During a state of psychosis, I tried to be a rapper.

I believed it was my life’s purpose, I believed it was my destiny…I believed I had been bestowed with the gift of flow and my duty, nay, my entire reason for existence, was to record an EP, become a rock star, and change the world.

I had never even performed on stage.

That’s not to say that my journey towards rock stardom would have been any different if I HAD performed on stage. It wouldn’t have.

My mental and my ideas were way ahead of the man that I actually was.

If my expectations and my beliefs were correct, I would have been touring the country as a ginger jewish rapper spitting rhymes about drugs, west coast pride, and how shitty Lil Wayne is.

Authors Note: I have never lived on the west coast and I wrote a dis track at Wayne because he would hear it and start a beef battle with me.

The dis track was a business tactic. We would both sell millions of records.

I know. I was crazy.

My rapper name was Kashious Klay.

I couldn’t understand why Muhammad Ali would change his name FROM Cassius Clay. Like, what? That name is badass. I decided to take it and use it as my moniker.

I never hid behind the name. I used it because it was cool. I liked having an alternate ego, but inside, it was all me. I was Kashious Klay and I was Adam Abramowitz. Everything was one and the same.

Today, I have no alternate ego, just separate ideas. I don’t really feel ownership over the ideas that come…the words that appear, or the ideas I act upon until they are completed.

Everything that comes from me, comes from somewhere else. Even this post. The reason it is written this way is because I’ve spent all week reading James Altucher. He writes like this, and I wanted to try.

I decided to write this post because I wanted to explore. I wanted to see if I could start with an honest sentence, and come to a sort of conclusion. Share a bit about myself, then wrap it up with a nice ending about what I’ve learned from, yknow, life.

I don’t think that’s going to happen.

Maybe, being vocal about this will help me embrace a passion of mine. Maybe, I’ll step up to a microphone again and bust flow like a wordsmith.

Irrationally rationalizing my choices, sick like a gulp of fifth. Rhyming Shinobi style with a ninja star; never miss…

I don’t know.

Maybe I’ll try to rap again…

Maybe not.

I just know that I am going to own it, whatever it is I have to say.

In my state of psychosis I didn’t try to own anything, I just projected manic thoughts and feelings.

And because of that, I can’t listen to anything I had written without feeling totally embarrassed and ashamed.

For a time, it was difficult to talk about what had happened to me because I couldn’t understand it.

I still don’t really understand it, it just sort of happened.

I didn’t choose to experience a four month period of Psychosis. It just happened.

I didn’t ask to come out of my manic state. (Crazy people don’t know they’re crazy). It just happened.

I didn’t choose to have the idea for this post. It just popped in my head. (Although, to be honest, I did pray this morning for inspiration).

I had no idea that this is what I would write about, that “this” (these words) would be the form inspiration decided to manifest as.

That’s the funny thing about ideas, and expectations…

They never materialize precisely how we imagine.

If they did, I would be slinging rhythm and poetry like my man Rick Ross. Giant ginger jew mega boss.

But, I’m not.

I’m still afraid to share things like this. Maybe one day I won’t be. Then, I’ll have to do something different to challenge myself.

I’ll have to step up to the mic and flow…

But for now, I’m just gonna press publish, and let it go.

Fo Sho.