The Darknesses: An Elegy for DMX

Earl Simmons deserved better in life. He had talent by the boatload. He created a base of supporters in the millions with his original sound, and held audiences of thousands in the palm of his hand wherever he performed. The Yonkers, New York representative was a complicated man. He rapped, but he really was more of a bluesman with Timberland boots and a bandana, cocked to the side at just the right angle on his bald head.

The darknesses of Dark Man X (DMX) all stemmed from his childhood. In his song “Who We Be,” he says his “mother...father...love ‘em, hate ‘em.” Like another formerly embattled drug user, and legend in the comedy realm, Richard Pryor, DMX revered his grandmother.

During childhood, while his father was mainly out of the picture, his mother once punished him by locking him in his room all summer, letting him out only to use the bathroom. In the time he was shuttered in this place, he read multiple books, which enriched his vocabulary and inspired him to explore ideas that drove him to create.

As an adult, he showed childlike tendencies, like playing with remote controlled cars. This may have been a response to feeling denied the freedom to play as a child. His strict Jehova Witness upbringing often barred him from participating in activities that other children engaged in on the regular. His own mother knocked out two of his teeth with a broom when he was just six years old as a result of an erasure he made in her notebook. So his adulthood carried the psychic and physical wounds of youth. He attempted to bury the pain with his beloved all-terrain vehicles (ATV) and stood as a beacon of the Ruff Ryders motorcycle crew and music label. His love for dogs outweighed an affinity for most people, as well.

DMX exhibited all the complexity of human existence in his too-brief life. He fought his darkness with drugs, his mind all emotion rather than integration of thought and creation. While relatively prolific, as an MC and actor, X brought an intensity and truth to his work. Consumed by the theory of God, he portrayed a man who was both saint and sinner. He conducted himself like a broken music box that could still produce a lively tune.

X made his way through life and etched his mark on history and by pushing out albums and movies that showed off his maturity, anger, humor, edge, viciousness, and mirth. In all of his different portrayals, he oscillated between the malevolent and gritty, and the sensitive and clement.

What is so striking about the darknesses the man allowed into his life is that he failed to notice how special he was. The darknesses of altruism and selflessness led to his death. He gave and gave and gave. To anyone and everyone, X prepared to give of himself fully and without regard. Had he been selfish and rationally egoistic, he may have had a chance at sustaining his life far past his fifty years. The dark side of him clouded his vision, and may have led to his death.

Using his mic, and his on-camera persona, X depicted the shattered man, trying to tape the pieces of his life together. At times he triumphed, but too often he fell short of healthy living. He didn’t love money, so he didn’t value it. That old saw about money not buying happiness isn’t true. If X had cherished the dollar, he’d have enjoyed his time on Earth more; perhaps he wouldn’t have wasted so much of it on the substances that would never patch together his broken soul.

We should remember X for his bravery, excellence in honesty and truth. These noble traits should not be overshadowed by his inability to drive away the darkness overshadowing the bright light buried deep within this troubled man.