Meet Danny Schlabach

We’re excited to introduce you to the always interesting and insightful Danny Schlabach. We hope you’ll enjoy our conversation with Danny below.

Danny, thank you so much for joining us today. Let’s jump right into something we’re really interested in hearing about from you – being the only one in the room. So many of us find ourselves as the only woman in the room, the only immigrant or the only artist in the room, etc. Can you talk to us about how you have learned to be effective and successful in situations where you are the only one in the room like you?

Honestly? Trial and error. I got loads of stories about my failures, but the times I succeeded from those failures are the most captivating stories to talk about. From foster family to foster family at a young age to changing my whole name, status, and language. From the unreasonably hard streets of southern California to the lawless countryside of southern Oregon. It’s always been an uphill journey since the start. The surprisingly hardest part? Being colored through all of it. You wouldn’t think it hard for an adolescent Hispanic boy in Oregon, even in California my identity of people is abundant and seeing that culture paint the streets is normal, but it’s the expectations from all sides that wear down the optimism of the naturally hopeful. I’d say I was kinder as a kid. More tolerant. The issue is how people like to walk on smiles, turn from open hands, and ridicule different appearances. 
In the 2000’s, I was born in Santa Ana, California. Good old Orange County. I’ll admit, I was young enough while living in California to ignore the violence if I wanted to, but even the issues in my own home grew too large to divert my attention. I was forced to not only see it, but experience it myself. It drove the local CPS to remove me from my birth home and relocate me to Anaheim. I bounced around foster families, the next one worse than the last. I remember times where I was crying all by myself, empty rooms, at the end of a cul de sac in a random person’s house. Finally, after some years, I was adopted by a white family. Single mom, had other adopted kids and one biological kid of her own. At first, I felt relieved. A white family? I felt like I hit the jackpot not gonna lie. I really believed that things were gonna be different, maybe i had a chance at something. A chance at a better life. The process was fairly quick, before I knew it my name was suddenly Daniel and I was only allowed to speak English. Now, god was my father and Ms. Frizzle from the magic school bus was my mother. My siblings were privileged and loud, they had toys, bunk beds, and decent schools. It was all very different from what I was used to seeing. If that wasn’t enough, the family decided to pack up and move hundreds of miles from any place we were familiar with, Oregon.
 I lived alongside the white family for several years. At first, I struggled with fitting in. I was the only brown kid in the family, or in the whole town we relocated to. I seemed to be the only individual in the area that understood the culture, a struggle, or even the world. I was too young to have to worry about these things, I should have let the privilege take me, ease into the simple ness of it, but something in my brain, my nerves or my blood, wouldn’t allow it. I’d already seen things a child never should have to, I learned to be self sufficient and logical, and needed to be, until this point in my life. So i was going to continue doing what i had been doing, “what could go wrong?”, I thought.  
The new family was nice, but they came with their own baggage, like everybody does. I loved the open land, tall trees, and trips to a park where you could actually lay in the grass. As I got more settled, the façade of a perfect family started fading and the issues that come with age and cultureless habits infected the relationships between each other. I already ignored most of my siblings, but now the silence between my adoptive mother grew long and heavy. I had little to relate to, and even less to talk about. My adoptive mother started being violent and lazy, she started sitting for hours on her computer, sometimes all day. As kids acted up, she began hitting us with whatever she could find close by, at times this would include her hands. Then our daily encounters graduated to fists. My siblings, all of which were older than myself, initiated plans to leave, and never come back. Some did just that, but not after a lengthy showdown with my adoptive mother. Sometimes cops were involved. Eventually, I would follow suit. Aside from the burning down of the house attempts from my adoption brother, abusive boyfriends of my adoption sisters, the guns and drugs, physical abuse, and barred windows, the town of Cave Junction, Oregon, was not what you’d expect from a small PNW town. Cartels are known to run through the area, Charles Manson started his cult tactics in the next little town over, and some of the biggest illegal weed grows surrounded me. Heads were found with no bodies and bodies were found with no heads. The crime was rampant, and the police were never to be found. The people were an odd mix of hick and street, a vibe I could never really put my finger on. It was this atmosphere, paired with what I had lived through in California, that was a breeding ground for irresponsible behavior.
Since I could remember, humans have been selfish and couldn’t be counted on as reliable. I did have one hope of escape though, one material item that I had always seen adults stress over. Money. My relationship with money started in California. Foster families complained about money a lot in my experience. Either we had enough to eat that night or we didn’t, it all had to do with how much money we had. Pretty simple logic, and I understood that. As I approached my middle school years, I aimlessly lived wondering how I was going to escape from the warden I called mother. Instead of playing on the swings, I sat and watched the sky from the wooden bench on my elementary school playground. Day dreaming of success and what that would look like. It was there I formed an image of myself, older and dressed in what I wanted, happy and valued in what I had to offer the world. I came to the conclusion of placing necessary value in the US dollar. If humans were unreliable, then maybe money was the opposite. Also, if I wanted to leave the people who treated me more like an inmate than a family member, I would need the wealth to support myself independently. Armed with this newfound belief, I began to enact a plan that would change the course of my life forever. 
