The art of handwriting

Handwriting is art. Take out its communicative intent. It is unreadable even by me. Here I write to release. These are things I want no one to read. I don't even want to read them, ever again. They are gone, trapped in the art, to be shared with the world.

-goRealer

Nature's uber-narcissistic hero complex paradox in 5

I) I am muMs.

What is muMs? why is your name muMs? what is your real name?

Craig.


II) Why is there a muMs?

To protect Craig.

From what?

Being hurt.

Hurt by whom?

The world.


III) The world has hurt Craig?

Yes.



IV) The world hurts everyone.

Everyone needs muMs.


V) Who is muMs?

The protector.

The protector of Craig?

Until Craig needs no more protection.

Then what becomes of muMs?

muMs goes on to protect the world.

Protect the world from whom?

From Craig.

Is it Racism only when the jokes are negative?

Just watched Bill Maher. I admit I'm a fan. Along with his sensible take on the politics of the country, he calls out racism on the tea party, Rush Limbaugh and Carl Paladino which I appreciate. He says there is major racism against President Obama in this country but then he dresses up like a pimped out Obama named Barry White House and does a routine. Granted it is funny. Like really funny but it's dripping in stereotype. Should something be racist ONLY if it is negative? I don't know. I felt a twinge of "wow, should I be laughing?" But watching Cornel West laugh at all the "black jokes" about Obama and respond every time Mahar defers to him when talking about any black people, as brilliant as he is, made West seem so much like... someone's uncle named Tom. Whatever, I don't know.
I have a lot of non black friends that straddle that line when joking. I let a lot of things go, even when the jokes get real close to the line, mostly because I know their hearts and know that their friendship is real. They feel comfortable to be able to say certain things around me that they would never say around black people they don't know. Mostly because they know that it doesn't bother me and I can give as much as I can take. But watching Bill Maher tonight straddle that line even standing in defense of President Obama and the racism against him, just felt kinda uncomfortable.


-goRealer

The Clockwork of Calibrated Fate

I am product for a coroner on the corner gambling my life willing to throw to die. I've got rope burns on my neck from noose knots I've knotted myself tight, twined on tattoos. Cotton cuts under my fingernails I refuse to let heal. The scowl on my self-burdening forehead is permanently etched. My subconscious is vengeful enough, inclined to survive through diamond shackles, platinum whips and crack vials that beget little pittances I like to show off like show and tell me, me, me, me, me, me. I sit in a rock and hard place state, festering hate in the bowels of my abdomen so evil that only harm to myself can ease the pain. I even reject my name. My dream is a concoction of ceaseless conquer, recycled wisdom, higher existence and black consciousness; Through me, fiction. There are DNA imprints of a survival tactic that even Darwin gets. It is in my mind, my emotion. It is at times my very inherent function, my under-sensed purpose. But my answers to the questions concerning my truth reside in blatant misunderstandings till the disrespect of me is all I'll hear, then I'll fight like there's oil here. I flail helpless in a sea of misplaced blaming. Any self-discernment causes cold calculated diversions from what is actual. Only really understood well, head cupped in hands, elbows on knees, sitting in cell. Shifty and un-still. Still I call upon this reasoning pointing me towards that diamond- laden lynching swinging from a neck sported at some hood party. I smack a fat ass five pound with authority to somebody who'll probably soon be dead or in jail, over sneakers, over a jacket, over a girl, over words. The complacent shrug of my shoulders gets to the very essence of things. The very testings of things. I say, 'that's how it gets sometimes in the center belly of the beast'; 'I ain't do nothing your honor... I ain't seen nothing officer' because the everyday tragedy that goes down in the everyday spaces is something I am capable of; cognizable of. So stand back from the edge. just a warning.

-goRealer

muMs and Aurora

So I will be rocking out with my homie Aurora at the Nuyorican Poets Cafe on August 13th and 20th at 7pm. We've got a hot 10 song set entwined with poetry and love. We call it FOLK MUSIC'S ANSWER TO HIP HOP. :) We've got a hot band of worldly musicians. everything from acoustic guitar and violin to the trombone and piano and let's not forget classical percussion. so come hang, have a drink and listen. we appreciate your support.

love, muMs

SEX TAPES and OIL SPILLS

The British Petroleum oil spill in the Gulf is a great indicator of the shortening of America’s attention span. When it was first reported, no one could grasp the sheer magnitude of the destruction. Then when it became clear that this was the single most devastating man-made disaster in recent time we were shocked and angry. Then when a month later the rate of oil spilling in the Gulf hadn’t changed we were on to new news. We had given it our moment of emotion.

