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muMs is an award-winning New York City based Poet and a member of the Labyrinth Theater Company.


muMs the Schemer ===> Schemer: fiend, foe, friend, fear, /swallower of your fear, /blasphemer, /dreamer…. /to hold, to have, to be in a condition akin to, to victory he prevails! /A mathematical or philosophical diagram representing the astrological aspects of the planets, emotions and intellect on scales, /teller of your tale /in a letha-phorical outline, /a concise examination crafty and secretive in sign, /a systematic and organized chaotic plot. /I am muMs the schemer and you, are not. ===> The first ‘m’ is lower-cased /concerned with race /and small manipulative matters of that sort: /the things in our face /that bleed into our heart. /The ‘u’- also small- leads me to look to the sky, walk there the edge of a shore equating to particles of sand, stars, the moon. To be under all that which is bigger than me lead’s to the second ‘M’ capitalized for the manipulation /of that that from which all shall begin /and again /from when /we least expect. /The ‘S’ is the trick: the hush of it all. /The control over what we discuss, beckon or call /or plural to represent the many that know /or just that the path is a windy road? /No matter, it also is small. ===> muMs, the schemer and echo-er of it all.

welcome to a new day --goRealer

Wednesday, August 26, 2009

MY NIGHTMARE- a short story found on the internet.

While doing research on Molestation and girl gang life, I came across this short story by a woman only known as 'dramatizedent' on a website called Her story is captivating, heart-wrenching, honest and brave. I reprinted it here for convenience.


"I was interested in sexual things at a very young age. What seems to me now- being 24- abnormal curiosity. I think it may have originally stemmed from my mother letting my watch inappropriate movies and also her being with many men, in front of me.

My mom dated my stepfather when i was VERY young... about 2 or 3. They broke up and got back together when I was 5. That's when it all began... or at least maybe. Sometimes i think it could have happened when i was younger bc sometimes when i am in a sexual situation i will picture my mobile that was in my crib.

So when I was 5 my step dad moved in with my mom and i. That's pretty much when it all began. He would wake me up in the morning and get me ready for school. He would rub my stomach and then move up to my lack of breasts. As time went on he would kiss under my shirt. I didn't really think it was right but it didn't feel wrong.

When this wasn't going on he was busy torturing me in other ways. Forcing me to eat unreasonable amounts of food and that beating me on a timer for every 10 mins i wasn't finished my food. He worked night shifts so he was home with me all day and my mom came home at night when he was at work. The only relief i got was the molestation.

Because I wasn't eating-- who can eat when they have a huge knot in their stomach bc they know they are going to be beat?-- my mom started asking me questions. and when i was six and a half i got up the courage to tell her what was going on. She asked me to show her what he was doing... i knew it was sexual but i couldn't quite explain what he was doing so i just acted as if he was having sex with me.... but that is not what happened- he was touching me with his hands... all over now.

My mom called him to come home and I was terrified. He sat on the couch and cried, asked why I was lying about these things and asked me if i was just saying these things bc i was jealous.... "Yes" i lied...

A few months later a baby boy was born to them. Now they had their complete family... oh and me. i was not getting much attention, and i WAS upset by that. My eating problem continued and though the molestation had stopped for a bit it was picking back up as the baby wasn't so new.

Sunday nights were the only nights that he was home bc of work. the worst night of the week. My mom would cook dinner and i would sit across from her staring her dead in the eyes bc i was not hungry, but was being forced to eat. She would leave the dinner table and go into the bedroom. So here we were, him glaring at me for the whole 2 hours it took me to be able to finally force down my meal. Then it was time for a bath. so he would give me my bath then we would go sit on the recliner and he would touch me. with my mother sitting right there on the couch. this went on this way until we moved when i was 10.

