Wednesday, May 30, 2012

Waiting for Wotan #17





Saturday, May 26, 2012

Who d'king, Part I, a play in three-quarters act

Miss Prunella Vulgaris, The Duchess of Hammer-on-Dulcimer, esteemed member of the Peonage
Juan, The Earl of Valdez, less esteemed member of the Peonage
Hannibal, no-star general & playboy son of a noted Tripolitanian fashion plate
Fadades, Gaulish misanthrope, pretend musician, & sky pie aficionado
Kid Darkthrone, not-very-noted local misanthrope, reformed
assorted piratical henchmen, paid in scale
Bear, bait, & lovable ursine scamp

When we last left our intrepid Peonage, they partied like 'twas 1899. Thus exhausted from both the debauchery of Baba Yaga & Lemmy's nuptials & the recovery of the Fabergé Potato, they gladly resumed their lives of quiet desperation at the Museum of Palimpsest Oddities. Books not having brains of their own however, but ones under the control of drawer-ridden parchments desirous of a window view, a vacation was in order lest bedlam reign, DUCHESS & EARL sailing the wine-dark sea to the coast of Barbary, because what entirely predictable turn of events could possibly take place there.

PIRATICAL HENCHMAN #1: Ye scurvy dogs!

PIRATICAL HENCHMAN #2: Ye be walkin' the plank!

PIRATICAL HENCHMAN #3: Rosencrantz & Guildenstern ye ain't.

DUCHESS: Blame the playwright.

EARL: Fourth wall already?

PIRATICAL HENCHMAN #1: Ye be seein' four walls!

PIRATICAL HENCHMAN #2: Aft' ye walk the plank!

PIRATICAL HENCHMAN #3: Mademoiselle, monsieur, my humblest apologies. They're new, & obviously stupid. At any rate, come with me if you want to live. My master wants to avaunce or find doubloons or something. Whatever.

Now prisoners, Number 6, I mean DUCHESS, & EARL are taken by ASSORTED PIRATICAL HENCHMEN to an ostentatiously extravagant jumbo schooner, a veritable star destroyer of the seas, if your humble playwright knew what a star destroyer was which, Lucasfilm, Ltd., he doesn't.

HANNIBAL: mumblemumblemuble!

PIRATICAL HENCHMAN #3: Your incandescent desertship, pay attention to the man behind the curtain.

Curtain raises.

HANNIBAL: That's me!

EARL: Huh.

DUCHESS: It's not Captain Single-Eye. Didn't see that one coming.

EARL: Now that's good writing.

HANNIBAL: Throw her --

Timpani beat from behind the curtain.

HANNIBAL: -- in the shark tank!

EARL: This has to be performance art.

PIRATICAL HENCHMAN #3: Um, your excellent spookiness, don't you wish to question them before killing them?

HANNIBAL: Indeed! Knave! Knavette! Where is --

Timpani beat from behind the curtain.

HANNIBAL: -- the Krypton Stone?

EARL: Bad performance art.

DUCHESS: What the hell are you talking about?

HANNIBAL: No time for interrogatives, Dr. Jones!

PIRATICAL HENCHMAN #3 (sighing): At least it's work. Um, your magnificent --

The loud report, not of corsairs firing their cannon, but of the roof of the great hall collapsing, collapses everyone's perception into a little squished thing like a creepy crawlie left out in the sun too long, but creepy doesn't truly cover the aghast-nesse of all parties as the shark tank shatters, filling the hall with water & sharks that proceed to eat ASSORTED PIRATICAL HENCHMEN but not DUCHESS & EARL because what entirely predictable turn of events could possibly take place now.

DUCHESS: When you see the world --

EARL: -- the world sees what's for lunch.


BEAR: Growl.

KID DARKTHRONE: Come with us if you want to live!

DUCHESS: Yogi Berra could write something better than this.

From the inflatable raft of KID DARKTHRONE & BEAR, DUCHESS & EARL watch the boat of the billionaire playboy son of a noted Tripolitanian fashion plate sink to the bottom of the Mediterranean. 

DUCHESS: What just happened?

EARL: Why don't you ask the playwright.

DUCHESS: Sarcasm. Didn't see that one coming.

KID DARKTHRONE: Hey, it's getting cloudy.

DUCHESS: That's no cloud.

EARL: That's a spaceship.

FADADES enters.

FADADES: screech screechscreech screech screech!

A door in the bottom of the flying saucer opens, & a shaft of light engulfs DUCHESS, EARL, KID DARKTHRONE, & BEAR, somehow pulling them upwards into the gravity-defying contraption.

DUCHESS: We're so fucked.


Friday, May 25, 2012

It'll be a hot time in the old town tonight

Ah, that's nice, but needs more Immortal.

Yeah, dead horse. Don't like the stench, try the Space Casino.

Thursday, May 24, 2012


Fuck, it's gonna get hot. Might explain folks forgetting about pot numéro deux two days in a row which ain't just for smokin', but doesn't others Pepperidge farming their annual springtime douchebaggery. That's a well-cultivated hydroponics, narc, a burn I want out of.

