tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-57638006176350094252024-03-23T18:00:32.053-07:00Out Demons Out!Andy Seven, former rock star/male model/bon vivant, the man with the action-packed expense account, the fabulous free-lance creator of stories and images is available for your entertainment NOW! on Blogger.Andy 7http://www.blogger.com/profile/10212977920568255479noreply@blogger.comBlogger439125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5763800617635009425.post-83755920275342220972024-03-23T18:00:00.000-07:002024-03-23T18:00:00.127-07:00Scorpio Rising poetry album OUT NOW<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgW_EyjSZfDJhT-5S2t3f99I0S3g0UQxIqBs7XOHe9HNig2UcJggHjbdIEwvU5Tc-w4yCtFtMrOJxO4Jn5KChhicD0bZlsGPifGEGGOS0-MQVLMRiHVHzgJNm8GyYByBEsqmGnR9azCw_3Nwmc9W-VFyJc2l0_NyBO921U1lh8FJ3bqdkeiFT96IyGpj-SF/s1200/Scorpio%20Rising%20minus%20Umlauts_edited.JPG" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0; text-align: center; "><img alt="" border="0" width="320" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgW_EyjSZfDJhT-5S2t3f99I0S3g0UQxIqBs7XOHe9HNig2UcJggHjbdIEwvU5Tc-w4yCtFtMrOJxO4Jn5KChhicD0bZlsGPifGEGGOS0-MQVLMRiHVHzgJNm8GyYByBEsqmGnR9azCw_3Nwmc9W-VFyJc2l0_NyBO921U1lh8FJ3bqdkeiFT96IyGpj-SF/s320/Scorpio%20Rising%20minus%20Umlauts_edited.JPG"/></a></div>
<p>Spring is here, and a young man’s fancy turns to poetry, whether it be in the form of a chapbook or a full-blown poetry album, like my new release Scorpio Rising. Named after the Kenneth Anger film (as well as dedicated to his memory), Scorpio Rising is my third poetry release and is out now for your listening pleasure. </p>
<p>The themes on the album run the gamut from inner city ghetto stories (Killed For His Clothes, Skyscraper Soul, Sidewalk Camp) to the occult (Bottle Tree Garden, Smudge, Sun In Scorpio) to my favorite standby, noir (Drugs And The Woman, High Speed Chase, Cocktails Cigarettes Birth Control). Yes, the femmes fatales get their due…and then some. </p>
<p>My noir poems continue the thread started from my previously published noir novels, these tracks can even be heard as tiny noir plot outlines. </p>
<p>The occult poetry is influenced by my long-lived fascination with Hollywood jazz age gothic dalliances in cults, rituals, and fetish items. Many remaining art deco homes in Pasadena and the Hollywood Hills still court the legend of being haunted by spirits. Even The Angelus Temple, a Christian showplace for Aimee Semple McPherson is known for harboring its share of ghosts. </p>
<p>What distinguishes this release from the others is the introduction of the Irish bouzouki on several tracks, it being a folk instrument normally used as backup accompaniment to guitars, but here used as a lead instrument. </p>
<p>It’s an instrument with four sets of double strings like a mandolin and tuned to a G-D-A-D, not the accustomed G-D-A-E setting. Because of this tuning one gets a droney, exotic Eastern sound. I call the tuning Gee, Dad…hoho. </p>
<p> I also went for a bit of drum and bass/jungle music rhythm on Cockfight and to a lesser degree on High Speed Chase, charging up the BPMs (Beats Per Minute) into the 275-300 setting, giving both tracks a manic, frantic pace to match my prose. </p>
<p>Here is the track listing:</br>
1. Dogs Keep Barking </br>
2. Killed For His Clothes </br>
3. Skyscraper Soul </br>
4. Cockfight </br>
5. Drugs And The Woman </br>
6. Cocktails Cigarettes Birth Control </br>
7. Smudge </br>
8. The Butcher’s Beautiful Daughter </br>
9. Sidewalk Camp </br>
10. Bottle Tree Garden </br>
11. Angel Feathers </br>
12. Sun In Scorpio </br>
13. High Speed Chase </p>
<p>As usual there’s the dichotomy between electronic and folk music tracks, and in neofolk style they even converge more than a few times. If you like Current 93 or Death In June then this will strike a familiar vibe. </p>
<p>I’m very proud of my new collection of sonnets – sonic sonnets, if you will. Scorpio Rising is highly accessible in CD, download or streaming formats. If you want the CD it can be bought at CD Baby, Discogs, Amazon, or you can DM me for a personal copy. </p>