I was no longer having eating problems for the most part. Breakfast was always a challenge with those nasty centrum vitamins that i was forced to eat after my half pound of cereal, but for the most part things cleared up with that difficulty. He was still touching me every chance he got... now coming into my room in the middle of the night when he got home from work. i was used to it- it felt completely normal and good... something that is always hard to admit. It was way better than being beaten bloody, or having your face slapped so hard you couldn't open your mouth. So i gratefully chose being molested.

He and I got along great. we talked on the phone every night while he was at work. It was like some sick and twisted relationship. He started in this time (i was probably about 11) orally molesting me.

One day my mom and i were riding in the car and she told me that when i was younger i had said he was doing things to me and she was asking basically if he was now and i was mad. What good would it do if i told her the truth when she didnt do anything the first time. Everything was going fine just the way it was. Sure i felt dirty and knew at this point that something was wrong... but it felt better than the alternative. "no i dont even know what you are talking about" i told her.

One day i was getting ready to go to a friends house who lived down the street. I was upstairs in his bedroom asking and seeing when i had to be home when he told me that he needed to talk to me about something. He said " do you like what we have been doing?" My blood ran cold. i was used to it for so long did i like it... "i dont know". so he tries a different approach... "Let me ask you this... do you dislike it" "No" i said and ran out of the house.

It continued getting more frequent.... almost every night i would think. and as i was getting older and interested in boys it was feeling more and more wrong. I feared him so much that i was so afraid to do anything. One night when he had finished i told him " i dont want to do this anymore"(i was 12) He hugged me and said he understood. And it never happened again.

When i was 14 i was having a normal teen argument with my mom when he stepped in and told me if i ever spoke to my mom like that again he was going to break my back. He had been hitting me again and i couldn't handle it anymore. Someone HAD to listen to me and do something. I went to school and at lunch I told my friend of 7 years what he had done to me. She went straight to the principal after lunch and that is when my life went into a spiral.... all of my darkest secrets exposed.

I was a cheerleader and we had a game that night and my mom was to pick me up after when in the middle of the game here comes my stepfather walking in frenzied. I was scared frozen. He told me my mom was really sick and he needed to take her to the hospital and that i needed to leave now. My mom was fine that morning.... On the car ride home i kept thinking that she confronted him ( my friend was telling my mom... i could have never done it) and he killed her. I just kept praying that she was still alive and that he wasn't going to kill me too. When I walked in the door i called her name and she was in the bathroom and called me in.

She told me she had just gotten a call from my friend and asked me if it was true. I told her yes it was true. She told me she was going to have to confront my stepfather. I told her i didn't want her to... to just call the cops and that way we would both be safe. I dint know why but i REALLY thought he would kill us if his secret was exposed. She went to the hospital with him, not agreeing to anything with me. I sat up awake in my room all night long. Laying by my bedroom door afraid to not be close to something. When they got home i was scared she had said something. But no one came in my room....

When he was upstairs (she slept on the couch) i left my room to ask her if she had said anything. She hadn't. So I was finally able to fall asleep. The next day I got home from school and my mom was yelling at me as soon as i stepped in the door. Saying that DYFS has been called bc my friend had told the school. She called him at work and told him he needed to come home bc he was being accused of molesting me. his response was "not this again".

I went down to my friends house, though i was still afraid he was going to kill my mom... Finally my mom calls me to come home- he had went back to work, but would be returning after work... Again I am up all night- afraid he is going to murder me when he gets home. the next morning my mom comes into my room and tells me to go upstairs and confront him basically. She told me to tell him what he did.

So i go upstairs into his bedroom... my mom behind me... and i say " you molested me" He asked me why i was doing this to him. He asked me what he had done to make me hate him and told me i was "going to go to hell for this"

The next few weeks was full of child services questions and more questions. Psychologist visits, internal exams.... He was forced to move out by DYFS... My mom didn't believe me and never pressed charges. This was in Feb... he moved back in in Nov. They didn't have enough evidence and since my mom wouldn't help me they said he could move back in and to just lock my bedroom door.... I would have if he hadn't taken them off when we moved into the house..... when he moved back in everything was weird, but in time i learned to take advantage of the situation, getting anything and everything that i wanted.