How come I always finagle shit on the Wheelie Bus when I've no ball-point because the domestic point lost its brass & I had to purloin myself for gold? That Homer sure was s-m-r-t. Repetitively repeating repetition gets repetitive, but O, it's awesome: fourteen's easier than 14k.

Just call me Slackajawea.

Wednesday, May 23, 2012

Waiting for Wotan #16

"Bear, what is best in life?"

"To embrace your boredom, see time driven before you --"

"-- and to hear the lamentation of my waiting?"

"That is good! That is good!"

Tuesday, May 22, 2012

The dead zone, or, heavy handed

Ocean's have them, so does this on-rails gig. Ids low & high tiptoe through conscience, the real magnet tar pit trap. Benadryl Nyquil quill, post-sick (an epilogue, not this), sick of this a bit or more. Wotan tomorrow, or not.

What will be is heat, the complaining of yours truly, the eye rolling of ghosts & those that are flesh but it's hard to tell at times, swampy skin & salted corneas, senses adrift like a boat on the ocean, a dead zone. What, too heavy handed?

Find some tulips & get tiptoeing.
♪ I'm a librarian (not really) & that's okay, I sleep all night & I sleep all day ♫
Books checked out to grad students are due on August 20th.

If we all human sacrifice real hard, maybe he'll devour NATO.
No, this is not a political post.
An imaginary real beast from beyond the stars eating empire is a chortle.
Please fucking keep your 2012 stuff under ice.

Saturday, May 19, 2012

This is what it feels like, when doves take a vacation day

Thanks to a comrade-in-armed-conflict, I will get to sit on my ass watching footie & consuming pizza rolls for the day [ed. note: can it, Columbus, or I'll live blog] which, to be sure, isn't as swanktacular as a chance at low-interruption creation & immersing within a painted apocalypse, but I've low no ambition beyond the occasional piece of occasionally not-sucky verse, a failure in progress; pretending to re-learn what little guitar I once pretended to learn; mock turtle penance for a multitude of sins; & moderately pleasant diversions before the inevitable myocardial infarction turns me into the material component for necromantic spellwork, verbal & somatic sold separately.

Thursday, May 17, 2012

Whirling dervish vs. the five deadly venoms

Oh, go fly a kite.

My Snoopy Dance is dope or fly or gnarly or some other slang term.


I fucking hate that fucking thing.

Water, the Saddam of the biosphere.

Early lawyer catches the hangover.

On this blog.

This isn't --

going to --

go well.


This might have set the height record.

This less so.

I choose to believe they weren't laughing.

I totally trespassed on your grass, The Man.

Wednesday, May 16, 2012

Waiting for Wotan #15

♪ We wait for Watain we are bored berserker ♫

"What's the matter with you all?"

♪ No work visa means no pig's blood berserker ♫

"The Spooky Master wearies of your malapropism!"

Tuesday, May 15, 2012

Mind meld

Now that yours antisocial has met a local blogger other than the Duchess who doesn't exactly count being a fellow inmate at the Towering Slab, interwebs greetings, scourge of dandelions, I feel all bright young thingy. Here's where Jake would say ewww, but thankfully Space Casino scoffing is more universal than I previously dreamed of. Sometimes I love you, stupid burg.

Zombie third-rate grunge lives.
Nothing personal, guys, but T-virus vaccine, stat.

Sucker bet, n. that the shine will wear off sooner rather than later.

Because I'm awful, you can't tell the signage says Filming In Progress. For flicks more thrilling than either that or this, come back for the late show wink nudge.

Okay, lead the way --

to mold --

& smokes? At least I don't feel ripped off.

Beware the Ides of May

On everything, I've nothing to say. On some things, everything.

See, just like Joey Barton* Byron, minus the expensive threads, faraway sightseeing, freak personal issues & twitter poetick skille duh. En plus, that should totally be on a bumper sticker, ten bucks a pack, no COD or personal checks, put it right next to your Frogger 2012 or I brake for eukaryotes.

*dude, your drunken gifting of Fergie Time to City cost me first place thanks to Diego's fucking s-i-l, you fucking fuck go eat a gangrenous corpse

Look over the horizon, man, chuck city's closer every day, but till then, fun with puritans! 'tis exactly like a trip to Chuck E. Cheese only with grease & tabletop Space Invaders [ed. note: always wanted one of those, hint, hint] replaced by the über-straitlaced laced with hallucinatory ergotism.

Who knew they were such naughty minxes.

Friday, May 11, 2012


Silly rabbit, midget raisins aren't for kids.

Thursday, May 10, 2012

Some silences are more golden than others

The great dilemma of our time, & by ours I mean mine, & by time I mean get sleeping, stupid, 'twas solved long ago, satisfaction or no moot like a slack of Anglo-Saxons, & this is a library to boot oooh meta, so shhhh.

Keep waiting for that stanza to close itself. How does one keep mushroom clouds handy? Perhaps that's the great. Hey, for Mordenkainen's Disjunction, I'd settle.

Wednesday, May 9, 2012

Waiting for Wotan, #14

"I was bringing this to the fair to sell it."

"Where does your shameless marketing go from here?"

"Perhaps you'll have socks someday."

"Now that's the ugliest damn bong I've ever seen."