The same disproportionate greed and self importance that was clearly evident in the big wigs at BP that helped make this oil spill happen is the same that has been growing in all of what is our popular culture.

No this isn’t new. The spoiled bratty children of the upper class speeding through Beverly Hills in their over-priced, under-appreciated gifts from Daddy. They hide their inability to care about anything but themselves behind designer shades. What is new, and probably could have been predicted, is that one day one of these children of these self important people would actually take their shades off and admit that this is who I am, I am completely clueless and yes the world should truly revolve around me.

Enter Montana Fishburne...

for the full blog go to Newsone

-goRealer

Paradox of the Urban Cliché

What a run we have been having! The cast is phenomenal! The director is patient and highly effective as is all the designers!

This process has been grueling, arduous and whatever cool word that can be synonymous with difficult. But the result is just breathtaking!!

I love theater! Film could never replace the energy that is created from the stage. I wish I could harness it to have it run my life.

hmmm... maybe I can, maybe I can....

Come see the last five performances of Paradox of the Urban Cliche starting tonight Wednesday May, 26th at 9pm thru Saturday May 29th and Sunday the 30th at 7pm. you will be transfixed. yeah I said it!

goRealer

Paradox of the Urban Cliche @ Cherry Pit Theater, 155 Bank Street

Paradox rehearsals I

So yesterday was the first day of rehearsals and read through of my new play Paradox of the Urban Cliche. For me it was an excersise to keep my ego in check. By the end of reading the first act I had given up the battle and accepted the fact that I had written fire!
The actors we selected were truly professional and dare I say, they fucking brought the business! Warner Miller who is playing Ceez, the main character, attacked the role with authenticity and a sensetivity that helped give Ceez the three dimentional aspect Sarah Sidman- the director- and I had been looking for. Azariah Gunn who plays Smiles, at many times during the read pulled tears from the back of my eyes so much so that I had to keep my eyes on the page during her monologues. Authority, played by Sid Williams with what I like to call a jolly intensity, was the expected magnificence and specificity for the skilled actor that I know him to be. Sheldon Best, the young lion, is playing three characters, Dice Dude, Thug and Agent of Authority. He is the perfect utilitarian actor. I just wish I had puppets in my play for him to work. He is that skilled. I am lucky to have him because he will be a star. The design team is utterly professional and I was a bit embarrassed by the corrections of my spelling errors in front of them. Sarah Sidman has been a tireless supporter of the play since it was four poems and then an incomprehensible one-man play that prompted one mentor of mine to sum his criticism as just, "muMs, I hated it." haha.... He hates it no longer. Thank you Sarah.
I took my moment after the read in the bathroom, in the mirror, to pump my fist and congratulate myself for writing my first full length play. And it is good. Ok, now that that is out of the way let's get to work!
To the Artistic Directors and my fellow members of the Labyrith Theater Company, THANK YOU for the opportunity and mostly for believing in this play even when I didn't.

Paradox of the Urban Cliche running in rep with Greg Keller's Dutch Masters at The Cherry Pit Theater May 14th- 30th. For more information go to www.labtheater.org