<p>Downloads can be bought at Apple Music or Amazon Music, where they can also be streamed. If you’d rather hear streams you can check it out at You Tube, Spotify, Pandora, or Deezer, where you can also stream my previous albums, Minstrels Anonymous and Sea Level Drive. </p>
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Andy 7http://www.blogger.com/profile/10212977920568255479noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5763800617635009425.post-50125909848840355422023-07-01T13:11:00.003-07:002023-07-01T22:04:21.821-07:00Going Global<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUEzoBDaYHurAWdNfYWe30AChon_S-UEmrUC5cLUAuJduPTWnbrARdHJOdF7nRcu10vWMzWwL4Z8B_J_u6p-3GsQ8RqGzG0rhRcizSPIcpFj5qTA3K8yLJ-d1dHqs4uS1Cq4HPfZ_myNjWxEDimVAOst7j9sElePv_ibKlLu2XargcwoYXr6yxAgabBl9a/s3484/IMG_20230615_230912_956.jpg" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0; text-align: center; "><img alt="" border="0" width="400" data-original-height="2232" data-original-width="3484" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUEzoBDaYHurAWdNfYWe30AChon_S-UEmrUC5cLUAuJduPTWnbrARdHJOdF7nRcu10vWMzWwL4Z8B_J_u6p-3GsQ8RqGzG0rhRcizSPIcpFj5qTA3K8yLJ-d1dHqs4uS1Cq4HPfZ_myNjWxEDimVAOst7j9sElePv_ibKlLu2XargcwoYXr6yxAgabBl9a/s400/IMG_20230615_230912_956.jpg"/></a></div>
<p>I have, for all intents and purposes, gone global. What does this mean? Well, I made a distribution deal where my poetry albums Minstrels Anonymous and Sea Level Drive can now be streamed all over the world on every streaming service imaginable: roll call, Spotify, Pandora, You Tube, Apple Music, Amazon Music, Deezer, and even the dreaded Tik Tok, home of the anime nymphets. Don’t see them shaking it to Halloween Birthday, but I’ve been wrong before.</p>
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<p>In addition, both hard media CDs are now issued on my imprint Jinx Records in lavish glossy Digipak editions, which can be bought either on Amazon, CD Baby or on eBay. Copies can also be purchased at a reduced price if you DM me and pay via Paypal or Venmo funds. What this means is that neither record will be streamed on SoundCloud or available for purchase via Bandcamp.</p>
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<p>In other news I’m hard at work on the next album, tentatively scheduled for November release. I’ve also pondered the possibility of doing a few spoken word shows. Needless to say, records will be available there. And sooner or later, probably later, I will finally complete my new novel. Dammit.</p>
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<iframe width="435" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/rj8_bVlFHQw" title="YouTube video player" frameborder="0" allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture; web-share" allowfullscreen></iframe>
Andy 7http://www.blogger.com/profile/10212977920568255479noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5763800617635009425.post-79163962814056594472023-03-12T20:54:00.003-07:002023-03-12T20:54:26.700-07:00High Speed Chase<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8BnHd2qsDYXa_lcK3JDqnq5ndiHXnl0EGf2id3h4oVOh8pdK2HoySN3EQi-tQ1Or0MuNPV0AGhWLlJ7IZJx8iwtXF9Vh_-FHJvVc27YQU91DiGEJjcj1Ly3m-xE-kqbOTKDqCRBug89Qca4FgaWPhmwcHDz8oOI5kdHkXS5-JwvhWBJB6rDLfYgll4Q/s1886/Comic%20Book%202.jpg" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0; text-align: center; "><img alt="" border="0" height="400" data-original-height="1886" data-original-width="1060" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8BnHd2qsDYXa_lcK3JDqnq5ndiHXnl0EGf2id3h4oVOh8pdK2HoySN3EQi-tQ1Or0MuNPV0AGhWLlJ7IZJx8iwtXF9Vh_-FHJvVc27YQU91DiGEJjcj1Ly3m-xE-kqbOTKDqCRBug89Qca4FgaWPhmwcHDz8oOI5kdHkXS5-JwvhWBJB6rDLfYgll4Q/s400/Comic%20Book%202.jpg"/></a></div>
<p><b>High Speed Chase</p></b>
<p>YOU CAN’T CATCH ME<br/>
YOU CAN’T CATCH ME</p>
<p></p>
<p>Concrete canyoned freeway<br/>
flickering lights atop chiaroscuro blur<br/>
down the highway</p>
<p>SIRENS! CRYING! WAILING! LIKE BIRDS OF FIRE!</p>
<p></p>
<p>Pistons pumping petrol<br/>
the master cylinder moves & grooves & slips & slides<br/>
all aboard for crime time</p>
