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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, December 28, 2011

The SOUL Futurist's Digitism

Under the first provision of the SOUL futurist's digitism, the rhythm, also known as the even keel’s evil infinite excursion into a fibonaccian swirl; such as programmed, as doctored self, as is in a room of mirrors, conquers 'less than' in the self. the personhood of the state, of the collection plate of places to plant food, gorge on fame from selection. We, for the purpose of words against us, assembled circles, declare the individual above the state. There is one or there is none.


Thursday, August 18, 2011


A poem I wrote on August 15th, 2011. From the forthcoming ebook Loveness: Poems from the Heart.

Today by sirmuMsila

today I’m feeling like… a little out of the box. a little outside the of the norm. Outside of everything… everybody. The news makes me scared, angry, pensive, jittery. the drama. the opinions. the pop elation. feel like if I turn it off I’ll miss something. I flip through my twitter scroll and again I am scared, angry or I laugh but then… I wonder does that person who said something funny on twitter not know that some father chopped his kids head off or that some 30 soldiers got killed in Afghanistan or some dude got shot by police or some elderly woman’s window got shot in or some guy broke in some woman’s home and raped her or some guy riding his bike got run over? I’m on the facebook and stocks is down and someone called the Pres a spook and the degrading of the dollar is happening like they said and the radicals is all up at each other and the wind is knocking over stages and the rain is opening holes in the ground and rich people cant stop telling me how rich they is and I’m wanting… and waiting… and wars are being started and information is being forced and hacked and sported.

We buy into people selling they life for thirteen episodes a season. cut by commercials convincing me I aint good enough. and the device we sit to see it on hypnotize our dollars while glowing lights convince us we’re plotting our solo missions. Where we whisper our deepest secrets into the fiber optics that block out the sun and we’ll say that we saw it and that we knew what we was looking at when we see it coming pushing the stars aside rushing our investigations into whose fault it was not to fund the telescope. we flossing instead of fixing our own levies. looking for hand outs from the land whose hand we want out our pocket. I’m feeling way outside it. way out the way I feel when I pay more to get to and back from the place I get paid less at. I look at TV and I wonder where common sense at. He’ll drop the science! but he dropped the sense and reality aint real. Now I’m feeling like I don’t even understand what I feel. I look for love.
Somebody posted something bout love but when I take a closer look its an invite to an event at the love lounge where i can get my freak on. 5 dollar sex on the beaches before 8. 10 dollars at the door. I need something positive all general and yellow daisy-like cause that’s what I’m used to to keep me from wanting to chuck it all. like a quote from the bible or my horoscope letting me put the blame on mercury’s retrograde. I need some informative confirmation that this aint all the dream or maybe it’s just wysiswyg, what you see is what you get. We thread the rope we hang round our neck. ahh… maybe it’s just that end of the summer feeling or the world bout to shake off the shit that fuck with it from the front. I only know what I know. beauty. It’s what I make myself miss daily. so that that moment I see her will make everything else worthless.

Saturday, July 30, 2011


Today it rained.
When I got tired from chasing her
she turned around... and I looked away.
And then it rained..
And I didn't want to get away from it.
I didn't want to shelter myself from missing her.
I wanted to stand in it, head up,
let it wash over my face.
Today infatuation is washed away.
The fully realized idea of loving outside the self is blocking out the sun.
Obsession and jealousy do not float.
This water nourishes the perception of substance, cascades over concrete.
-ground to stand on unmoved by a shower of momentary disappointment.
Today it rained...
I will appreciate the sun even more tomorrow.


Sunday, July 24, 2011

Friday, June 24, 2011


To be an Artist is to find beauty in the things we take for granted. I look for it everyday. It is how I stay sane and find worth in it all. 

Money is societal construct. 
Art is a natural construct. 

the make up done on Heads Up was some of the best I've seen.
backstage: Shoe Story, Theater of Note, LA

beautiful sky

14th street looking west

Ghandi, my man, Union Sq.
HighlineII stairs 
Washington Street, south from 14th
Don't cheat at Poker
The film Heads Up. Me at my most devious to this point.
the red camera
can u tell I love the Highline?
The person with whom I have the conversations I don't want to end.
gotta keep it classic.

my train coming in 5.
Art Everywhere


Art Everywhere

Highline II

Sunday, June 19, 2011

Tumblr site

hey come check me out on Tumblr for much more frequent posts. This Blogspot is going to mostly be for working out some poetic ideas.


Wednesday, May 25, 2011

Precious Desirable Nothing

Behind the door of passion, lust, infatuation lies an even darker place
where few choose to venture.
A place, akin to unselfish loyalty, cemented with desire,
yet more sinister, more angelic.
Love is the misguided thought yet it's truth is a sugary sweet, teeth clenched facsimile
of said thought
that will knock you down to get at your heart.
The energy of this dark is the wrath of all of what it is to truly want, crave.
Here, the earth stands still.
Moans and sweat represent serenity  and tranquility
as dancing cells of self worth  circuit themselves about you.
In this cold, treacherous place, the acquisition of lustrous trinkets,
to express what can be expressed with a simple kiss,
is acquired with a dangerous fervor.
None are immune to its pull and perceived beauty such as this.
Engulfed in this dark, the instinctual energy, to protect what is fragile in us,
is diverted away,
pulling with it sense and logic,
pride and integrity, concept and function.
All that is left is emotionality and the need  to make this feeling last for as long as it can.
Oh to have. To trade shiny ornaments to have.
To step away and to see all that we have: grand beauty. a frozen moment. a bribed smile.
Precious nothing.
In that is the weakness.
That frigid steely want that clenches the spine.
This dark deception invades and destroys the delicate tenderness we long to share.
Be weary frail heart. true love cannot be bought.
You cannot grasp at it to hold.
It opens itself up for you to fall into.
It is not in the sweat of bodies yet it embodies the sweetest nectar that is the joining of flesh.
It is child-like freeing laughter not the clenching disruptive jealousy of an absent instance.
Feel with caution
 so that you can love with reckless abandon.


Friday, May 20, 2011


at the MET in NYC
one of those cold NYC mornings when I was was over it.

I got a thing for pretty flowers

especially roses...

aim high...

burn like fire

who'd a thought the price'd go higher.

Rich Pierre and Julian in LA during Shoe Story

there is no end to the scheme