-goRealer

Location:8th Ave,New York,United States

Hip-American

In 2008 I spent a month in Accra Ghana, West Africa. It was my first time on the continent of Africa. I'm not really well traveled at all. I've been to Amsterdam, Toronto, Quebec, Bermuda and just about every state in the nation including Alaska, performing. But that's about it. I'm not too far removed from the type of native New Yorker that never leaves his borough. But man, I was in Africa! That meant something to me being an African American and all. I wanted to see the motherland!
I saw the ocean, the black star. I walked with (hand in hand with some) so many people that looked just like me. I saw the statue of Kwame Nkrumah. I also saw the classism, poverty and corruption. I got quite emotional after the Elmina slave castle tour. We saw the small rooms where hundreds of slaves were held in darkness for months at a time in their own feces, that was noted to us by the lines on the wall. We saw the hall of broken glass they had to go through to get to the Door of No Return. There were some Ghanaians on the tour as well. I remember being confused by their shock as to what took place there, in their own country, to create the "African American", me.
Ghana, as a whole, is a beautiful country. The people are lively and friendly. But I waited to feel that thing, that connection to the land, the people. It never came. I could have been in India or South America. It was foreign. In the end I was more than ready to come home.
When I did get home I had questions regarding my identity. What am I? What do I believe? What is my purpose? Deep shit. I slowly detached from some normal activities, people, places. I moved to Los Angeles. I started writing regularly again. And I began to refuse to apologize for my opinion, something I had been brought up believing I was supposed to do. Only now when I look back do I see the pattern. At the time it was just me 'making moves' in my life.
The one conscious affect of my trip was that I had to find a love for my country, so to speak. A reason, besides the election of Barack Obama, to be proud to recite the National Anthem.
I've never been called a nigger to my face in a derogatory way. Well, not that I can remember. Maybe back in the 70's, in elementary school, if I think hard. But I've never had to experience anything quite like what my mother and father experienced in the early 60's when they came to this country. Definitely nothing like what Zora Neale Hurston, James Baldwin, Ralph Ellison and a host of other experienced. And I can only imagine the hell that the triangular trade might have been.
Early on in my poetry career I was a labeled a revolutionary poet and then an angry poet because I wrote mostly from the "Invisible Man" perspective. I thought, with poetry, I could avenge the wrongs of the past, Emmett Till, the four little girls and everyone on a news reel sprayed with a hose.

"... purple mountain majesties? sounds like strange fruit/ blood on the leaves, blood on the root..."

To quote Public Enemy, I had "a right to be angry", probably still do. But on the other hand, I have no real respect for white guilt, in any form. Most black people don't. I don't need pity. But my anger over my second class citizenry sometimes can't be contained. I really just want respect. And boom there was an answer to one of my many questions coming back from Ghana. Respect. For what I do. For who I am. And NOT in terms of myself in others eyes as much as my own respect for myself.
It started with my acting. Rather than getting upset about the racism that exists in Hollywood, how could I show these casting directors that I was more than just a black actor? Be better. Be the very best. haha... changing Hollywood's perception of black actors single-handedly proved to be a daunting task but I did start to truly improve my auditioning to the point that I was up for a number of roles not intended for a black man. But that was just it. I didn't want to be a black actor or a black writer, or even a black man anymore. How about being an actor, a writer, a man? That color adjective has been the box I'd been trying to break out of. I have all the respect in the world for the struggle of my ancestors to create a better life for someone like me in this country. I am reminded of it every morning I look in the mirror, every time a cab speeds past me to pick up a lighter shaded fare, every time I watch TV. There is no doubt, I will never forget where I came from. I respect Jewish people for reminding themselves of their struggles every year and holding on to their past with strong convictions. But what is good for some isn't good for all. I am done with the anger and hate. The more I hold on to what I once was, I block myself from truly becoming who I am meant to be.
I love you Africa but I let you go. I once was African but I was born in The Bronx, raised on a breakbeat. I became who I am when the needle hit the record of Rapper Delight. It might be trivial to some. It is everything to me. I am a Hip-Hop American. That is the glasses through which I see. I shorten it to give it it's broadest meaning. I am Hip to the smoke screen that color is in the grand scheme of things. I am Hip to my own power and resolve. I am a Hip-American. Even if I am the only one.

goRealer

check out my play, Paradox of the Urban Cliché at The Cherry Pit Theater May 14th-30th.

ASS OUT

Okay, I'm not the one to be all, "the younger generation this... the younger generation that...". I mean I remember clear walking around with my sneakers flip-flopping cause my fat laces were for show and not for holding my shell toe adidas on my feet. But this, I don't know, I can't wrap my head around it. personally my jeans don't necessarily sit atop my waist either. My belt line is on my hips, my crotch is roomy, my boxers peak out the top, but not to the point that they're seen, let alone the curves of my buttocks being completely out and obvious to the world behind me. I'd really like to sit an eighteen year old down and have him explain it to me. The purpose, the fashion of it all. I really want to know how they see it.

I had wanted to put up a picture of a monkey with a swollen red ass next to this photo but I thought that might be a bit too much by way making a statement that I'd be able to get away with only because I'm black. You cannot look past the similarity though.

