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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

Friday, April 29, 2011

A muMs the Schemer retrospective --LAST CAR, pre1997

I peeped that nigga out the corner of my eye at first 
I know he saw me seeing him 
something in his eyeball said fear and I can sense that you know 
he made his way to the other end of the platform so it seemed 
but in the last car cant nobody hear you scream 
I made my way 3 2 last car 
there was a hint of izm in the air sharpened my senses 
and the angle I had on him now he knew his end was near 
I’m on him timberlands first 
let you teeth hit the bench like these blows came down from the universe 
two handed cranium joints I’m giving and some lefts past the dolex 
make a nigga wonder what’s gonna happen next
What he done did
Why this nigga doing me
Why this nigga high nooning me
And the passengers in the car they just ignored
As I put on the hurting
Boom boom boom It seemed like each blow was working
My ferouciuosness was animalistic
Percise in execution
Im thinking kill kill kill
And all this nigga could do is yell chill
Take that for perpetuating negative types in stereo form
For putting potholes in my lawn
For having no rhyme skills
For having no rhyme skills
You wish you could go to Sam Ash and cop some rhyme skills
There ain’t no manual
So Im a hand you all these
Floats and stings like butter flies and bees
Bear witness to this punishment
Your suffering shall be immence
For not giving a fuck for indifference
Damn I hate you for that the most
For treating my sister like a ho
Why I aughta snuff you right here
Put two in ya like they did my man dwayne
For being more that what he was
He caught two in the brain
And I know you to blame
Hell I know you the reason
Well ima be the trial judge and jury and you going
Up for treason
Run your goose
Run your gortext
Run your egotistical
rhetericol, non lyrical 
I got you in the hem
Haymakers is making you spit blood and plhegm
And the nine he always talks about
He can’t even get to
What happened to your motherfucking nine I say
what happened to your motherfucking nine you bitch
as his lips taste my timberlands
I’m whaling on him now from one side of the car to the next
And the passengers can’t hear see or smell your fear
Cause in the last car can’t nobody hear you scream or even care

Tuesday, April 26, 2011

the alchemy of a moment

A Gentleman sits in his own reflection, 
in a three-piece Gieves&Hawkes tailored to fit the mood of a cold introspective blur.
His complex resonance can quake a hush over a crowd.
It is his unconsciousness lost in the thoughts or her.

He is a well-manicured existence 
that has it's start at the fingers tips.
His Jacket hangs nearby. 
Out the sleeve of his dress shirt 
peeks an inconspicous worth.
The Movado from her, his birthday, last July.

Though ‘what is' can never be ‘how it was’.
What only a Belvedere on the rocks with her did
is now what a Lagavulin neat, alone, does.
His desire, to taste fire.

Numb... forget... summer, expressions in the grass, under the magnolia tree, the right foods, bottles of wine, touches of purpose. The south of some somewhere, inseparable. 
the memories confined to her face and flowers, and birds singing, people smiling. 

Outside of her he hasn't been able to stay long enough to danceto focus, to care if she is safe, any other she but her.

Even after three Ciroc's and laughter
the lay down with lust only lasts
through the heat, the delirium
that puts any she-other-than-her's worth 
in only how she moves to music.

Forever is NOT in flesh disposable delight
and FOREVER should never be as great as right now.
This moment in anticipation of fully sensing
the reality of a formed memory
formed to hold on forever.
Here, where
the past and future embody a dangerous imagination,
teetering on this very fragile, single, present.
If only to stay here, in this moment, remembering tastes, feelings, 
breathing in unison with her while sleeping...

Tell time to slow 
before the memories of how trust thins to frailty 
begins to erode to the unbalanced. 
The unsatiable unsaid. 
Its pain is as plain as the door,
as the challenge to NOT walk his Gaziano's out 
and be in this penetrable place for more 
that his pride will allow,
his wit can assess,

he'll close his eyes, 

let the memories go.

Think on the delicacy here that will pass between.

In this moment do not suffer, do not dream...

Do not miss 
the smell of her Michael Kors 
as she walks through the doors
 hear her Satin Roger Vivier's place each step towards, 

set in simple, black vintage Givenchy 
contouring her soft shape.
The delicate elegance of say, 
a DaVinci, a Monet...

He'll touch her hand, feel her benignity, 
accept regret enough to make the truth scream from his heart
unshaken by any loss of dignity.
A 2.4 carat princess cut diamond starts to
burn this moment into infamy. 
A moment of future and past fused, a symbiotic emotional vortex 
that can suck out all that could go wrong in time.

I take you, from here to infinity... 

Sunday, April 24, 2011

life is either made for you or by you. what it isn't, is standing still.

BRONX PHILOSOPHY: a vicious cause infinite regress in 10

the cause infinite:

1. The Bronx Philosophy grows where dirty green water flows. 2. takers, fiends and foes, friend and fear to have, to hold, 3. to be in a condition akin to takers, fiends and foes, friend and fear, 4. to victory. 5. the mathematical, philosophical and astrological aspects of the mask you wear. 6. assured shifty-eye comprehension, millisecond mind study, silent escapism, smile and slay wisdom. 7. love. 8. wake up in an alley on some side o some town u aint never been to with your pockets slit ready to do things you aint never did to hold on to the things you only now realize you have. 9. testimony of 'tell on the self-ness' in the most open o ways, said so slick, to make droves question walking straight. 10. to be aware of what can hide nothing. 

Friday, April 22, 2011

HipHopHibbit #12- Vengeance of the Confident Cockroach

@aaqil Ka


“...the waxchemetic scientific floats purposefully worth the spiritualistic aspect of we. It’s philosophy finds infinitesimal similar aspects to the decimal, the asterisk. We obey that of an Eventual; purpose in process run on kinetic competitive energy ending within we. Looking for the perfect beat, we’ve come upon the perforated truth between earth and wind and fire and songs in the key of life.”

The quote from The Diamond Sacrosanct which supports
the establishment of WAXCHEMISTRY
and the EVENTUAL ruling class.
–DS, 704:52.55-705:19.56

HiphopHibbit #4 part one.

Sing to this minor existence for when it is gone the empty space left will balance itself.

man is too a thing, fatal. too finite an ideal to love. I love the infinite.

Thursday, April 21, 2011


the ying/ yang of man.
there shall be no peace without war.

Monday, April 18, 2011

blood is the grease of human progression

the Blood of Justin Bieber

tradition is a rubber band stuck in the past, stretching across time. eventually the tension slows everything down.

stick a pin in a moment in time on earth. connect a rubber band to it. move forward through time. as the earth spins to now the rubber band becomes warped and tense. It tightens and scars the planet moreso as time moves forward. that is tradition. be new today influenced by yesterday.