No one in my family knew about anything that had happened. my mom had told them that they had a trial separation... about 8 years later in Disney world my cousin was talking about his hard life and why he needed to use drugs.... I had been drinking and it pissed me off to the point of saying "try being molested by your stepfather everyday of your life then tell me how bad you had it". And here i had opened it all back up. It felt good and horribly bad to let my secret out. I was scared for my mom who i had always protected. I just let it out.

Anyway, present time is like 2 years later... my mom didn't talk to me for a while... and no one in my family talked to her for a while. He is not welcome to any family functions. I still feel hopeless sometimes. Like i wish i could go 1 day without remembering that. without blaming myself... even though deep down i know its not my fault... sometimes i cant see that and dont know that i ever will, and it angers me that someone ruined a portion of who i am. That THIS is who i am...

This is how i am trying hard NOT to live... but sometimes i falter...


Dont trust self or others

Be loyal- you must protect the family... keep secrets...obey... dont fight back

dont have needs

love means being hurt or used

dont ask for help

dont show pain

its your fault

keep control of yourself and everyone around you."



Monday, August 24, 2009

cheeba and deadlines

true speak: Marijuana may be a short cut to the imagination. For me it is good for the contemplation phase of creating; Good for pulling ideas from everyday life and jotting them down without any form whatsoever.

What I find more affective at unblocking the blocked artist is deadlines. Not the type of deadlines that you impose upon yourself. Those are easily broken. Someone has to impose a deadline on you so there is a sense of embarrassment if you don't get the work done.

A glass of Pinot Noir after the work is turned in helps to sooth the doubt. create. enjoy. create again.


Friday, August 21, 2009

Selfishness born of Beauty

If I could freeze just this moment of you; command the earth to stand still so that I may observe the simplicity that is beauty so grand, I’d want to protect it fiercely, keep it from the world and those that see you as I do. The manly fragility in me would divert sense, logic, pride, integrity, maturity and self-discipline until all that is left is emotionality and the need to make it last for as long as possible. Oh to have: Selfishness born of beauty. F*CK!


Friday, August 14, 2009

Definition of an Artist

ARTIST (ar'tist) n.
1. a) one who practices an art in which conception and execution are governed by imagination, style, and taste. b) a person skilled in one of the fine arts. c) a craftsman that executes his art with individual style.
2. often their work is judged according to the culture and the attitude placed on art at the time. Although they may earn recognition during their lifetime, they are usually not recognized for their accomplishments until after death.
3. Lives a life of unstable economic means.
4. Many theories have been put forth regarding their creativity, the most common one being that it is inherent, although if not developed and tested will remain dormant. a) They seem to create during moods, often intense, mostly lasting only a short while.
5. They have a feeling of brotherhood with each other that is timeless.
6. Thought to be haphazard, having no sense of order, plan, or direction, yet are known to be perfectionists when it comes to their own work. a) They make decisions on feeling rather than reason. b) Have problems with concentration.
7. They are stereotyped as mentally unbalanced. One artist cut off his ear in a passion of creativity combined with frustration about his art. It has not been determined whether their creativity has anything to do with this.
8. They are sensitive, aware, and alert.
9. They are tolerated by society, which allows them to live in accordance with their own natures.

(from a refrigerator magnet)


Wednesday, August 12, 2009

Dumb America

So I've been following this Health Care bill and debate that President Obama is pushing hard. I am so disgusted by all the hate that is being spewed towards him while he is trying to make going to the doctor something all Americans can do. As an artist, money for health care is something that I can't seem to afford with any type of regularity. I can't play a pick up game of basketball or a little two-hand touch football without worrying about hurting myself and not being able to afford to go to the hospital if need be. Just recently I broke my hand (again) and had to let it heal on it's own because my Health Insurance had lapsed due to my not earning enough in the past year. At 40, I'm living on eggshells.