<p></p>
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<p>YOU CAN’T CATCH ME<br/>
YOU CAN’T CATCH ME</p>
<p></p>
<p>Run baby run<br/>
GTA in the Chevrolet 10-80 in the Ferrari<br/>
high octane zebras running after the little GTO metal rodeo</p>
<p>THE LONG ARM OF THE LAW IS BROKEN-UNSPOKEN</p>
<p></p>
<p>Dashcam dashcam battering rams<br/>
bodycam bucking backfire a rebop<br/>
throttling down with wheels of fire</p>
<p></p>
<p>YOU CAN’T CATCH ME<br/>
YOU CAN’T CATCH ME</p>
<p></p>
<p>“We’ve had enough of this shit”<br/>
“Come on guys lay out the freeway nail strip”<br/>
and then it all crashed<br/>
crashed and smashed, the inevitable end</p>
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Andy 7http://www.blogger.com/profile/10212977920568255479noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5763800617635009425.post-33520390965425673852023-02-20T11:26:00.006-08:002023-02-20T11:26:37.723-08:00 New Poetry Videos<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4QYREK_anNsnNvBg3uMSfLb1BC-ps1Xsafb2l0MUxGWiZCGf4sY2L51Aq7mXcM8QzNDxCZtJSLeJsH0KlnNbaok6C_4JCQm44TacihP1DR_i8Ok4Q9t9-bzsvicpmucTZbjes6XEhBNs32m-XBDABiXdBc4rUGnJugRgVcXtCL2126EH4Win3Cco7rQ/s1021/Andy%20Seven%20Ltd%20Videos.jpg" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0; text-align: center; "><img alt="" border="0" width="600" data-original-height="221" data-original-width="1021" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4QYREK_anNsnNvBg3uMSfLb1BC-ps1Xsafb2l0MUxGWiZCGf4sY2L51Aq7mXcM8QzNDxCZtJSLeJsH0KlnNbaok6C_4JCQm44TacihP1DR_i8Ok4Q9t9-bzsvicpmucTZbjes6XEhBNs32m-XBDABiXdBc4rUGnJugRgVcXtCL2126EH4Win3Cco7rQ/s600/Andy%20Seven%20Ltd%20Videos.jpg"/></a></div>
<p>I've decided to begin performing poetry readings around town, but before I begin rehearsing in a proper studio I've started recording myself reading some of my work. For the curious out there, here's some excerpts of poems I'll be reading sometime somewhere:</p>
<iframe src="https://player.vimeo.com/video/800321263?h=7634eb41b8" width="425" height="419" frameborder="0" allow="autoplay; fullscreen" allowfullscreen></iframe>
<p><b>The Hardcore Kid - Andy Seven Ltd.</b></p>
<p> The Hardcore Kid is a poem about a die-hard punk who still thinks wearing a leather jacket with Exploited stenciled still carries impact. You can find kids like this on Hollywood Boulevard when they're not boosting punk product at the touristy Hot Topic at the mall.</p>
<p>I'm not really ready to post these on You Tube just yet, and if I do I'll do it in a separate account than the one I have, which has 50,000 followers. They're accustomed to my weird films and and commercials, not my weird poetry. I am, however, posting some of it on Vimeo. </p>
<iframe title="vimeo-player" src="https://player.vimeo.com/video/800617400?h=c0aa2f4728" width="425" height="419" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe>
<p><b>Disc Over America - Andy Seven Ltd.</b></p>
<p>Disc Over America is another poem from Sea Level Drive about the American Nightmare, not much has changed since Ginsberg's Howl but at least sometimes the good guys won back then. Imagine the Scopes Monkey Trial or Naked Lunch obscenity trial nowadays. Do you really think the verdict would be the same now as it was then? Think again.</p>
<p> Many of these videos have been posted on Instagram and I've received a lot of encouraging feedback from my friends, so it's just a matter of busting into a rehearsal studio and sharpening up my presentation and all that. See you at the clubs.</p>
<iframe title="vimeo-player" src="https://player.vimeo.com/video/800624354?h=0d60757436" width="425" height="419" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe>
<p><b>Ghosts of Hustlers - Andy Seven Ltd.</b></p>
<p>Vimeo's announced it will shut down operations in late June, so get it while you can.</p>
Andy 7http://www.blogger.com/profile/10212977920568255479noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5763800617635009425.post-66699634352180996732022-12-07T19:38:00.005-08:002022-12-07T20:31:33.472-08:00Sidewalk Camp
