or writing, are themselves a wonder. I do not want to waste your time, because I finally gotten the chance to speak to this wonderful beloved person you are.

So here it is:

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A Ghost of His Former Self

Ancestral intelligence holds more weight, more beauty, more complexity, and more power than the superficial intelligence of AI (Artificial Intelligence). I’m sure I’m not the first to say it.

Human intellectualism only falters when we forgo the majesty of our body’s intelligence. When we forget that our intellect rests in this elegant vessel1.

When we intentionally connect with our body (I often do this through memorizing my rhymes or Buddhist chants), we bear witness to our own beautifully unique nature — something that cannot be replicated.2

When we honor the wisdom of our body and mind — the alchemy of creating ourselves from the matter of this earth — we realize that we are resilient and built for sustainability.

Our ancestors, human history, all of life, live within us. Artificial Intelligence (that AI) cannot do that. In order to operate, AI requires massive energy and water use for data centers, increasing the carbon footprint. But as people, when we rest either in meditation, sleep, true happiness, or flow states, we give back to the world, we sustain and recharge ourselves and others.

I am grateful for the artists, intellectuals, and activists who remind us of this through their work. Yet all of this already lives inside us. We process and remix it according to what space and time call for. It’s all right here, from the crown of your head to the prints on your soles.

The universe is the key; your body-mind is but the silhouette. Let go of fear, anxiety, and ignorance. Be receptive.

With loving kindness,

a.n. M.

Ps.

This is a writer and reader supported publication. I provide quality music and writing and make things accessible for all. Please support my work by purchasing A Ghost of His Former Self or buying me tea.

Also, make to share with a friend and subscribe to this news letter if you haven’t already.

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It is official, A Ghost of His Former Self is now live. You can join the discussion in the chat and listen to it for free on my website. I included a straight play-through version on there as well.

You can now listen on all streaming platforms.

If you purchase A Ghost of His Former Self on BandCamp or through my website you will have access to a bonus track titled “Greasy Guilt” (a interlude between the songs “Milky Way” and “Tar Baby”). This interlude is NOT on streaming platforms.

I repeat, you can ONLY listen to “Greasy Guilt” when you purchase the EP.

I was hoping to write a few pieces about each track a week and a half before the release but had an impromptu visit to New York last week to visit family. The visit was very fitting. Synchronicity.

I’ll share more on the visit and how it relates to the EP in the future, but for now, I am happy to be back in LA. And happy that this project is finally out!

I hope to do some post in the coming weeks around the EP and share the lyrics with you all.

For now, I’ve decided to allow the EP to exist on its own sonically and hope that you are able to engage with it on your own terms. I look forward to what unfold for you as we explore this project together.

Huge thank you to those of you who’ve purchased A Ghost of His Former Self and graduated to those of you who’ve taken the time to sit with this project.

With loving kindness to those ghostly parts of us. Happy Halloween.

anM

Ps. To support my work, please consider purchasing A Ghost of His Former Self, buying some tea, and sharing this project with friends.

Before we dive in, as you may know, I have independently funded this EP and can use any support I can get to. A Ghost of His Former Self (the EP) has been professionally edited for optimal audio quality and distributed on all digital platforms—Apple Music, Spotify, ect.—as well as hosted on my personal website to little or no cost to you. The ask: visit my website, explore my store, and support me as an independent artist. Every purchase, share, or gesture of support keeps this work alive.

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After uploading my EP on October 9th, 2025, I entered into cycles of anger, sadness, and emotional anguish. These things manifest themselves physically for me. My body becomes sick. I get tired and I often burn myself out becoming over reliant on the stubborn goat energy I was born with—I’m a Capricorn.

Striving for the mountain while avoiding the ocean of ones collective emotions. The moon within the womb makes me sensitive to others. I have been conditioned to run from these sorts of feelings. I am often a sea-goat forgetting the tail—or tale shaping fin that makes use of materials found when sanctifying through sankofa. I forget the fins that slip through the salty waters with ease. The limb that helps mend the tears of good old grief and heart ache.