Something I like to say a lot is, ‘be careful what you wish for’. I learned that life lesson in the hardest way. It was in middle school, 6th grade, when I started my money making schemes.  First, I tried selling books to other kids. I had no means to buy these books myself, so I stole them from my middle school library. I liked snatching the newest books, the ones they display on end caps, special edition copies, or the next book in a full series. This way, the other kids would desire that book more, placing a value and need for whatever I had. I made some actual money from it! I learned that being nice and professional about the ordeal went a long way, and kept my dealings under the radar. It’s not like I was trying to hide it, to be honest I didn’t see anything wrong with what I was doing. The books were technically free for anyone to use as they please, and we were all too young to care about the pricing of things. Most of the time, I traded back books for items that were of more cash value to older kids. This endeavor was short-lived. There was a kid that learned of my activities, he was already under fire from the school librarian for a new comic book from the captain underpants series that he had lost. Our librarian had informed him of the large fee he would have to pay for not returning the book, the book which had been sitting on my very stuffed bookshelf at home. It all came crashing down with a quick conversation between him and my middle school principal, then a couple phone calls to my adoptive mother. The school didn’t call the police that time, just a library ban and months of in school suspension.  
My second venture was a plan formulated whilst in suspension. I never took my eye off the ball. Once I want something, I won’t stop until I achieve it. At least, suspension wasn’t enough to discourage my antics. My next idea took a more mischievous approach- stealing valuables from inside my house.
My adoption mother kept a collection of standard to rare silver dollars. Some worth more than just $1. The unique currency sat in large but thin coin books with fancy inscriptions and flashy trim. Instead of taking the books, I would snatch full pages from the middle over the course of months. I was modest with my spending, I knew I wanted to save most of the money for my grand escape plan. I started with buying candy and ice cream to trade for higher valued items. I tried buying friendships and even bragged a bit to girls in my class. I learned rather quickly that this was an effective way of gaining relationships but not maintaining them. This second venture of mine came to a swift end when a teacher witnessed me fork over some silver dollars to another kid for an item he wanted at the student store. The school conducted a search given my history, and they found clear sack bags full of coins, more money than any middle school child should ever have. Another series of phone calls later, and I was given both in and out of school suspension. Of course, all the money I had was confiscated. None of it was given back to my adoptive mother, increasing the divide between us. 
At this point in time, all the kids in the house were gone. It was just one of my adoption sisters, my adoption mother, and I. The one adoption sister left was quiet and submissive to my adoptive mothers rampages. I became the focus of the anger and resentment in the house for my behavior. The beatings became less and less as I progressed into 8th grade, but never truly stopped until I learned to fight back and not let people treat me that way. 
My third source of revenue wasn’t even my idea. It was my adoptive mothers recommendation to send me to boarding school, but the man she started dating at the time believed it to be more beneficial if I earned money the old fashioned way, work. I began working for a small company with multiple store locations in southern Oregon, it was a discount grocery store that was connected to my adoptive mothers church. Albeit it was cheap, run down, and most of the food was expired, it ran normal operations any other grocer would. I was 10 and working full day shifts, from unloading semi trucks with forklifts to getting assigned my own aisle to maintain. The man my adoption mother was dating, and eventually married, dragged me out to buck hay bails and clean up horse manure on the only days that were my weekend. It was honest work, but they all saw me as a kid and paid me what they believed to be appropriate. After all, what did a 10 year old boy need with a full salary? So, I would get paid $20 every time they bothered to remember, and I would get paid in food the other 6-7 times out of the week. I loved the work, mostly because it was something to do, but also because I hoped to work hard enough to get some type of raise. The raise never came, the work continued to get harder. An honest day of work started to lose its appeal as I longed to be recognized for my labor, and my value. It was at this time I reimagined a way of making quick cash. 
My fourth, and most fruitful, plan to generate money was also the most unfortunate and illegal idea I’d ever come up with. Instead of stealing from inside my own home. I looked at other people’s houses. I’m still an acquaintance with the person I burglarized my first house with. We were so young and small we couldn’t break down the trailer door. It took about 10 minutes of loud banging to get inside. Fortunately, nobody was home and the man that lived there was a creep. We found many questionable things in his closet and under his bed. I figured, at the time, I must have been used by karma to punish this man for the horrid things he hid. Though, this didn’t discourage me from burglarizing dozens of residences in the Josephine County area. I even built an all black outfit, with a machete to match, for running around the streets at night. My illegal activities were paying off, I sold real valued items in person and collected a large amount of random stuff, paraphernalia, keys to cars, houses and businesses. I had more money in my hand then most hard working young adults. Thousands of dollars were wadded up in shoe boxes, pants pockets, and trash bags. I wasn’t world standard rich, but I had more money than I knew what to do with. I remember pulling a stack out in front of my adoption sister at a summer fair, she asked about where it came from and seemed concerned, but I had already adopted the suave attitude that comes with wealth and knew I could keep her mouth closed with buying whatever she wanted. I continued this way of life until my fateful end at just the mere age of 11.
