Rewriting A Decade of Decadence

January 13th, 1:20am Bronx, NYC--
A new year has begun. A new decade even. It took me 13 days to acknowledge it I guess. take it all in. wake from the debauchery that was 2000- 2010. Without going into too much detail I'll just say this has been one hell of a down swinger of a decade. I've gone through four major relationships, middle to high six digits worth of cash (probably much more), a lot of Jack Daniels and various other spirits and acres of marijuana. A true decade of decadence the Aughts have been for me. Oh yes there is no form of destructive pleasure I haven't at the very least stuck my nose into. So, right here is where I am sure you are thinking I am going to make some grand announcement about making changes and being sober and whatnot. really? do you know me? I am proclaiming what it was for me. The Nineties, I went with the flow and the flow lead me to the most successful fulfilling time of my life. The Eighties were about taking steps and making mistakes and then taking more steps. What does this new decade hold for me? Not exactly sure at the moment. I DO know that I am writing it. I DO know that it is my hand that lifts and pours that bottle of Jack, that lights the joint, that breaks that woman's heart. I wield the sword of destruction and helm the bulldozer blazing the path of my future. I take full responsibility over it all. So right now my prize possession is a pen.

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