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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

Sunday, April 11, 2010


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.


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

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