THE MEANING BEHIND THE PANDA AND LION ALBUM

There are two main characters in this album, a panda named Ozwelda, who is the ruler of Atlantis, and a lion named DREAM. To reveal; what the panda represents is foundation, and the lion—passion, energy. The panda's black-and-white coloring mirrors the colors of the yin and the yang, creating a visual correlation between the animal and the symbol. The panda’s colors are a duality between darkness and light, space and matter, which are inherently the foundation of the universe. The lion; colors of the sun that provides energy to the earth, symbolizes passion and love. They are needed to produce life and purpose. Yet, purpose alone has no foundation, just as foundation alone, has no purpose. To exhibit progress, both must exist in harmony.

To exhibit progress, both must exist in harmony.

However the wrong given energy provided would yield a broken foundation, which is the revelation of this album. The beauty of what is imperfect yet the pain it bears, like a thorn on a lion’s paw. In retrospect, I came out of a heartbroken relationship, losing someone I deeply care about. Originally, I wrote this album as a continuity of what our love was at the time. But since we drifted apart, I decided not to scrap the title and wrote about the beauty of our tragedy. Because of this imperfect, overzealous and unjust society, the panda and the lion could not exist in harmony.

I composed certain offputting, disconcert elements for this love musical. In one piano piece, from a song I titled, Hit or Miss, I abruptly played a G# and A# together, then later on, bedazzled with the notes C and B. These ostracized combinations of sounds should remind the listener of the tug-a-war arrangement between the panda and the lion—Ozwelda and DREAM. Still, these notes played within this overcast of a piano piece gives it a little more character and texture with a hint of grace. The first listen is unpredictable, yet it is certainly not boring.

I’ve worked on this project—since July—going through numerous transitions in my personal life. Any chance I get working on this, I take clear advantage. A little challenging when work demands more of my attention, knowing that trains and its alignment are always in need of some TLC.

The album is not limited to just the duality between Ozwelda and DREAM, it features the duality between Annie the Bombay witch, and Dorothy and her dog, Toto. Annie is a black cat that represents wisdom, draped in the colors of green and black. There is reverence between Ozwelda and Annie, both hold great wisdom and determination. Annie is a great general under the ruler of the emerald Atlantis. Representing youth and bliss—yet elegant—Dorothy wears a sky blue and creamy white school dress. Admiration exists between Ozwelda and Dorothy, both who seek to cultivate feng shui throughout the land. 

DREAM though… among Ozwelda and Annie there is a disconnect. To symbolize this absent connection, where wrong passion renders a bad foundation, the knowledge acquired was how to practice incorrect actions. DREAM is the input on producing wrong actions, even though his intentions were good.

An Electric vibe

A new era. For me. I see green and serene, freshness that changes energy—from pretentious to actual vibrancy. What do I mean? There is a stigma that overshadows anything I say or do, and reaching maturity, it means I can’t continue to move against the grain. I have to accept it. Doesn't mean I have to embrace it or try to continue on appeasing what others might believe. It just means, some things are out of my control, yet the only control I have is how I respond to it. Why get upset? Things are the way they are.

I’ve been working on my newest album and I am pumped. The Panda Empress & Lion King’s Lovestory will debut on my channel off YouTube, October 27th, 2025. There was a sound I was looking for, and I found it. An ancient and familiar sound forged by the gods of rock themselves—that sound—the electric guitar. However, it is played by an acoustic guitar, since I don’t own an electric guitar or an amp. I use a plug in that synthesizes its power and distortion. It will be the key ingredient for this upcoming album. When resources are limited, such as not owning an electric guitar, I have to improvise—be creative.

The direction I want to go with this project reflects where I am in my thirty-fourth year of life. Though I am constantly under construction, improvement needed here and there, and at times there is progress met with disappointment, I know I’m where I’m supposed to be. I moved back to the city of Golden in Colorado, where I still continue to work in the service of public transportation in the heavy rail side of it. I feel somewhat tarnished and incomplete. However, I know it’s okay because I am putting the work on improvement. I keep a healthy lifestyle by staying active and going to therapy. I analyze the day, and see if the next agenda lines up with my core values. Though my strength is not being socially active, I am considerate and thoughtful in showing manners when business is conducted with others.

As for my lovelife, the record shows it’s been a mix of a hiatus met with star-crossed encounters. A doomed fate. Women I’ve been with, fell in love—passion like no other—love that is met with disappointment. I wish I had the ability to understand women, at least the women I am interested in. It seems my love language is touch and when there is contact, such as during sex, there is clarity on what is being conveyed. The body speaks. When hidden affirmation is spoken through words, such as flirting, it goes way over my head. Or I am just so consumed in what I have in my mind which differs from theirs. I get they have needs, and naturally women want a partner that provides. Unfortunately, the communication on that topic failed to transmit.

The vision for this album is to reflect on failed love and inspire passion from within. I will always believe in love. And my love for music—an electric vibe—maybe it’ll reach the ears of my soulmate.