“But as he [Siddhartha Gautama] went to climb out of the water, his strength failed him. He did not have enough energy to pull himself onto the bank.” Old Path White Clouds by Thich Nhat Hanh, page 105.

I use to read A LOT of project management, and goal setting books. All upper body. Dragging my tail on coarse shores.

I took a step back from productivity hacks and leaned into myself. Into the practice. The dirty job of doing self reflective work. I realized that the energy driving me towards that type of productivity literature was steeped in ignorance of self, need (or greed) for validation and self hatred. Stumbling over all those productivity books and the hundreds of unused notebooks that where going to become bullet journals, calendars, mind maps, and Zettelkastens, I saw I was deeply hurt. That was the mountain. I needed to work with those core and coarse wounds.

“I prayed for freedom for twenty years, but received no answer until I prayed with my legs.” - Fredrick Douglass, from Autobiography Narrative of the Life of Frederick Douglass, an American Slave (1845).

That realization came in 2019, when I waded back into familiar waters that burned the wounds left by all my flailing on the shore. Waters that triggered remembrances of old tempo wounds from when I’d failed to swim.

Meditation, mindfulness, getting in touch with my body, rapping, using my voice is how I returned to these waters. I started writing A Ghost of His Former Self then. This EP subtly touches on the deep personal work that I’ve been doing with the hope of encouraging you dear listener-reader to do that same work on your own terms.

“Gotta put art to that cause the pain will crack the mask that we wear to hide the past” - and now Miguel, song titled, “Matte Black” from A Ghost of His Former Self (Oct 31, 2025).

So here is the face of the EP, a page, a draft from a book in progress. Washed up on the shores I left to go back to the deep black oceans.

I am proud of this piece. I designed the cover myself. It has many layers of meaning for me which I hope to uncover in the future. Shoutout to for the feedback, textures, and guidance on procreate.

Thank you to those of you who supported me by picking up a zine, buying me some tea, and purchasing an instrumental. If you enjoy my work, please consider supporting me directly via my website, andnowmiguel.com

Warm regards,

and now Miguel

Ps. The we just mixed and mastered an additional track for the EP song titled, “Greasy Guilt.” So the EP is 6 tracks (not 5!). The additional track will NOT be on streaming. Stay tuned!

Before we get into this post; No label. No machine. Just craft, vision, and stubborn persistence. While A Ghost of His Former Self takes its final steps toward release, you can help fuel the journey—buy me a tea or grab one of my handmade zines. Every bit of support keeps this independent fire burning and turns raw ideas into finished art.

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Every song starts as a spark—messy, wild, alive. After years of cooking it under a steady flame, the EP has reached a milestone. It’s ready to be plated via the mastering process.

The last track we mixed was the fourth on this five-song EP. This song, titled Matte Black, took a whole month to mix.

So with that being said, it’s official: all five tracks are mixed! The next step is mastering.

For my food lovers who don’t know what that means:

• Mixing = blending flavors and components of a dish in the kitchen.

• Mastering = plating it so it’s ready to serve anywhere.

I wrote, produced, and simmered inside these songs for years. But one of the lessons I’ve learned as an independent artist is this: just because I can mix and master doesn’t mean that’s my true craft. My craft is writing and creating. To honor that, I invested in a professional who could give these songs the quality they (and you, dear listener) deserve.

That’s why the release won’t land in summer as planned. Some tracks took an entire month just to mix, adding layers, polishing details, and fine-tuning emotion. It’s been worth it.

Which brings me to the part I’ve been waiting to share. The title of the EP is:

I believe Fall 2025 is the right season for A Ghost of His Former Self (EP). Whether it’s on streaming before October 31st is still up in the air—but trust me, it’s coming.

In the meantime, while A Ghost of His Former Self makes its way through mastering, you don’t have to wait to hold a piece of my art in your hands. I make zines—small, handmade artifacts that carry my lyrics and ideas. They’re small, handmade works that capture a piece of the same creative energy fueling this EP, A Ghost of His Former Self. You can also support the work by buying me some tea.

