My alarm goes off at 1AM.
The house is silent, the world still deep in sleep. By the time most people are turning over in bed, I’m already on the highway. Diesel hum beneath me, highway lights streaking past, black coffee in the cupholder to keep my eyes sharp.

The first run eats the early morning. By the time I’ve unloaded that first load of cement powder, half my day is already gone. Sweat soaks through my shirt, dust clings to my boots, and I know there’s still another run waiting for me.

That’s my rhythm: two hauls, twelve hours, sun rising and falling while I grind through both.

The Side of the Truck Becomes the Office

Unloading cement powder isn’t quick. Hours at a time, I’m standing beside the truck while the blower roars, the hoses vibrate, and the air fills with fine gray dust. The sound is steady — a mechanical heartbeat.

Most drivers pass the time with a nap, a snack, or a scroll through social media. For me, this is where Kayatick Styles lives.

I strip off my gloves — I have to. My phone won’t recognize the touch otherwise. Dust coats my bare hands, and every swipe leaves a gray smudge across the screen. But I keep typing.

Notes.
Scripts.
Emails.
Ideas for films, blogs, merch designs.

Sometimes I balance the phone on the truck fender, sometimes I just thumb-type one-handed while checking gauges with the other. The hood becomes my desk. The sun climbing higher through the haze of powder becomes my office light.

This company is built like this: barehanded, raw skin against glass, dust still in the air. No comfort. No polish. Just me, stealing time from the grind and turning it into something permanent.

The Real Cost of the Grind

By the time my first run is over, half the day is already burned. And there’s no pause — the second haul is waiting.

That’s what people don’t show when they post about “the grind.” They don’t talk about what it takes away first.

It takes your sleep.
It takes dinners with family.
It takes years of marriage.
It takes little moments with your kids that never come back.

I’ve lived all of that. Bills stacked high on the counter. A mortgage pressing down on my chest. Arguments about why the savings meant for security were poured into a dream no one else could see yet.

That’s what building barehanded really means: sacrificing comfort, protection, even stability — and still pushing forward anyway.

Knuckles and Discipline

That’s why Knuckles isn’t just a character. He’s me.

Silent. Relentless. Collecting debts one move at a time.

When I released Knuckles on YouTube and it barely got views, it stung. I had poured hours into it — the kind of hours people never see, the unloading hours, the barehanded typing hours. But that moment also sharpened me.

I learned that legacy isn’t applause. Legacy is built the same way cement sets: slowly, layer by layer, pressure by pressure.

So I kept moving. Silent. Disciplined. Just like Knuckles.

Life Under the Underground

I’ve lived Under the Underground since the beginning.

In the ‘90s, it was rapping in parking lots because clubs wouldn’t book hip-hop shows.
Later, it was editing videos at the kitchen table while the rest of the house slept.
Now, it’s two cement powder runs a day, twelve hours behind the wheel, and stealing unloading hours to build Kayatick Styles from my phone.

That’s underground: raw. Unprotected. Built barehanded when nobody else is watching.

Birth of a Legacy

Cement powder by itself isn’t strong. But once it’s mixed, once it’s set, it becomes foundation — something that holds weight for generations.

That’s exactly how I see this company.

One day, I want my kids — and their kids — to know the truth:

That Kayatick Styles wasn’t watered down.
That we told stories the industry refused to touch.
That this whole platform was built in the rawest hours of the morning, with dust still on my hands and belief as the only fuel.

Kayatick Styles is my vinyl record. My foundation. My legacy.

Legacy Over Likes

I don’t measure success in YouTube views anymore. Some videos don’t even scratch 20. But legacy isn’t about likes.

Legacy is my daughter watching me build after twelve hours on the road.
Legacy is my son knowing his father never quit.
Legacy is creating a platform where underground voices finally get heard.

This isn’t just my day in the life.
This is the underground.
This is Kayatick Styles.
And this… is my legacy.