Mr. Muthafuckin’ eXquire is pure id. Well, he’s also pure ego. And I guess when I think about it, he’s also pure superego. Soooooo, according to some dead guy, he’s a complex, multifaceted individual worthy of some unpacking. Confrontational: smiley: adaptable: set in his ways: shirt open: heart closed-off: mortal: immortal: a good listener: self-absorbed: arrogant: wise: son: loner: glitched: clear: surreal: grounded: consumer: consumed: pretentious: genuine: garrulous: meticulous: mirthful: murderous: etc…
On a different note, in NYC, in the PM, is a bodega just a place to shoot videos, or can I still get a $100 bottle of aspirin? My head pounds from eX’s flow, and there is no escaping this hypnotic beat or crushing rhymes, so I’m just seeing if I’d be able to pop into a shop and buy some medicine to make my throbbing noggin stop throbbing while in eX’s city. But, even if all corner stores temporarily house whole squads filming videos, thusly preventing me from scooping up some Advil, I guess I can just always hop back out on the street and vibe out to “Gold Mouth Piranha”, because it’s permanently etched into my frontal lobe and isn’t going anywhere. I suppose there’s some comfort in that.
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