Tag Archives: theater

Nevermore Twenty-Seven; or, The Education of Young Wormwood

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Nevermore Twenty-Seven; or, The Education of Young Wormwood

Dedicated to Jim Morrison and the Girl Who Loved Me Best, who told me to fuCk off because sHe couldn’t bEaR to watch mE fuck off aNymorE.

On outliving Morrison:
I ain’t stoned
and I wasn’t no immaculate conception
although
perhaps I should check back in five years
to make sure of that one
(Is thirty-three the new twenty-seven?
Christ, I hope not.)

Twenty-seven started out proper for me
or at least proper like it was for
Jimmy or Janice or Jim:
On a Friday the Thirteenth
with a gin and tonic for the troops
(or at least one wounded soldier drummer boy blue and his clown troupe)
alone,
the way I fancied,
knee-deep in the muck and grime,
up to the neck about
but not quite choking time…

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Switchblades & Serenades by Sterling Wormwood

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A real rough demo I recorded today of a song I wrote yesterday. It’s about a peeping Tom in 1950s America after a bomb is dropped. I may stretch this concept out into an entire record. But for now, I’m focusing on getting the first one out on wax this fall on my own label (Balladeer Bedlam). Stay tuned.

This is also my one hundredth post. Congratulations to me.

Vatican You Do The Can-Can?

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Vatican You Do The Can-Can?

I’m just trying to sort out the continuity here, mate:
There’s heaven and there’s hell
and (wait for it…) purgatory
and then, somewhere betwixt it all,
whatever this mess is.

Ay, Francisco–
Put down that communion wine
for a second
and pay attention, will you?

Yeah, your hat is on straight
don’t fret
but wouldn’t it be funny
if it was on gay instead?
Oh, aren’t I just abominable?

Tough crowd.
Aregressivepopesayswhat?
Wait for it…

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Pistolwhip’s Passing

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Pistolwhip’s Passing

(In honor of Saint Patrick’s Day. Written in 2006 or 2007 at Kip’s in Berkeley on the spot to impress a girl. Pistolwhip was a moniker I used to use.)

Drank himself a grave at twenty-one.
He loved his mirth, he loved his fun.
He loved his mum and he loved his dad.
He loved the good, he loved the bad.
He loved the rich and he loved the poor.
But the sad truth is he loved liquor more.

Author Reading “An Allegory Of Two Brothers” With Soundtrack

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I wrote this last October and recorded this a couple weeks ago, but neglected to post it here. Alas, I am a mess as of late.

For full text, click here.

Dear Dionysus XXXVI: Bordello Boogie

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Dear Dionysus XXXVI: Bordello Boogie

Dear Dionysus,

I may have been in Berlin, but I had left my heart in Orange County with Isadora. Indeed, I had a ubiquitous Polaroid in my back pocket to remind me of this heart-wrenching fact and, despite all the fun I was having with Yorick and Franky, I still thought about Isadora pretty persistently.

There was no way for me to understand then that I was establishing a romantic pattern that would perpetuate itself through much of my adult life: I was much more infatuated with the idea of a girl than I was with the girl herself. I would worship at the altar of ideal love, and then sneak round back for some unmentionables in the alleyway of impure lust. Because a girl could never possibly play the part I had assigned to her satisfactorily enough in my romantic production, my theater of the absurd. Thus, I would sooner or later become disillusioned with the entire production and ditch out for whichever sultry starlet would allow me to play her gentleman caller for the evening.

Basically, that Polaroid in my back pocket was an inanimate fetish object, representing something that never was and never would be outside of my lofty, idyllic, and very delusional fantasies.

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Recording Of The Author Reading His Poem “Malum Insane” (With Piano)

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