But instead of thinking about the betterment of us all, they (republicans and the rest of the crazies) spread lies about President Obama's birth, his religion, that he is trying to make this a socialist country. I am not the one to use the race card lightly but if it smells like fish...

I keep telling myself that I will not watch anymore Cable TV but it is everywhere. I am ashamed to share a country with a lot of these people. Not so much because of the way they feel about him or his policies-- our country is built on the idea of thinking freely and I am thankful for that-- but I am ashamed to share a country with ignorant people who are happy in their ignorance. Now I'm no road scholar. In fact I dropped out of college to pursue a rap career. My grammar is usually off even though I consider myself a writer but I am always on a path to educating myself. I love to learn new things. The Internet makes that much easier but the US' ranking amongst the top 36 nations polled in education is 18Th and slipping fast. This "happy ignorance" thing has already infiltrated pop culture. Music is dumb, Television is dumb and to hear people at these town hall meeting complaining that the Health Care bill is too hard to understand annoys the intellect out of me. I'm ready to throws some fisticuffs! Or maybe we should just break the country in two. Call it Dumb America and Smart America. Wonder which country would have more people.


Wednesday, August 5, 2009

I'm Back

I'm Back from outter space...

and I just need to vent. make me a point about not worrying.

Dream, dream big, write with no spell check, take pictures in regular light when people ain't looking, if you feel like doing a Michael Jackson spin in the subway at rush hour, do it! Go after your dreams and put no pretenses on your existence here on the planet cause who the F knows right?

Yeah it me muMs, Craig Grant, Sirmumsila, Chrysanthemums... etc. I respond to all. It's been a pretty uneventful yet productive year. first off I had some major money issues that I'm sure all of you can relate to especially since most of my little audience consists of self made artists like myself. This ain't France homies there ain't no government subsidized art going on here. And actually money has been tight for quite some time now. basically through two failed relationships (that is now how I measure time). My pride wouldn't allow me to go out and get a job. no offense to bar tenders but I'm sure I'd jump off of something first. I am an actor even though the work has become scarce for someone so un-zac effron as me. o well no frets, no worry. worrying kills more people than... I don't know, I don't give a fuck about facts right now. I just know worrying ain't good for you so I don't do it at all. so here I was at 40 yo in December 08, basically money-less, girlfriend-less, refusing to get a regular job. I told people that I was living in cardboard box under a bridge in the Bronx. made for a good story but no one believed me. kinda like when I decided to tell everyone that I was gay so I could meet girls. I decided I needed a change. I got a call from a director who wanted me to come to LA to do a workshop of Elephant Man featuring Common. They had no money to pay me but the director insisted. so much so he reached in his pocket and was willing to buy me a one-way fare. There is something about fate or God or the Universe or like... energy. my mind was clamoring for a change and here was the opportunity. I said yes, packed a bag and took 200 of my last 300 sans the phone bill, and went to the poker table. With that desperate energy on my side I walked out of that poker game with 1000 dollars at something like 4 in the morning and was on a plane to LA with nowhere to stay 7:30 am. nice. Well, I ended up killing the workshop like I usually do when I concentrate.
I am a much-better-than-decent actor ( but as I learned quickly in LA that means squat). I wound up staying on a rather comfortable air mattress in Santa Monica for two months then moving to West Hollywood, where I now reside. I am well into writing a play that I am very proud of and am about to tackle the task of writing a screenplay. Some monies have trickled in and I am, after a nice discussion with my manager about how I am switching my focus from acting to writing even after acquiring a pair of decent agents out here, contemplating a future in advertising to go along with writing and acting. I just returned to LA from spending two weeks at my theater Intensive at BARD University in New York. It was an invigorating experience, especially staging the first act of my play and people understanding it as well as liking it!
Anyway, long story short, the universe gives you signs for your life journey everyday, at 40 I decided to listen and things are good, very good. Ta da bitches...

ok so look forward to my posts being a bit more personal than they have been but not quite as long. love you all. peace.