All this led to one large break-in the summer before my freshman year of high school. This burglary was different because my family was friends with the old woman I targeted. I had been to her house before, and knew she had money laying around. During this time, I had taken to hanging with older kids that stole cars and liked to act like gangsters. I related to how the things they did were about making money and being independent. It was familiar to me, given that part of my childhood was in southern California. I understood the culture, and it’s what I chased. I also started smoking cigarettes, drinking, and smoking weed. In the end, I broke in and entered my family friend’s house while she was asleep. I snuck around and stole envelopes of money, medications, jewelry, and some expensive looking rocks she had. It was already late at night and I wanted to get home, but then I had an idea. In her kitchen she had a door to the garage, keys hanging on hooks by the door. I had never driven a car before, but I decided that night was the night. In the end, I crashed the car. They say you always crash the first car you ever get, I agree with that. Surprisingly, I was a good driver for the first time, I even drove on the highway, but the inevitable happened. I abandoned the vehicle in the early hours on an August morning and hitchhiked back home before work later that day. I had been kicked out of my own house at the time, and I was living in the abandoned cabin next door that was owned by my adoptive mothers lover. It was full to the brim with all the various things I had stolen over my criminal career. Later that evening, the police came to investigate and confiscate everything I had. I was caught.  The investigation, interrogation, and sentencing was fairly quick. It was undeniable that I, the little 11 year old brown kid from California, was the culprit of all the recent burglaries. I confessed with no contest, and took the lighter sentence with my statement. I served my first sentence, which only lasted two weeks, for four felony charges of burglary, theft, and UUMV.
I attended school on time for my freshman year. I was fresh out of lock up, adrenaline still lingering in my veins, and looking for my next adventure. The issue now was I had a probation officer. I knew my days of running amuck were done, and it was time to focus on being a kid, or so I thought. While this whole time I excelled in student leadership, attending FBLA meetings, becoming leadership chairman then student class representative, I even led assemblies and organized events, but the shadow of my crimes were still over my head as I pressed forward towards my potential. I felt that not one person understood my situation. After all, I was a unique individual in an unfortunate circumstance.
Freshman year passed and sophomore year began, as I struggled to maintain my duties at school, home, and work, I was isolated and depressed. I sought out escape through drugs and partying with random girls every night. This, of course, was only possible when I’d sneak out of my cabin and stay gone all night. I was getting little sleep, my probation officer threatened to lock me up everyday, and the physical abuse transformed into mental abuse. Fracturing my already fragile state. The worst part for me was I wasn’t making any money at all because my job fired me for my recent charges. I had to get out of the cycle, I had to do something different.
It was a book that jump started everything: ‘Catcher in the Rye’, author unknown. It was already infamous as a controversial piece of writing in foreign countries, which sparked my interest. What could make this book so captivating? After my first read of it, I sat on the last page. The cycle of the boy’s life inside the book, how it goes full circle back to where he started just shook my world. It was more of a feeling than a thought. I suddenly realized what I needed to do. I’ve heard of young entrepreneurs taking chances, risks, in order to find doors, or windows, of opportunity.  So, call me crazy, but I left my cabin and life behind the following day. I never spoke to the white family I spent years suffering with again. I was as free as I wanted to be, and with that mindset, I could take over the world.  The only issue? My probation officer. Technically, me leaving the resident address my probation papers were signed to, is a jailable offense. I already knew this, and knew the risks associated with that, but its was a risk I was willing to take in order to change my life. I wanted things to be on my terms. It wasn’t easy, I was literally homeless, on the run, and had no money. Running away was my plan from the beginning, just as I’d seen all the other adoption kids do, but I planned on having cash in my pocket, maybe a car to live in. Now, I was sleeping in a park, with the same clothes I ran in, and no guarantee of food when my stomach growled again. I knew I had to build a network of reliable friends to help me get out of this slump, because that’s how I looked at this situation, as temporary. 
I kept partying, but drank and smoked less. I used the gatherings as ways of building relationships with my fellow classmates that I never interacted with in school hours. Eventually, I built a solid group of dependable individuals that let me sleep on couches, gave me clothes and food, and helped me strengthen my mind. I continued reading old literature and searched for positive outlets for my trauma and depression. This is where I found music. 
I have always been phenomenal at writing. I like words, they can change the outcome of anything. Words hold power, and for some reason, I understood words. Not only was I skilled, but I was passionate. Also, I was gifted as an MC. Matter of fact, I never gave myself the label, it was given to me. My leadership teachers looked to me when in need of a ‘master of ceremonies’ because I loved doing it, and was great with the crowds. I’ve always been the MC, it’s just the life that’s mine. So, when I began writing poetry in my spare time, I would recite it out loud for my friends to hear. It was skepticism that kept it as poetry, and it was a girl that turned it into raps.
