Friday, November 19, 2010

Autopsy Reveals Eyedea Died of Accidental Overdose

Not something I wanted to hear.
The more I contemplate it, the worse it feels.

Autopsy Reveals Eyedea Died of Accidental Overdose

Sunday, October 31, 2010

Tuesday, October 26, 2010


How arrogant to think ourselves in control; how demeaning to think we're not.

On an unrelated note:

I am the cardboard cutout,
torn from the canvas
of artists who can't shade.
A new light source might cause glare,
and darkness still chalks the outline
of whose frayed edges even form a flattened latitude.
There, despite the density and facets,
all angles are equal.
Tap on me and the muted slap is consistent.
Right amount of wind, I'm downed or carried.
(Just make sure the brace is held tight,
and he'll stand all night!)

Friday, October 22, 2010

Rhymesayers Entertainment :: Posts

Rhymesayers Entertainment :: Posts

More reminiscing on the sudden loss.
This is really painful.

Sunday, October 17, 2010

Murkier Acreage

This is another shocker. Eyedea, rap artist from Rhymesayers records, passed on. No details yet, but I think Hip-Hop lost one of its finer talents. The two times I saw him live were incredible; his ability to freestyle was rarely paralleled by another, and my introduction to underground hip-hop would not have been complete without his freestyles.

May he find peace in the next stage.


Freestyle with Slug


Saturday, October 16, 2010

Excellent performance by Lazerbeak with Doomtree mates POS and Dessa, along with a few others.
POS (one of my top 5) on drum machine and Dessa (goddess) singing background.

Thursday, October 14, 2010


More from Dose. , TVHAHA, seriously funny.

Monday, October 11, 2010

a cup of tea she would admit to no one

Waiting for you to pop out from behind that wall.
HAH! Joke's on you, yeah?
Joke's on me, fine.

But it won't happen.
Instead, I must be stone when faced.
No polished surface with lost soldiers,
No reflection of helplessness.
Those fingers that trace letters
and names
and souls
will just point.
Just, this point?

That's never for me to answer.

(Title Quote: Belle and Sebastian, "If You're Feeling Sinister")

Saturday, October 9, 2010

Friday, October 8, 2010


is were and ever shall be delicious
I taste your delicate sin along my forked tongue.
I hold one hum
from that gentle pursed-lip frown
and i mold a porcelain crown
for the shoebox princess to sport.
the clown at your court
the suite to your song
no wonder i don't know the words
but I can still sing along.
in this abscess of your absence
there's a hollow prolonged
across whose pulled flesh
my wrinkled digits beat out the rhythm.
I'll weave it in pagan parades
open heart, fresh blood on display
and you'll pass by
with a slanted eye
and that same frown
through which no words can escape.


nowIcheckMybLogliKemY Facebook account
but the tangled web of blogdom is that hollow downtown
overrun by the bigboXes a few blocks away
it's got that charming personality
snap a picture, move on

Thursday, October 7, 2010


"All I'd really like to do is quit all this; get a small room... devote myself to my writing, contemplation... doing whatever I wanted."

Tuesday, October 5, 2010

There is no place for me in modernity. Seriously.
What is need? What is want? What is regret?
I'm trying so hard to keep everyone happy that these responsibilities won't let me breathe. I stab words at the sky; they bleed the sky, but no one is dyed. All I ask is some clarity. One work day of peace of mind. This doesn't exist. One action that doesn't sacrifice something critical. This is all I ask. I turn my fucking head the wrong way and I spite the other side of my neck.
Fuck gravity: the new universal law is that nothing is sacred. You can't satisfy one thing without destroying something else.
I haven't spoken to my father in about a month for no reason. I haven't spoken to my dear friends in longer. I'm so at odds with myself that I regret my own thoughts.
Words like poison. No. Words like soda, the slow decay.
Who has time when the world begs?
When picturing the enormity of every decision, who has the means to justify a nap? A day away? A day where everything and everyone is greeted with a no.

Here in the sweet afterthought of some small manifestation of my turmoil, I lie in the dust, loth to action. Shields that blind with polished faces, swords that weigh with heavy hilts.
Here I am.

My biggest fear? The severing of strings that bind me to some whole. The bindings are pulling, pulling, pulling. If I loosen my slack on one, the other become more tense and tenuous.

Sunday, September 26, 2010

Slim pickings

Slim pickings, its an honor to finally greet you

lost among the fallen plumage pawned as new age gold

the gates fold but never open

the page was locked shut

the frame of mind was over-adorned with knots and spirals

all hail the idle!

half-asleep, ears closed!

where the fear flows
lapping at the waists of moon burned children.
(can't you)

hide your flesh from the night-callers’s lucid eyes

shoulder the burdens of the euthanized who scrutinize

the living for not giving enough?

insisting on plush

when the rough would’ve suited?

tailor-made for the favored spade’s favorite hijinks-

goodbye jinx, hello hex, run along curse
we’ll talk after a spell; 

read, repeat just make sure you’re well versed.

Swell season for ideas to impregnate

fallen from trees to spring forward when the bell’s late.

wait, wait, wait

was that you ringing
back to the artifice of egg-shell swimming.

take care tinning, but let’s skip over hyperbole

since none want the sum of the shedding fleece and suture.

lips stitched shut

but the teeth still clatter

grinding though the cheeks blood seeps though the fabric

let it dry let it grow brittle till it snaps

just make sure nobody is listening when it happens. 

Inspired by whim and shrug, two good friends who, once lost, have now gone all biblical allegory on me.

Monday, April 26, 2010

gone part 2

Shrug me that bold shoulder again,
and I'll draw that fine line between mice and men.
Where poison sinks to fill your jowls
and sloshes still in sinking scowl.
Eyes rolled to a heaven set to burst
in search for thirst - i hope for parch.

Tell then of your shrinking scribes, your words fall flat
your verbs contact
where pierce once served, with fangs bared stained
of glum refrains shorn
blue blood beat veins torn
soaked heart shoulder slung-
still pounding there among the horns and calendars.

In the forest of where these things still dwell.
Alone among the sheltered shrubs
held hoping for untethered tug.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

dedicated to the sleeping poets.
may you dream of dead words that consume your flesh
tethered there
in where.

Tuesday, April 20, 2010

gone (unfinished)

In the low hung rungs of summer's sun
the heat draped thin
still touches skin
and burns.

How red must read wax before peel?
How fed must fed tax before heel?
Questions floating unsung
where mere speech was shrugged for show
now rote words are sought for harvest
on the scored earth of preference and flash.

Will that light too one day burn?
Will it wilt the roses,
leaves luck plucked, thumbs unstung?
Will it brown soft patches of Whitman's words?
Will it slur sight scope in thirst's blurred search?

does that same yellow that reds flesh
hold to stone our silhouettes
hung among the cracks and steps
stripped of fears, of words that left?

Would the bones of questions appear perplexed?
Bereft of context, tongue and touch?

Or would we all just be gone?
Gone of soul, of blood that speaks.
Gone of limber, snaps and creaks.
Gone of all that sun does greet.

Left is street
and aimless heat.

Friday, January 1, 2010

Re: the last few blogs

Do not fret!

I was exploring a side of anger through words. I used to be quite capable of capturing anger in my writing, thus releasing it into the cosmos as neutrality and alleviating my own harsh feelings.

I was trying to do the same thing here. If the "angry" posts pop up again, you'll know what they're for.