Every crew had the DMX fan and they were ride or die, dark to the core, but loyal, transcendent, and dare I say too good for this world. For an entire generation of kids that fell through the cracks with no one to turn to, they had Dog.Įmery’s not the only one. It wasn’t something we ever talked about and I couldn’t access the basement of Emery’s mind. It was already too much that Emery had to live with the image and she sent me upstairs. I was across the street at my friend Warren’s house when I got the call from my mom so I ran home, but she didn’t let me see it. Emery went outside and found his dog hanging by her leash, stiff and dead, blowing in the wind. Around the time DMX came out, his Rottweiler, Godiva, got choked by the outdoor pulley system in our backyard playing with my dog, Nick. He wore carpenter shants and brown leather Timbs with wireframe oval glasses to dim sum at Chan’s because of it. He single-handedly made standing behind a fence barking at your darkest shadows 1998’s answer to the electric slide. ![]() It wasn’t a place people sang about because you couldn’t dance to it, but DMX’s genius was in putting the basement on blast. When I left my house and went to school, it was a place I pretended didn’t exist. It was a place I didn’t talk about and wasn’t supposed to be. At the time, this wasn’t a place that popular culture went, besides Kids or Requiem for a Dream. I’d heard the rapper on “ 4, 3, 2, 1” and “ 24 Hours to Live” as well as the single, “ Get At Me Dog,” but hadn’t copped his debut album yet, so the guy passed me his headphones and put on “ Let Me Fly,” then “ Ruff Ryders Anthem” and “ Damien.” The music immediately sent me to the basement of my emotions. ![]() I had headphones and a fitted on, so he asked me point blank before I even put on my seatbelt: “Is you fuckin’ wit D?” I was introduced to DMX in the Summer of ’98 by a Dominican dude from Yonkers on a flight from Orlando to Charlotte on my way to summer camp.
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