After a year of running, I decided that my time of being a homeless outcast was coming to a close, and I again searched for my next opportunity. A friend’s father heard of my situation and offered me to stay the night in their home. The next day, he offered me residence with their family, but the condition was I had to work out my legal issues first. Being that the father was a janitor at my high school, he arranged a meeting with my principal to discuss my re entry, and how he could help with my probation officer. I was on the edge of my seat when my probation officer entered the room, I was shifty and avoided eye contact. The two men asked me to leave while they discussed my fate. I considered running, but no more. I knew my future was right in reach, I just had to sit and wait. My probation officer came out to give me the news, I was going to juvenile detention for a weekend, and I would be back in school on Monday. Being that it was a Friday, that was the best news I could hear, especially after running from the law for a year. I accepted these terms and expected to join my friend’s family the following Monday, but my probation officer had another surprise for me, I was going to be living in a shelter for teens.
The shelter I was reassigned to on my probation paperwork was the best experience I could’ve ever had. It was the first time I witnessed humans being kind for no reason, or just because they were good people. The concept of ‘free’ was lost on me, there was always a cost for something, but money had no relevance here. A teen could ask for an iPhone and they’d find a way to make our dreams come true. I could wear what I wanted for the first time, take unlimited showers, and no one was yelling or hitting me. I gained a large portion of my kindness back, I learned how to be grateful and considerate. Living at the teen shelter was beneficial and safe, but my time there was short lived. I was told that my condition for living at my new residence meant I had to communicate with my probation officer and the staff like they were my parents, because they acted as such. I still didn’t own a phone at the time, so I verbally confirmed plans and stuck to them.
One winter day, I decided to attend an after school class to hangout with a girl. I know, how stupid, but this girl was the first to make me see who I could be. Who I was. I was homeless, dirty, and on the run when she looked at me with confidence and whispered, “you are somebody great, Danny”. This was the same girl who sprung the word ‘artist’ into my identity. Unfortunately, the day I got dragged off to lock up was the last day I ever saw her again. 
To make a long story short, I violated my probation conditions once more. I wasn’t able to report to my probation officer or the shelter staff that I was staying out later than usual and I paid the consequences. I figured it was no harm, I was a good kid that did some bad things, and there were worse individuals out there. Needless to say, that didn’t matter and I was met with police officers at my shelter, they had a warrant for my arrest, issued by my probation officer. I was told they had enough of me, and I was to sit in detention until a committee of concerned community members decided what to do with me. I sat for months waiting, I wrote music and slept all day. I felt like I was just getting my life in order, and now it was all on the line again. I didn’t get phone calls, or gain any friends. I sat in my cell and worked on my mind. It was all I had left.
Finally, the verdict came out. My old adoption family was also consulted in this decision, and they confirmed that I was no longer their responsibility or concern, so I was signed off to be a ward of the state. They stripped the few rights I had as an individual minor and sentenced me to time in the Youth Authority. I was told to expect about a year inside before I got a chance to parole out. It took me three years to get through the system. I had no family, no friends, and bad influences all around. I got swept away in the politics, lost in the numbers system, and buried under the plethora of negative people I lived alongside. I’ve seen things a kid should never have to see in California, and I’ve experienced things a teen should never have to experience in Oregon. I let my environment form me for a while, I’ve done things I’d like to forget about, but I found my way up and out of the US prison system and am proud to say I’ve never gone back.
I paroled out in December of 2018, a couple days before my 18th birthday, to Eugene, Oregon. The land was new and my freedom fresh. I was determined to pick up where I left off all those years ago. Money was on my mind again, and this time I could get a real job. Another talent I gained whilst in prison was audio production, I met many talented people, with many years of time left to serve, that would do anything to get the opportunity I did. The opportunity to get out. I couldn’t waste a moment. Right away, I started a college course in audio processing, and got to work at McDonalds, the familiar feeling of a hard day’s work was comforting as I laid in a new bed. It was more comfortable than the prison bunks, but still didn’t feel like home. I moved my way up to a job at Dutch Bros Coffee, where I made enough money to purchase a full studio. I gained trust at my halfway house and was able to leave property as I pleased, allowing me to purchase a car, look for an apartment, and get back into community organizing. To be honest, my music wasn’t good at first. I didn’t know what I was doing with production and I constantly got negative feedback, but when has that ever stopped me? I still didn’t have any friends, so I stayed home and worked on my craft. Learning something new everyday. I learned that dedication is the doorway to progress.
Of course, life is full of ups and downs. I’m clean from hard drugs, but I used to be badly addicted. I gained a co host position on a local radio show, then lost the opportunity. I had a beautiful daughter, but she passed away a few months ago. I’ve had bad shows, frustrating artists, and many friends that have passed on or lost their minds to drugs. The only thing we can do is continue on and never let what’s out or our control dictate our decisions. Also, a smile is free, and that’s all it takes to change someone’s whole perspective.
Now, after all these years, I stand on a growing fan base. Some of my tracks are hitting 4 digits and have made official playlists, while artists that I used to watch on Instagram hit me up to do shows and hangout. More importantly, my long awaited independence is solidified. I graduated from parole to freedom in 2020 and started making music seriously since. I am well entwined with the local community and my face is known by someone wherever I go. Had I let anything that was out of my control dictate my decisions while I grew up, I wouldn’t have survived. Had I let my past actions define who I decide to be today, I would never have made it out of the halfway houses I used to live in. I learned that patience nurtures dedication and out of dedication comes progress. It’s a great thing to be different, because you can’t end up in the same places they do.