As I look at this kid, I think to myself, well, your thug. I understand that. This is a fashion statement (d)evolved from the lack of belts in jail,- I'm not too sure how many 18 year olds know that- but like, what if the cops was chasing you or worse, some rival gang with guns wanting to get you cause you wandered onto their turf? How are you going to run? Really?

I see that the thing with the youth is extremes. They make up for their lack of imagination by way over compensating. A kid walked into a Starbucks I happened to be writing in the other day. He had a Kwame-styled high top fade, complete with the bleached streak up the front. He wore Run-D-MC truck, gold rope chain jewelry. He had on what we used to call Webo boots back in the early 80's but then later adopted by Madonna, with silver chain links and studs covering them. Of course this kid was clearly a New York City artist type and not the norm but the interesting part was the only thing new about him was that he wore the entire decade as one complete outfit. amazing.

This could really be pointed towards something larger like, what Jean Baudrillard wrote about in Simulacra and Simulation: that our perceived reality is only a simulation of reality. That we've lost all connection to what is real in the world all together. Maybe man has truly lived beyond his purpose. Maybe there is no more human progression. Maybe this is a sign that man is done. hmmm... deep. All of that read on the uncovered boxer shorts of a youth on the train.

goRealer

check out my play, Paradox of the Urban Cliche at Cherry Pit, May 14- 30th

HAND WRITTEN

When I first started going to the Nuyorican Poets Cafe from my house way up in the Bronx the train ride was a killer. Approximately 53 minutes from the moment I step on the #2 train at 238th street in the Bronx until I step off a D or Q train station somewhere in the east vill. I'd use the time to write a poem to perform. I'd be pen in hand, pressed into my journal, writing, writing... I still have those journals. I look through them from time to time.  There were some gems.
I sat in a Cafe in Brooklyn the other day to get some writing done on my play, PARADOX. I sat next to a guy who was writing full into his journal in long hand. He was in so hard. I'm not sure if other writers notice this but there is this look a writer gets when he is in hard, kinda like a runner's high. He doesn't look up from the page, isn't aware of his surroundings and can't write the thoughts down fast enough. Dude was there and I was jealous. I'd have to find a power source, turn my computer on, fiddle around with Facebook, gmail, twitter, my bank account, my blog stats and the NYTimes before I'd even open up my document. Then I'd read back through what I had already written and start fiddling in a place I hadn't intended to. I wanted to just then chuck it all and go back to that fiery artistic place I was when I had that hour long train ride, for poetry. Then it dawned on me, transcribing is a f'n waste of time. I flipped up my lappy and killed them keys.

goRealer

Paradox

This past week auditions were held for the workshop production of the play i've written called PARADOX OF THE URBAN CLICHÉ. There are no words to describe the feelings I've been going through as a whole. Anxiety, excitement, sadness, overwhelming joy... etc... It has been a rollercoaster ride that is only just beginning. Some really incredible actors came into read for me. There was a moment when I snuck out of the room to use the bathroom and I saw like four actors working on their lines. My lines. Ahhh....!!! Being an actor I could appreciate every ounce of work each and everyone had put in to be able to come in the room. Being a writer, I appreciated the vast diversity of interpretation. I can now approach the script with new eyes. This journey of playwriting has and will continue to be one of the most rewarding experiences of my life.


-goRealer

Location:Bedford Park Blvd,Bronx,United States

Random NYC

Tonight I was sitting in the back of a cab on my cell making plans with a photographer for him to shoot portraits of me for tomorrow (Sunday). I explained to him that I would have to go to church with my mother in the morning but that I was free for the rest of the day. Evidently i had been overheard by the cab driver because as I began to exit the cab he said to me, "please brother remember my face and pray for me when you go to church with your mother tomorrow. I have turmoil in my family." you got it bro.