Warm regards,

and now Miguel

Ps. Keep Cookin’ and Embody Metaphor

The song sounds like something off of A Tribe Called Quest’s Peoples' Instinctive Travels & the Paths of Rhythm (1990). I wanted to reinterpret the French speaking immigrant protagonist, Lucien, who Q-Tip pokes fun at on the track titled “Luck of Lucien.” My song loosely ties the Haitian Revolution (1791—1804) which is represented in the titled by the name Lucien and colonial monarchs, represented by Marie Antoinette (1755—1793). In short recasting Lucien from a cornball to a corner stone. This song sets the tone for what I am doing as an artist. (I am a huge A Tribe Calle Quest fan, but, subverting/overthrowing is what Hip-Hop is all about, right?1

Scroll to the bottom to catch a sneak peak of off the EP, “Lucien’s Revenge (Marie Antoinette).” I placed the snippet of my track “Lucien’s Revenge” (2025) next to A Tribe Called Quest’s “Luck of Lucien” (1990).

Why The Song Almost Did Not Make It:

My intention was to respectfully flip the idea Lucien’s luck but in the middle of July, 2025, I ran into a big issue. We—the Mixing engineer I am working with—had been about 95% done with mixing track 4 of 5 for the EP when I realized that I might not be able to legally put the song out.

I had sampled a song that would no longer be available to license through a service I use—TrackLib. I felt like Lucien’s bad luck had struck me.

I was feeling defeated and put this note out. @Drew did me a solid by responding with clarity:

I reached out to TrackLib and learned that I could still obtain license even though the song was no longer available on the platform. However, I would need to submit my request to license before July 29th.

TrackLib asks for the International Standard Recording Code (ISRC) in order to license the song. An ISRC is like the VIN number of the final, published, recoding of your song—a unique identifier for a vehicle (recording), even if other cars (versions—like a radio or explicit vs clean version of a song) look similar.2 This number is helpful form a metadata perspective—counting streams, plays, ect.

In order to obtain an ISRC under my pervious setup, I would need to upload the Master (completed song) onto my digital distributer, DistroKid. DistroKid would then generate an ISRC—which they own. Currently, I am waiting to mix all 5 songs before moving on to Mastering. The plan is to have a cohesive sound throughout all 5 tracks. Since ISRCs are specific to the Master Recording I was worried that if I uploaded an unmasted version to the distributor Distrokid, I thought that the ISRC assigned to a version of the copy uploaded would be linked to that version. I was wrong about worrying as there is a workaround.

To summarize, I needed an ISRC code for songs that used samples so I could provide that to TrackLib in order to link the ISRC to the license agreement for the sample used. The plays attached to that ISRC number will generate the metadata needed to calculate splits—I believe.

The workaround using DistroKid allows you to upload your music for distribution as a scheduled release, they will then generate the code. Once you obtain the code, you then would need to delete the release. It is important to NOT release the song if the version you upload isn’t the final/Master version.

Above is what I planned on doing for the tracks that need to be cleared via TrackLib before July 29th was using ISRC codes owned and assigned by my current distributor, DistroKid.

However, I did not like this option when I learned that I could generate my own ISRC codes. The fact that the distributor owned the unique identifier for a song that I produced felt like a trap. So I learned how to generate my own code—it cost a one time fee so that you for those who’ve put money up to support this project.

WHERE I LANDED:

While I was writing this I had to show gratitude to as well as :

I applied to be able to generate and own my own unique ISRCs on July 25th and was approved on July 28th, (the last day to request license from TrackLib for the specific sample noted above). I opted for the one time payment of $95.00 USD to have the ability to assign my own ISRCs rather than feel locked into a yearly subscription with DistroKid. DistroKid will be listed as the owners of any ISRC codes that are generated through their service.

I learned managing your own ISRC codes gives you control, ownership, and professional autonomy over your music. You don’t rely on distributors to ‘own’ your master identity.

PS. Much love to and for purchasing the recent lyrical poetry zine, “The Bluest.” Also, thank you to good friend ! Huge thanks again to for the Sub.

Without Further Delay…

Here is a short clip of Lucien’s Revenge (Mari Anttnet) played along side A Tribe Called Quest’s 1990 track, “Luck of Lucien.”

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