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How eye won the write to think

eyedea

I wanna suck out all your Junk and kiss it
back into the parts of your heart that you keep locked up.
When you awaken, I hope I’m the first person you call,
I’ll listen like a pistol, it’ll be worse than talking to a wall.”

Poetic lyrics accompanied by a desire to fight the course of thought and earn the right to think.  Creativity and odd flows twist and turn with the course of the river we are living in.  No matter how hard he hits the ground, Eyedea smiles with nooses hanging the corners of lips into a delighted grasp of living.  Eyedea is one of the greatest free stylists of this century, and offers through his rap a poetic rebellion against social and cultural conventions associated with the genre, pushing forward his own busted up smiles and philosophical views on existence.  His tongue brush strokes a barrage of mental images upon listening to his music.   A serrated story teller who displayed the knife fight that is emotions.  

His Ego is thoroughly recognized throughout his music.  Eyedea died October 16th, 2010.  Found by his Mother.  Various rappers flocked to Twitter to pay respect.

 And I’m like Jesus fucking Christ, I didn’t care much for life

But I’ve tried to stay alive forever, if I knew this is what death was like

I was never good at problem solving, especially in emergencies
I get a tad bit nervous when concerned with burning for eternity”

Have fun.  Smile.  Hit the ground.  Break some teeth.  

Smile.

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Filed under: Music

About the Author

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Jeremiah Walton is wary of bios, but there's the current sign they're flying: “Jeremiah Walton is founder of Nostrovia! Press & traveling bookstore Books & Shovels. They’ve featured at the NYC Poetry Festival, Oakland Beast Crawl, San Francisco Lit Crawl, Death Rattle, the Kansas City Poetry Throwdown, Cleveland’s Guide to Kulchur: Snoetry, among other lit fests, street corners, & living rooms across the country. They loath-themselves, & are struggling to find a healthy extension of the poem that incorporates publishing. Consistently confused, & trying to make space for compassion for the parts of myself I hate.” That feels like tattooing "love me" across my neck, but hopefully you get to know me thru my poems, not the accolades that are nothing more than memories to let go of.

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