-goRealer

Location:W 4th St,New York,United States

The Fame Monster

I'm not quite sure of the reasons that lead to Andrew Koenig decided to take his own life. But knowing that he was a successful actor in his youth and hadn't worked much lately, I can guess. I didn't want to get on my soapbox again about this very fickle career path that I've chosen because ultimately it was my choice. I was in nursing school when it all started for me. I could have stayed and finished. I'd sure have a steady check now. But here I am getting super psyched every time I get an email from my agent. I download the sides, I read the script, I prepare to my best abilities and try not to think that this could be the role that will change my life and get me back to the place I was some 10 years ago. I breath, I talk to the universe. I try hard to relax. Afterwards, I do all that I can to forget. I toss the sides and get to work on the next one. For Andrew Koenig it had been a longer time being reminded of what once was and now isn't. This town isn't kind on someone like him. All with the TMZ, paparazzi, young arrogant studio executives, desperate producers trying to land the hottest timely actors and the stunningly hot six-inch-heel-clad beauties who have no clue who you are and will treat you like a nobody. They used to say you're only as good as the last thing you did. Now you're only as good as what you did 2 minutes ago. Even Jon Cryer had a stretch of B movies and failed TV shows between his performance on 'Pretty in Pink' in 1986 and landing the mega hit TV show 'Two and Half Men' in 2003.
I still wouldn't change what I do for any other job in the world. I've met some of the most brilliant people and can call them friends. My theater company cradles, supports and encourages me. I write, I produce and am looking forward to directing one day. In the same place where fame is fleeting, expression is godly and man do I revel in it. :)
No father should ever have to bury his son. My heart goes out to Andrew Koenig's family. May they find some peace. And to all the struggling actors out here in LA or in NYC, know your lane and hold on tight to what you love about acting. Only that will keep you from drowning. luv.

goRealer

write to live

I was out to dinner with my friend Alicia Witt last night. we usually have an orgasm of Sushi and Saki at Sasabune in Westwood but we decided to go to Real Food Daily instead. This spot is the BOMB!!! I'm really not into vegetarian food. I absolutely HATE tofu and sometimes vegetarian people come off as just a bit pretentious but maybe it's just me projecting. This place had NO tofu on the menu though. Say word! Crazy delish! Anyway, this post isn't about food. When Alicia and I get together we have very in depth forward thinking conversation about life, relationships, politics and of course acting. We don't agree on everything but we respect the sharing of each others opinion. Last night we spoke about may things including the changing structure of relationships and how we as humans couple as opposed to how we did 50 or 100 years ago. I'll break that down more specifically in a later post. At one point we began to discuss the dream, as actors, and how mine had changed in the past few years. I explained to her my recent frustrations as an actor (made known in my previous posts) and that lead to us really acknowledging what we really want out of this life. Both of us are believers in that alchemist ideal of telling the universe exactly what you want using that energy to pull it towards you. For me it went like this: I want to write! I want to live by a beach, not too close but close enough. I want three rescue dogs, an apartment with an alcove and a better than decent sized kitchen. I want a really cool girlfriend with her own apartment, a recurring role on a popular network TV show and a really cool publisher that will wait for my novel. oh yeah, mad frequent flyer miles from traveling back and forth to NYC and a big mailbox to hold the checks. Hey universe, make it happen. thanks.
gorealer

putting the 10 in 2010 postscript

...but i aint never fretting or blaming. hollywood do what hollywood gotta do to keep them lights on. it aint personal. never that. I got mad love in my life too precious to jeopardize infecting with friendly fire. I'ont need to pop no more shots. true speak is there really aint no one to aim at. no specific enemy other than self. and the enemy of my enemy can be my hero. can't nobody do for you more than you can do for self determined to go hard. "Oh they aint ready for me yet. my style too ill for'm"... like a ego slingshot from hell to a place way distant beyond serious. or maybe 'can't get outta bed'll' lead to 'too scared to get in'... up late at night concocting substances. I been up in these offices. I know what they be buying. I know heat from flashes in the pan and overcooked. So I'm off this slow money ho stroll all upset cause the johns only want blonde's. In fact I know better blonde's.

goRealer

Putting the 10 in 2010

Well that was my plan at least. Head back out to LA, get my fat ass in shape, finish writing my play, and book a series. Well I've been hiking in Runyon Canyon maybe twice, have only notes on the finishing of my play and well, below is a picture of me outside the short list director/producer session audition for the series regular role on a major network. In other words this is the audition that can change your life in a matter of minutes. Did I work through the pressure and kill it? I was well prepared and calm. I did the work. Two days later I heard they decided to go White/ Latino for the role. nice.

gorealer