Matthew McElroy

"Next To You" out everywhere now!

[Matthew McElroy @matthewmcdj]

happy bandcamp friday <3

https://t.co/RlZD0ViJCl

[Kurrco @Kurrco]

Ye took out a Wall Street Journal ad to apologize for past antisemitic remarks.

In an open letter paid for by Yeezy, Ye apologized for his past remarks, which he claims stemmed from neurological damage after a 2002 car crash:

"To Those I’ve Hurt:

Twenty-five years ago, I was in a car accident that broke my jaw and caused injury to the right frontal lobe of my brain. At the time, the focus was on the visible damage—the fracture, the swelling, and the immediate physical trauma. The deeper injury, the one inside my skull, went unnoticed.

Comprehensive scans were not done, neurological exams were limited, and the possibility of a frontal-lobe injury was never raised. It wasn’t properly diagnosed until 2023. That medical oversight caused serious damage to my mental health and led to my bipolar type-1 diagnosis.

Bipolar disorder comes with its own defense system. Denial. When you’re manic, you don’t think you’re sick. You think everyone else is overreacting. You feel like you’re seeing the world more clearly than ever, when in reality you’re losing your grip entirely.

Once people label you as “crazy,” you feel as if you cannot contribute anything meaningful to the world. It’s easy for people to joke and laugh it off when in fact this is a very serious debilitating disease you can die from. According to the World Health Organization and Cambridge University, people with bipolar disorder have a life expectancy that is shortened by ten to fifteen years on average, and a 2x-3x higher all-cause mortality rate than the general population. This is on par with severe heart disease, type 1 diabetes, HIV, and cancer - all lethal and fatal if left untreated.

The scariest thing about this disorder is how persuasive it is when it tells you: You don’t need help. It makes you blind, but convinced you have insight. You feel powerful, certain, unstoppable.

I lost touch with reality. Things got worse the longer I ignored the problem. I said and did things I deeply regret. Some of the people I love the most, I treated the worst. You endured fear, confusion, humiliation, and the exhaustion of trying to have someone who was, at times, unrecognizable. Looking back, I became detached from my true self.

In that fractured state, I gravitated toward the most destructive symbol I could find, the swastika, and even sold T-shirts bearing it. One of the difficult aspects of having bipolar type-1 are the disconnected moments - many of which I still cannot recall - that led to poor judgment and reckless behavior that oftentimes feels like an out-of-body-experience. I regret and am deeply mortified by my actions in that state, and am committed to accountability, treatment, and meaningful change. It does not excuse what I did though. I am not a Nazi or an antisemite. I love Jewish people.

To the black community - which held me down through all of the highs and lows and the darkest of times. The black community is, unquestionably, the foundation of who I am. I am so sorry to have let you down. I love us.

In early 2025, I fell into a four-month long manic episode of psychotic, paranoid and impulsive behavior that destroyed my life. As the situation became increasingly unsustainable, there were times I didn’t want to be here anymore.

Having bipolar disorder is notable state of constant mental illness. When you go into a manic episode, you are ill at that point. When you are not in an episode, you are completely ‘normal’. And that’s when the wreckage from the illness hits the hardest. Hitting rock bottom a few months ago, my wife encouraged me to finally get help.

I have found comfort in Reddit forums of all places. Different people speak of being in manic or depressive episodes of a similar nature. I read their stories and realized that I was not alone. It’s not just me who ruins their entire life once a year despite taking meds every day and being told by the so-called best doctors in the world that I am not bipolar, but merely experiencing “symptoms of autism.”

My words as a leader in my community have global impact and influence. In my mania, I lost complete sight of that.

As I find my new baseline and new center through an effective regime of medication, therapy, exercise, and clean living, I have newfound, much-needed clarity. I am pouring my energy into positive, meaningful art: music, clothing, design, and other new ideas to help the world.

I’m not asking for sympathy, or a free pass, though I aspire to earn your forgiveness. I write today simply to ask for your patience and understanding as I find my way home.”

With love,
Ye"

[autist @litteralyme0]

Me on January 1st: “2026 is my year”

Me on Monday, January 19th 2026:

[Matthew McElroy @matthewmcdj]

oh it seems people don’t share this sentiment

[Matthew McElroy @matthewmcdj]

doechii dropped verse of the year on robbery

[Jungle @jwaweruh]

May all my brothers find their Napoli.