Great, so let’s take a few minutes and cover your story. What should folks know about you and what you do?

Here where I reside, in the pacific northwest (PNW), there’s known to be a variety of music scenes and genera’s that rage in their own unique places. Eugene with its punk rock house parties, Portland with its mainstream sounds, and southern Oregon with its underground trap and indie cloud styles. What I take pride in is having a talent for it all, from hard rock to delicate melodies, I end up creating something for each emotion. With lyrics ranging from mental health issues, political topics, or straight street garb. Recently, I’ve had the privilege of working alongside some amazing artists and producers that are strictly from the PNW! Gaining this experience birthed an idea, a loose collection of artists from all backgrounds, genera’s, and levels of skill that help each other paint their rawest emotions onto a track, no strings attached. Sharing organically while collaborating effectively is the name of the game when it comes to [highsociety]. Are you a passionate artist located in the PNW? That’s [highsociety]! Organized by a very talented producer, roots, and myself, ismofuego, [highsociety] aims to provide artists with the tools and knowledge to successfully get your voice on independent radios, streaming platforms, and playlists. The coolest part? Your career is yours! [highsociety] supports you from the booth, to the stage, and beyond, making your next big break totally up to you!
[highsociety] does not represent the views or actions of the independent artists it works with. [highsociety] strictly maintains a legal code of conduct regarding credits, monetization, %’s, and positivity.
With shows popping up all over the PNW, you can catch [highsociety] and its artists performing their positive message near you!

