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SevenEyed enjoys writing- and completing- novels, skits, and short stories. She's the baby of her late mother's seven Cajun children. For reasons unclear to SevenEyed, she continues to live right near Fort Smith, AR, even though their gumbo isn't quite right in the pot. Poor SevenEyed.

SevenEyed was a wee teenager when she began shocking her relatives with bizarre, dark rhyming lyrics, and that's where it all began. She enjoys thrillers, comedies, historical movies- the costumes of which she's gaga about, and The X-Files. She also loves indulging her best two eyes in the sights of the most beautiful houses out there, old or modern, and straw-bossing her own landscaping slave-clone in her weird and wonderful backyard.

SevenEyed has recently retired from raising the youngest of her five beautiful children and has plans to never do that again, ever. Or buy any more pets. Or babysit her multiple grandkids- at least not all at the same time. Fat and happy with plans to move to a beach and turn into one of the beautiful locals thereof, SevenEyed enjoys swimming, listening to all types of music that don't make you cry in anybody's beer, and laughing at that hilariously orange sunset that God mistakenly thought would be His best one yet.

He doesn't mind, as long as she keeps her loud hackles out of church, and that's no problem because SevenEyed doesn't go anywhere on Sundays anyway.

Except, occasionally, downtown, where she kindly gives food and cash to homeless human beings, because she believes that Compassion makes the very best religion of all.

SevenEyed posts her wacky or weird but never mean-spirited skit-assortment here for your enjoyment only because she can't stop being weird, a fact based in her strange genetic makeup. She plans to publish her work for the first time ever on Amazon in 2024 in both written and audio formats. She is notoriously known to be inspired by our planetary crisis in good times and the dire human need for relief, comfort, and out-loud laughs.

SevenEyed's long been quoted as saying, "Give me coffee, sunrise, my computer, and some tunes then get the hell outta my face and I'll spin innovative new tales all day long." Some people didn't like that at first, but they did come around eventually.

SevenEyed's hobbies include chanting prayers that turn pure sports-hunters into baby-deer poo, prank-calling the paranormal dimension, and haunting her own house. Boo! When faced with her two cats, two dogs, some old guy, that dude she married, and one of those five diaper-busters, who all still live at home, she retreats to her cozy backyard cabin to pour herself a mimosa. That's when she begins to tinker with her experimental plans to turn em all into fashionable talking mice who instinctively run errands and gossip about Jesus and Dhali Lama. To date, however, all such experiments have failed.

Maybe that's a good thing.

So, what's with that name, you ask? Mm, seriously. It's clearly not her birthname since no self-respecting Cajun mama would name a little baby something as hideous as SevenEyed. I mean, is she trying to convey images of potato-headed Irish folk growing seven eyes apiece? Sounds like a plague to me, maybe an otherworldly one on top of that.

But actually, she intended SevenEyed Eve to convey that her worded artform possess more than just a single stylistic, topical, or genre focus. Is it precisely seven? Nah, that's just there for the connotation of several. She could just as well have been TenTentacled Barb or Twelve-Horned Pointricia.

But alas, SevenEyed Eve's the name. Try saying it ten times fast in a shopper's subliminal message and watch what everyone starts buying groves of! Can you guess? No?

Neither can we.

But thanks for trying- ya got spunk, there, real vital signs, mister! Moxie with gravy on top.

Gimmie some.