[🦢 @meishato]

an old drunk man told me to enjoy my life and have fun because i’m only 26 and i have so many years and so much life ahead of me and then he went “and you know what? in ten years when you’re 36 you’ll still be young and have your whole life ahead of you” and it was really comforting to me

[☆ YT ☆ @ytbouthataction]

If you’ve never been hit with gay allegations you’re not fly enough

[Matthew McElroy @matthewmcdj]

if you think this is the same you’re an idiot

[SonnyFaz @NotSonnyFaz]

Never heard a Muslim complain about this in my entire life lmao

[Vivian @suchnerve]

happy 10-year anniversary to this all-time BANGER https://t.co/nvncV3gCJS

[Travis Akers 🇺🇸 @travisakers]

A message from a Kindergarten teacher:

After forty years in the classroom, my career ended with one small sentence from a six-year-old:

“My dad says people like you don’t matter anymore.”

No sneer. No malice. Just quiet honesty — the kind that cuts deeper because it’s innocent. He blinked, then added, “You don’t even have a TikTok.”

My name is Mrs. Clara Holt, and for four decades, I taught kindergarten in a small Denver suburb. Today, I stacked the last box on my desk and locked the door behind me.

When I started teaching in the early 1980s, it felt like a promise — a shared belief that what we did mattered. We weren’t rich, but we were valued. Parents brought warm cookies to parent nights. Kids gave you handmade cards with hearts that didn’t quite line up. Watching a child sound out their first sentence felt like magic.

But that world slowly slipped away. The job I once knew has been replaced by exhaustion, red tape, and a kind of loneliness I can’t quite describe.

My evenings used to be filled with construction paper, glitter, and glue sticks. Now they’re spent filling out digital reports to protect myself from angry emails or lawsuits. I’ve been yelled at by parents in front of twenty-five children — one filming me with his phone while I tried to calm another child mid-meltdown.

And the kids… they’ve changed too. Not by choice.

They arrive tired, anxious, overstimulated. Their tiny fingers know how to swipe a screen before they can hold a crayon. Some can’t make eye contact or wait in line. We’re expected to fix all of it — to patch the gaps, heal the trauma, teach the curriculum, and document every move — in six hours a day, with resources that barely fill a drawer.

The little reading corner I once built, full of soft beanbags and paper stars, was replaced by data charts and “learning metrics.” A young principal once told me, “Clara, maybe you’re too nurturing. The district wants measurable results.”

As if kindness were a weakness.

Still, I stayed. Because of the small, holy moments that no spreadsheet could measure —
a whisper of, “You remind me of my grandma.”
a shaky note that read, “I feel safe here.”
a quiet boy finally meeting my eyes and saying, “I read the whole page.”

Those tiny sparks were my reason to keep showing up.

But this last year broke something in me.

The aggression grew sharper. The laughter in the staff room turned to silence. The light went out of so many eyes. I watched brilliant teachers — my friends — vanish under the weight of burnout, their joy replaced by survival.

I felt myself fading too, like chalk on a board that’s been wiped one too many times.

So today, I began my goodbye. I pulled faded art off the walls and tucked thirty years of handmade cards into a single box. In the back of a drawer, I found a letter from a student from 1998:

“Thank you for loving me when I was hard to love.”

I sat on the floor and cried.

No party. No applause. Just a handshake from a young principal who called me “Ma’am” while checking his notifications.

I left my rocking chair behind, and my sticker box too. What I carried with me were the memories — the faces of hundreds of children who once trusted me enough to reach out their hands and learn. That can’t be uploaded. It can’t be measured. It can’t be replaced.

I miss when teachers were partners, not targets. When parents and educators worked side by side, not in opposition. When schools cared more about wonder than numbers.

So if you know a teacher — any teacher — thank them. Not with a mug or a gift card, but with your words. With your respect. With your understanding that behind every test score is a heart that cared enough to try.

Because in a world that often overlooks them, teachers are the ones who never forget our children.

[karachi memon @reembeem97]

That’s actually the perfect use of generational wealth

[MC Squared @mcsquared34]

Never confuse symbolic gestures for meaningful change

[Matthew McElroy @matthewmcdj]

@theneedledrop i think you'd love this track i made
https://t.co/4jm0cJSTwj

[Matthew McElroy @matthewmcdj]

hey! @Quadeca i made this track a couple months ago and took a lot of inspiration from your production would love for you to check this out <3

https://t.co/4jm0cJSTwj

[i love joe gomez @ldawg1245]

how do you sleep at night knowing you protected a rapist? #AskArteta

[Watch The Black Gay Agenda On YouTube @ItsMicahB]

Demartravion “Trey” Reed was lynched & cops say “no foul play.” A Black man hanging in 2025 isn’t an accident. Days after white men marched to “fight back” for Charlie Kirk, Black folks are hunted again. America is rotting. Don’t let them gaslight us.

[Eleanor Neale @ELEANORXNEALE]

Her tampon was forced so impossibly deep into her that it had to be removed with forceps at the hospital