Music has always been my anchor — the rhythm I’ve clung to in my deepest dissociative voids. After a four‑month episode in 2022, I turned to therapy, psilocybin, and music to begin piecing myself back together. By 2025, AI became my creative ally, helping me transform memories and emotions into songs that tell my story.
Every track begins with a raw moment: I pour my experience into words, AI drafts lyrics in my voice, and together we shape beats, vocals, and mood until the music feels true. That same collaboration creates the visuals for my videos, blending generative art with lived memory so each release is a complete chapter.
What started as an experiment has become Forging Rhythm — my evolving soundscape. Rap currently carries my anger and defiance, but as I heal, new genres emerge: R&B for reflection, reggae for hope, and whatever sound speaks to the next chapter.
These songs aren’t just music — they’re milestones. Each one marks where I’ve been, what I’ve faced, and how I keep moving forward. My sound evolves as I do — mapping a journey that’s still unfolding.
“The Four Horsemen” begins a five-part audio journey into my fracture with Dissociative Identity Disorder. This chapter introduces the first alter rising from the shadows, voiced through haunting layers and textured soundscapes. It is both an invocation and a confrontation, the opening of The Chair Movement where hidden voices step into light. Every rhythm is drawn from lived experience, transforming trauma into resonance, silence into sound. This is not just music—it is survival set to rhythm.
“Calm in the Chaos” is Chapter 2, introducing my alter Michael. This track captures the fragile pause between silence and fracture — a moment where tension and stillness collide. Michael’s presence emerges through layered tones and uneasy rhythms, reflecting the fight to hold balance while voices shift within. Each note is a meditation on survival, a fleeting calm before the storm of multiplicity deepens, and a call to witness the complexity of living with DID.
“Laugh So You Don’t Cry” is Chapter 3, introducing my alter Tate. This track reveals the defense of humor as survival—where laughter hides pain and defiance masks despair. Tate’s voice rises through sharp beats, raw flows, and uneasy rhythms that carry both wit and weight. Behind the jest is the fracture, a reminder that comedy can be both armor and confession. This song embodies the tension of living with DID—where irony protects the wounded and every laugh echoes a truth too heavy to say aloud.
“Juxtaposition” is Chapter 4, introducing my alter Little Chris. His world lives in contrast—innocence and pain, humor and darkness, survival and vulnerability. This track mirrors that duality through layered beats and shifting tones, capturing the tension of living small yet feeling immense weight. Juxtaposition is the collision of voices within, the struggle of being seen while hiding in shadow. It is Little Chris stepping forward, defiant yet fragile, turning fracture into sound.
“Drop Dead Fred” closes chapter 5, introducing my alter Fred with raw intensity. This track embodies chaos unmasked—reckless energy, biting humor, and defiant rage erupting in sound. Fred’s presence is both destructive and liberating, a force that tears down walls but also refuses silence. Through pounding rhythms and sharp contrasts, this finale unites every fracture explored before it. “Drop Dead Fred” is the culmination of my alters’ emergence—unapologetic, unfiltered, and unforgettable.
“Still Moving Through It” is a steady reggae track that dives into the exhausting daily reality of hypervigilance and navigating life with a system. It captures exactly what it feels like to walk into a room and instantly feel the shifts in energy. It is about knowing the truth of a situation before a word is even spoken, and the struggle of your body reacting to stress even when your mind is trying to maintain control.
The lyrics confront the heavy disconnect between my internal world and the outside view. When people tell you to calm down or change your tone, they are only hearing the surface. They do not see the years of past pain that give your voice its weight, or the rapid connections your mind is making to keep you safe. The song explores the frustration of trying to explain a truth that others cannot see.
At its core, this track is a testament to endurance. It touches on the deep, lingering desire for just one moment of true silence—a safe space where the system inside can finally breathe without pressure or defense. But more importantly, it is a declaration of resilience. Progress is not about waiting for the rain to stop. It is about standing tall and putting one foot in front of the other, even when the sky is dark and you cannot see the road ahead.
“Fractured Timeline” is a steady reggae track that maps the heavy reality of living with invisible trauma. While the rhythm is grounded, the story it tells is about feeling completely unmoored. The song serves as a sonic map of my life, tracking the deep internal split that happened when the pain became too much to hold.
The lyrics paint a raw picture of total disconnection. They describe the exhausting reality of a fractured mind, where peace is lost and sudden flashes of memory—like bright hospital lights—come out of nowhere. It captures the confusion of realizing something is profoundly wrong inside but not understanding exactly why.
The track does not hide the chaos of those early years. It reflects on the loud voices, the fast pace of survival, and the reality of fighting at both school and home. There was no safe harbor. It speaks to the deep isolation of moving through the world like a ghost, feeling entirely absent from your own body, and having to learn early how to carry that pain alone.
