RENT POET, or How to Make a Living as an Artist in Los Angeles

brianpoetBrian Sonia Wallace, a multi-talented young artist and esteemed writer here at Screenslaver, is performing a month-long performance art experiment. He performs RENT POET, who makes his living through poetic labor alone. For one month.

He is good at this stuff. Really good. Sometimes he sets up poetry “stores”––a typewriter on a TV tray, serving up hot poems on demand to passersby ––and other times, he performs spoken word poetry in all kinds of venues and on all kinds of topics.

Now, MAKE IT AS AN ARTIST IN LOS ANGELES!!! is a warranty made by not even your daftest get-rich-from-the-sofa scheme. Of course, a horny Hollywood “producer” might accost a Midwestern peach in such a way, but truth-in-pussy-hounding is a bigger joke than Truth In Advertising. But Brian’s mission is to accomplish exactly this, and by his poetic prowess alone (and some social media skills too).

You can sponsor his poetry like one might sponsor a runner in a fundraiser, just per poem rather than per mile (or kilometer, whatever, you Euro-fetishist).

You can impress your friends by hiring him to perform at your event, perhaps as a meandering minstrel or bodacious bard. A magician of words, Brian is.

You can order poems personally created for you or loved ones. This is the movie Her but like, real, and I can think of a million reasons why you’d want a poem written by a professional poet. Beside the obvious one of having a poem written for you, which would be nice. Send a get-well serenade to your cousin who had a serious bike accident. Close the deal with that girl (or guy!) who’s smarter than you and you’re in desperate need of your own personal Cyrano de Bergerac.

Find more info at and support him and his art and art in general at



Virtual Eunuch feat. Nicki Minaj

By Brian Sonia-Wallace

On this midnight birthday
Daybirth afterbirth afterhours
Untz untz
Womp womp womp
We gather here
In the rosy afterglow of the bomb
To bear witness to the death of sex

This is a eulogy

Not the birth of the next messiah
But the elimination of the procreative tools that create pros,
Who create prose
Prison and palace and reverberation
Auto erotic asphyxiation of the NEXT BEST THING

How do you make art in the Age of Nicki Minaj?

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