Investment on Dreams

Mental paralysis. Sometimes the right words just don’t come in time for the right moment. Deep inside I’d be like, “fuck! Was I some kind of genius, now my thoughts refuse to process how I want it to process”. Writer’s block on lyrics too. It’s like my flesh has gone mutiny against the spirit. Who knows because it seems, the older one gets, the more of a blur the thought process becomes. I found this quote from the conversation Socates had with an elder very enlightening off the book Republic, written by Plato. “For, let me tell you that the more the pleasures of the body fade away, the greater to me are the pleasure and charm of conversation.” The thought of a rich conversation; full of rhythm and tone command, a pendulum of exchanged ideas given understanding, it warms my soul. Yet I wonder, will I grow old and accomplish this. Or is my mind to be in an indigo fog, decimated library shelves full of torn pages and rusted relics. Will I continue to speak nonsense? No calculated thought.

It’s cool to say still, I operate trains for a living. Two factors about that though, one very impressive and the other—ehhh—concerning. I operate through a heavy rail, at times handling a high volume of passengers with controlled speed and finesse. The negative, it’s 26 miles roundtrip of controlled territory requiring the same movements, with a very thorough concentrated focus. Now, exercising the same train movements, speech, and pressure of the alignment, five times a week for the past nearly six months will take a toll on anyone. It’s a respectable living—essential work—yet, there’s a cost. 

It’s been challenging juggling between my professional life and hobbies. Occasionally, I strum my acoustic guitar as my heart vibes out. I record a few sounds and tunes, then spend some time rearranging my samples and patterns to produce that perfect—chef’s kiss—eden track. It takes time to manufacture quality content. Sigh. Though as the old adage goes, I have to make time.

Since April, I’ve been investing thousands of dollars in stocks, ironically to make only hundreds. It’s been a healthy and refreshing process though and it’s made me much more financially aware of certain markets. As Warren Buffet said, invest in what you know—I do that. Understanding the surface level of the stock market opens my eyes on how relative, yet how important money is. Especially in a world that is based on networking through content, it navigates the direction money goes. From my labor, the cornerstone of what my capital is, given time, the shares I constantly buy and trade, the fruits of it which is my net value, will grow. More money I am able to control, the accessibility—deciding on how I can spend my time.

I do take my physical condition very seriously. It is so convenient to live in a complex that has an indoor gym and I am extremely grateful to have had that for the past five years now. Working out sucks sometimes, but staying fit is so vital to being productive in almost anything.

Let's hope this phase of paralysis comes to an end. I aim to release more content and write more lyrics for my upcoming album, DREAMERS of EDEN.

Words into powerful mixtapes

Written November 23, 2021

Definition of mixtape, explained Matthew A Cruz style!!! It is an annual landmark on one’s life from the blueprint of the soul. Landmark shared through melodies and lyricism. The joy of capturing that desire & fire sound, is as discovering worlds. I’ve been inspired to share, to blare from the surroundings I’ve lingered through. My first mixtape, IINDEPENDENCE was recorded at the Main Branch of the Denver Public Library—yes a library. Wolves Are Very Emotional was engineered in Vail, while I worked at a ski/outdoor resort as a lift operator, a lifty. My third and forth mixtapes were laid out between two cities surrounding the Denver Metro area. I experienced a lot within the past five years, however these mixtapes present an allegory reality, structured by myths, animals and race—not just as an human-race, but my personal narrative on ethnicity and the color of the skin. Through these years, my alter ego, known as DREAM; I revealed a little about this whimsical character.

It takes a toll on my body and mind when I create music, however I feel a spiritual enhancement when I am finished. I feel as if I've been lifted to the heavens to scream my story. And it is fucking gloryous. I think my most dominant and creative talent out of the process on producing my mixtapes is my ability to mold a body of the story. In speaking of landmark terms, developing the concept of a story is like laying bricks on the ground—shit—it's deciding where you gon’ place your landmark (before it’ll even become a landmark), your building. And the decision making on what I’ll write about is made simultaneously with, what are my next moves in life.

It’s time to take mericanDREAM music more seriously. What does that mean? It means adding more of a production value to the next mixtape—put simply, the mix. I want to lay out an original story; inhaled by the listener, then after, them exhaling fresh thoughts. I want to add on, I feel I haven’t reached my full potential on storytelling—things haven’t lined up. Things. Things—such as my at the time experiences not lining up with the trajectory of the chosen concept. I feel I choose the perfect story to write about, but the content is weak. However, not only what I’m writing is weak sauce, its become bland. Personally, I feel there is magic from what I write yet the magic can have consequences. And when the listener inhales stale oxygen, it might cause damage to their spiritual brain.

Words are powerful. They’re the manifestation of thoughts, and its liaison between what you think and what you’ll do. I must evolve on what the message I want to bring to the world will be. Because it will be interpreted and granted by the Universe. I must evolve on how I’ll bring this message out. I am so good with concepts—years speaking. However, I’m so bad at my delivery.