The visual of the abandoned red tricycle on a decaying, foggy road mirrors this exact feeling. It represents the wreckage of a childhood left behind. But the steady beat of the song is a reminder of endurance. It is about building yourself up from the mud and finally giving a voice to a truth that was once too heavy to carry.
“Four Horsemen” is a steady, rhythmic introduction to my system and the four alters who kept me alive. Separate from the five-part sonic soundscape, this standalone track rides a grounded reggae groove to share a deeply personal look inside my mind. It maps out exactly who we are, what we carry, and how we function together to survive.
The lyrics allow each voice to step forward and claim their space. It moves from the Host walking through years of missing time, to Little Chris holding onto the frozen pain of the past deep underground. It highlights Michael slowing down the chaos to keep our structure intact, and Tate cutting through the lies with wild, fierce protection. Every verse is a confession of our reality.
This track does not shy away from the trauma, but it focuses heavily on the strength it took to survive it. It shows that while my mind had to split to protect me, those fractures have now aligned into a unified team. “Four Horsemen” uses its uplifting reggae beat to celebrate our resilience, proving that we are not broken—we are multiplied.
“Say It Again” is the sound of pure defiance set to a steady reggae beat. This is not the story of my fracture. It is the story of how years of pent-up hatred between me and my stepfather built over time and finally ignited into an explosive end.
The story starts in San Diego when I was fifteen years old. I was forced to dig rocks out of the hard dirt until my back gave out and my hands were covered in blisters. It was an impossible task meant to break me. When it led to a fight, I was dragged into the backyard. I gripped the steel burglar bars on the house so hard my hands bled, completely refusing to let go. That was the exact moment my will to fight back was forged.
The tension kept building for years. It eventually led to me being kicked out of the house at exactly twelve am on my eighteenth birthday. I was left on the streets with nothing but my birth certificate, the clothes on my back, and twelve dollars to my name.
But the song pushes even further, jumping ahead to when I was twenty-three or twenty-four. That is when the final physical confrontation happened. The track captures the moment his hands were at my throat and I realized the fear was entirely gone. I fought back, I refused to submit, and that long war for control was finally over.
“Say It Again” uses its steady reggae rhythm as a challenge. It is about standing your ground against the person who tried to break you. The hook is a battle cry from the man who took the hits and refused to fold. It is a reminder that no matter how hard they try to control you, you can walk away carrying your own truth.
While After the Fires captures the emotional collision of our two different worlds, “Still We Stand” is the documentary of how we actually survived it. This track lays out the timeline of a love story that refused to break. It moves to a steady, uplifting reggae rhythm—a sound I use to channel hope and resilience—to contrast the heavy truth of the lyrics.
The story starts at the very beginning. It takes you back to the late-night glow of an AOL screen, the rush of first dates, and the reckless beauty of Vegas vows under a neon sky. We built a life fast. We welcomed two small lives into the world and kept moving forward, completely blind to the cracks forming beneath our feet.
Then, the track shifts into the dark. It does not hide the ugly parts. It talks honestly about the bottle, the anger, and the cold distance that creeps in when you are losing yourself. For years, we were fighting a battle we did not have a name for. We were trying to hold a marriage together while a completely different war was living inside one man.
The turning point of the song—and our life—is the revelation of the trauma. When the masks finally came undone and the reality of my fractured mind was laid bare, we had a choice. We could have walked away from the wreckage. Instead, we stayed.
“Still We Stand” is an anthem for the ones who do not fold. It is a reminder that perfect love is a myth, but real love is forged in the fire. Every scar we carry has a story, and this song is the proof that even the deepest damage can be rebuilt into something unbreakable.
“The Chair Movement” is the foundation of my journey—the exact moment where running from the dark turned into standing my ground. This track takes you back to the beginning, before the alters stepped into the light, when the weight of the fracture felt impossible to carry and every road just circled back to pain.
Guided by a psilocybin experience, the song maps my confrontation with the deepest, most guarded parts of my mind. The rhythm mirrors the tension of the trip, moving through the panic of facing a "smokey black egg" in a pitch-black room and capturing the raw instinct to disappear.
But instead of fading, a simple, grounding question cuts through the chaos: “What color grass?” The soundscape shifts as the color green brings reality back into focus. The climax of the track—reflected in the visual of the stark white chair sitting firmly on the green grass—represents the ultimate shift in power. Setting that chair down was the moment I stopped fighting the space, claimed my own will, and anchored myself in the present.
This track is the true genesis of Forging Rhythm. It is a reminder that when you stop running from the dark and simply hold your place, you find your own light.
After the Fires (Still Standing) is both an anthem and an emotional map — a sonic chapter in Forging Rhythm shaped not just by sound but by the collision and fusion of two very different life trajectories. This song is inspired by our shared story — her rooted in tradition and grounded certainty, mine shaped by fracture, loss, and years of being undiagnosed, untethered, and searching.