Looking back, what do you think were the three qualities, skills, or areas of knowledge that were most impactful in your journey? What advice do you have for folks who are early in their journey in terms of how they can best develop or improve on these?

Looking back, I could attribute many things to the reason I got as far as I have. What made me so resilient? Why did I decide to keep charging forward into the unknown? After some consideration, and help from my partner, I narrowed my life down to three crucial elements that, without them, I would have never managed to become as blessed as I am today.
I smile a lot. Being friendly doesn’t seem like much of a skill, but when life throws it worst at you, choosing to stay positive in spite of it all goes a lot farther than you’d think. A simple smile can change someone’s whole perspective. Alongside staying positive comes respect. mutual respect opens doors, its the least you can give someone when you have nothing else to offer. Plus, don’t expect every room to be accessible when you have a negative attitude.
This could go without saying, but truly practicing integrity can birth self confidence, build a solid foundation for your life, and give you the authenticity that todays market seeks in all areas of professionalism. Being honest with others is equally as important as being honest with yourself by allowing the opportunity for you to grow if necessary, or stomp out bad habits.
As I’ve learned in my experiences, the first step to self improvement is accepting the things you can not change, changing the things you can, and the wisdom to know the difference.
This one isn’t always readily available to everyone, but I encourage people to push their boundaries, explore their limits, and live to experience. One of the key components to my life being as it is today, is having a life well lived. My collection of polar experiences allowed me to view the world without a scope, so I could to see the whole picture. Not everything that happens in life is up to you, but making sure you’re getting out there, taking risks, and doing what feels right to you is all that really matters. It’s your life, live it how you want to.
As a last word of advice, Be grateful. I didn’t have the people who should have been there for me, I had to find them, and that’s okay because there was still things in those times that encouraged me to continue on. I didn’t always see it when I was in the middle of chaos, but that doesn’t mean those things aren’t there. Be grateful for what you do have and, in caution, I always say, “Be careful what you wish for”.

Who has been most helpful in helping you overcome challenges or build and develop the essential skills, qualities or knowledge you needed to be successful?

There has been two people that, without them, I would not be the same man I am today. My daughter, Alishea Rhodes, was not a planned baby, but she was the best thing that ever happened to me. I was scared when I first heard the news, I was more afraid of what it meant. There wasn’t room for irresponsibility when it comes to a child, and its a scary feeling introducing the world of pain to your own child. I never knew my parents, and I never really had a real family, I definitely never had someone that was related to me by blood. Ali looked just like me, she was perfect. My baby mom tried staying around, but she was a partier and loved attention wherever she could get it, which made her unreliable and not a good role model. None of that mattered to me, I wanted Ali to have the world, and I was prepared to give it to her. I was warned of Ali’s mother and her unreliability, but I continued to try and serve both. Eventually, Ali’s mom left, not wanting the responsibility of parenthood. I gave Ali the 100% she should have been getting from me the whole time, and she taught me patience, thoughtfulness, and thorough planning. It was a perfect life, until her passing. The pain from this is tempering my acceptance, because sometimes life doesn’t make sense. We can’t always explain, “why?”, so we must ask, “what now?”, and cherish what we have left.
During the final months I had with my daughter, I met my current partner. The rock that I clung too during the storm, she has been present for wave after wave of life’s disappointments. I met someone who I know will be there, possibly until the end of my life. My girlfriend is everything I could ever asked for, and still I’m being taught things, like how to juggle two careers, a home life, pursue self improvement, and, when I had my child, fatherhood. Learning is a never ending journey, a journey to fall in love with. You never know where it’ll take you.

Contact Info:

• Website: https://linktr.ee/ismofuego?utm_source=linktree_profile_share&ltsid=a178bbd8-216e-4e6a-ba6e-50a1ffcda613
• Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/ismofuegoofficial
• Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/share/g/gNPhTKf2JroVJAoh/
• Twitter: https://x.com/ismofuego
• Youtube: https://youtube.com/channel/UCMPJWjVJBgAKd1LTxBrTWVg?si=f-fLxDwZ3Vm4uoo_
• Soundcloud: https://soundcloud.com/ismofuego
• Other: [highsociety]

Image Credits

In photos: Danny Schlabach (me), Alishea Rhodes (daughter), Gabe Corzine (roots)

Photographer credit: MystiMushroom (Jaxon Chappel (Partner))