I plan to share a new way of thinking when I am developing this story. Despite what a typical conspiracy theorist might preach, it’s time to serve my own personal agenda. I have a fuck-ton of work to do. It means I have to align the concept I want to write with the goals I have, overlaying on how I will operate. This operation will feature my ass on becoming better at scheduling shit too.

On Track Toward Superstition

I sat there daydreaming as usual. 

The train was gently rocking its passengers. The tip of the sun was gleaming over the silhouette mountains, casting a warm ambiance to the metallic body of the train. I sat openly by the front row seats, wearing a red company polo shirt with blue trousers and black rugged boots—radio buzzing of railroad talk clipped to my side as I pretentiously carried a cheap clipboard of operation schedules and random doodles. 

The train begins to slow down as we arrive near a commuter rail station. I stood up, shuffling to the door, accounting for any passengers that were about to exit. Finally, a slight rollback—movement of the train stops, the metal doors slowly slide open, and I step out to check if all the doors are aligned to the platform. I gazed to the opposite front-end of the train like a referee watching a critical down during a high school varsity game, as I waved my arm forward a few times, shaping my hand like a knife to the train engineer for a proceed go. The doors clunked shut and the train continued to move north.

As I moved forward on the train, I heard a, “gwaaahh”. I turned, trying to identify where this gwah sound was coming from—if a passenger was in dire need of something. Then I looked out a window, a man standing on the platform waiting by the track next to ours, waving his arms—screaming. It seemed he was waiting for the southbound train, as it was possibly running late. I radioed in to our dispatch, “disgruntled passenger on platform at station”, to give a heads up to the other train picking him up.

We reached the next station, as I waved a go to the engineer. She then waved for me to come to her. As I approached, she exclaimed in an anxious voice, “we’re going to be here for a minute; apparently there are people on the alignment”. 

“People on the train tracks, like railroad workers?!”, I sputtered.

“No. Like trespassers!”, she added. 

I then moved from standing by her cab window to inside the tiny engineer cab, squeezing next to her, listening to the radio for further instructions. After a minute, the radio sputtered that there was a dog on the alignment, and people were attempting to find it. Caught by surprise, I murmured, “figure I’d do my job and notify the passengers”.

I walked down the aisles, alerting passengers our reason for stopping. There is a dog on the alignment. Nearly, every passenger sympathized. However, as each passing yearning minute went by, slowly the passengers became uneasy—some people—sweaty and apprehensive. I was feeling nervous myself, so I walked through the aisles sputtering, “remember folks, it’s Friday, the thirteenth of October. This was bound to happen!.”

Finally, after waiting nearly an equivalent of a standard lunch break, the train began moving again. I realized it was dark outside, as if this night was going to be eventful, filled with horror. Security had removed all the people out of the alignment, however the dog has yet to be found, according to the all knowing and buzzing radio. I began thinking what if this was no ordinary dog—what if—a werewolf.

We picked up another batch of passengers from the following station. I sat by the group of men barking up the reasons for our odd delay. Theory after theory discussed, debated. 

Heard a dog worth thousands was stolen, went missing. 

Heard government operations were happening, dog story was just a facade.

Heard war in the middle east is the reason for the missing dog.

Train stopped. The passengers went quiet. The radio went buzzing, “Dog [hisss]... milepost [hisss]… over!” I jumped up, marching in doubletime through the aisles toward the engineer room. Each passenger moving their magnetic head, their eyes toward me. I glanced at each and every one; a few faces with the look of concern, while others—disappointment.

As I opened the door, the engineer was glaring out the window. The train’s auxiliary lights shined through the stone tied tracks, as the alignment was surrounded by cheap wired fences. The engineer realized I was standing behind her, then pointed out the window. My eyes followed her finger, but I couldn’t see what she saw, except for a black dot on the stone part of the ballast. I adjusted my glasses, squinting my eyes. A black puppy. But how? How did the engineer stop just—give or take—twenty feet from the little fragile spirit.

This is my chance to be a hero, I thought. I can put on my orange high-visibility and reflective vest, step off the train, pick up the little black turd, and board the train with cheers and applause as a local hero. I immediately announced my solution to the engineer, asking for permission from dispatch to step off the train. The radio hissed, “No, just remain there”. Talk about killing the vibe. Minutes later, the engineer was then instructed to sound the mighty horn, trying to lure the puppy off the ballast. The puppy, terrified, remained frozen. I thought, all this time, I’d been saved this dog.

Moments passed, police vehicles parked from a distance. An officer on the tracks, covering his eyes from the bright light, walked towards the train. The engineer quickly dimmed the blinding lights. I thought, this was supposed to be my moment. The cop picked up the puppy, as he kissed its forehead and the dog replied with a lick to his face. I turned around, shut the cab door, then unceremoniously told the passengers, yay, the puppy has been saved. One woman at the back cheered, one guy clapped, everyone else asked… so we’re moving soon, right?!