What began between us as late-night conversations and quiet bridges across difference became a testimony to what love looks like when it is not easy or smooth, but honest and unrelenting. She came from a world with clearer rules, deeper structure, expectations set in place before they were questioned. I arrived with jagged edges, untended wounds, and history only I could see — and yet somehow, our rhythms found each other.
This song traces that journey: the reckless beginnings, the distance we bore inside ourselves, the fights that left silence louder than words, and the moments when we learned each other’s scars not with theory, but with breath and touch. There were storms that threatened to undo us, nights we barely made it to morning light, and shadows that crept in without sound — yet always, we kept choosing connection, choosing stillness in the middle of the chaos.
Every scar in this song becomes a story we can stand inside. Every chorus moves toward the light that was never just given — it was built, step by hard-won step, from the wreckage of our own pasts. After the fires… we are still standing.
This track sits beside the rest of Forging Rhythm as a reminder that real love isn’t only about harmony — it’s about persistence, truth, and the courage to stay even when the storm is still here.
One Frame at a Time traces the moment a disposable camera became a lifeline. As a child, slowing the world through a viewfinder offered control when life felt unlivable. This song moves patiently, mirroring the rhythm of the shutter—click by click, breath by breath—where observation becomes survival. The sound holds restraint, not spectacle, allowing memory and stillness to lead. Photography remains the foundation; music exists as emotional context, carrying what the images cannot speak. This piece lives within Forging Rhythm, where art is shaped not for escape, but for return—building healing through presence, attention, and seeing, one frame at a time slow!!
Arrow Lane is where my story fractures—one dead-end trailer park off 103rd in Jacksonville, now swallowed by trees, rust, and quiet. This song walks that road with me again: past caved-in roofs, overgrown lots, broken windows, and the echo of a nine-year-old who learned to float out of his own body just to survive.
“Arrow Lane” forges that break into rhythm. It sits between Deep South blues and storytelling hip-hop, pulling you through fear, dissociation, and the long walk back toward reclaiming yourself. Every verse is another step through those woods, every hook a reminder that survival isn’t an accident—it’s an art we learn to practice, one beat at a time.
This track starts at the break—the moment the world stopped making sense and my mind learned to split just to stay alive. It moves through blackout memories, half-lit rooms, and the echo of a kid who disappeared on the inside long before anyone noticed on the outside. The beat carries all of it: the panic, the distance, the small flashes of color that refused to die.
What you’re hearing is that fracture forged into rhythm. It sits between Deep South blues and storytelling hip-hop, shaped by my work on Forging Rhythm and the voices of The Four Horsemen. Every verse is another step through dissociation toward daylight; every hook is a reminder that survival isn’t luck—it’s a craft. This isn’t just a song, it’s a map out of the dark, written in bass lines and scars.
“Hidden in Plain Site” is my life laid bare through the lens of Dissociative Identity Disorder (DID)—an intimate sonic memoir where fractured voices step forward as poetic narrators of trauma, survival, and slow repair. Co-created with AI, every raw vocal, restrained beat, and recurring empty-chair motif reflects the ongoing work of integration and self-reclamation, one fragment at a time.
This isn’t just a song—it’s a living document of DID, guiding you through the hidden corridors of memory and the long walk toward wholeness.
“Fractured Souls” lives where my mind splits and reconnects in real time—a sonic snapshot of what it feels like to carry more than one voice inside the same skin. Built within the Forging Rhythm universe, this track lets those voices step forward one by one: some raw and exposed, some guarded and distant, all circling the same memories from different angles.
Co-created with AI, “Fractured Souls” layers shifting tones, call-and-response phrases, and moments of near-silence to mirror dissociation and the slow work of coming back to yourself. It isn’t about “fixing” the fracture—it’s about acknowledging it, honoring each part that kept me alive, and tracing the lines where those pieces start to talk to each other again. This track is less a performance and more a pulse: a document of DID in motion, moving toward integration one bar, one breath, one voice at a time.
Step inside the pulse of my creative process—where healing turns into sound and every track breathes from the fractures that shaped me. Forging Rhythm is my story told in motion: AI-collaborated music built from the same dissociation, memory, and survival that drive my photographs and The Chair Movement. Each song starts as a raw moment on the page and grows into a shared language between me and my alters, The Four Horsemen. As part of this circle, you’ll be first to hear work in progress—unreleased tracks, limited audio drops, and private listening sessions that follow how the music shifts alongside recovery. Every layer, from lyric to tone, mirrors an inner dialogue between voices that once protected me separately and are now learning to create together. You’ll also get a behind-the-scenes look at studio experiments, rough sketches, and visual pairings that connect directly to the images on Fotobudz.com. This isn’t just about hearing songs; it’s about feeling survival find its rhythm—one beat, one frame, one memory at a time.
We use cookies at Fotobudz.com to learn how visitors explore my work—helping me make each story, track, and print more meaningful. If you accept, your browsing data will be aggregated anonymously with other users so I can improve site performance, guide you to content you’ll resonate with, and keep The Chair Movement growing.