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgr5H8eUbqZsvBQdCsGXRKbRo1okgtRIL-eFuV74YUze5HSArFSyoAv5FH4B6Am6VGU-JHEG-2jpai7H5wT4TVNLSJTn8r55jR4Z6sowgf2mGe1XIOvW346xERgjMOkndg670eK1GuWyuF6A34pkiclCkIqV9pbSIY1CKua-1nakesvFXoVfBolCr2D1g/s1024/IMG_4817.JPG" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0; text-align: center; "><img alt="" border="0" width="320" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1024" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgr5H8eUbqZsvBQdCsGXRKbRo1okgtRIL-eFuV74YUze5HSArFSyoAv5FH4B6Am6VGU-JHEG-2jpai7H5wT4TVNLSJTn8r55jR4Z6sowgf2mGe1XIOvW346xERgjMOkndg670eK1GuWyuF6A34pkiclCkIqV9pbSIY1CKua-1nakesvFXoVfBolCr2D1g/s320/IMG_4817.JPG"/></a></div><p>This was a poem I wrote in response to political candidates using the homeless as a scapegoat in their pursuit of wininng votes. As someone who was once homeless himself I wanted to say something about this.</p>
<p>By the way, if you like what you hear please follow me on SoundCloud.</p>
<iframe width="100%" height="166" scrolling="no" frameborder="no" allow="autoplay" src="https://w.soundcloud.com/player/?url=https%3A//api.soundcloud.com/tracks/1391763166&color=%230041ff&auto_play=false&hide_related=false&show_comments=true&show_user=true&show_reposts=false&show_teaser=true"></iframe><div style="font-size: 10px; color: #cccccc;line-break: anywhere;word-break: normal;overflow: hidden;white-space: nowrap;text-overflow: ellipsis; font-family: Interstate,Lucida Grande,Lucida Sans Unicode,Lucida Sans,Garuda,Verdana,Tahoma,sans-serif;font-weight: 100;"><a href="https://soundcloud.com/andysevenltd" title="Andy Seven Ltd." target="_blank" style="color: #cccccc; text-decoration: none;">Andy Seven Ltd.</a> · <a href="https://soundcloud.com/andysevenltd/sidewalk-camp" title="Sidewalk Camp" target="_blank" style="color: #cccccc; text-decoration: none;">Sidewalk Camp</a></div>Andy 7http://www.blogger.com/profile/10212977920568255479noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5763800617635009425.post-36788614054294219182022-10-28T22:10:00.005-07:002023-04-10T21:35:27.975-07:00Sea Level Drive Spoken Word Album Available Now<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsNG1p1pGaXWDOBmPVRJZPF39RFUI58SrqVF2wA1-F6jVYpahEkQgB8oivLObqVrxpc974lkEINI3ZpL2ep7I5e4H6Od8OuKOn_OiXRoRvrhQujFwkBhz10BDSGUNuCFATzkNKh2DAbYKi8PGmOPXMpMXbiJgdajRIa-biGeobAzzjAdxtwXUKeunl2Q/s563/Sea%20Level%20Drive%20Cover.JPG" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0; text-align: center; "><img alt="" border="0" width="320" data-original-height="562" data-original-width="563" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsNG1p1pGaXWDOBmPVRJZPF39RFUI58SrqVF2wA1-F6jVYpahEkQgB8oivLObqVrxpc974lkEINI3ZpL2ep7I5e4H6Od8OuKOn_OiXRoRvrhQujFwkBhz10BDSGUNuCFATzkNKh2DAbYKi8PGmOPXMpMXbiJgdajRIa-biGeobAzzjAdxtwXUKeunl2Q/s320/Sea%20Level%20Drive%20Cover.JPG"/></a></div>
<p>Halloween 2022 marks the release of my second album Sea Level Drive. A definite labor of love, it’s my continued foray into spoken word recordings with soundscapes created by me and helped with by my two friends, Sad Boy and Robodyke.</p>
<p>Tracks from Sea Level Drive can be listened to on HearNow (<a href="andysevenltd.hearnow.com">andysevenltd.hearnow.com</a>) and a few will remain on SoundCloud (<a href="Soundcloud.com/andysevenltd">Soundcloud.com/andysevenltd</a>), too.</p>
<p>Not only do you get to hear me read my own poetry but I also read two pieces by the legendary Maxwell Bodenheim, Death and The Ballad of Jack Rose. Let’s go straight to the beginning and talk about the album:</p>
<p>Sea Level Drive begins with Ghosts of Hustlers, an abandoned gay horror novel I started years ago about a young man moving into an apartment off the Sunset Strip where his evenings are haunted by ghosts of murdered young runaways. It wasn’t bad but concepts are hard to sustain over 160 pages. I made it a poem instead. That wah-wah sound you hear is a trumpet, not a guitar. Too much!</p>
<p>Velvet Candybar comes next and I went for a sweet English melody while chanting about making love in a graveyard. The goth boy can’t help it!</p>
<p>The Hardcore Kid is my poem about the hooligan who refuses to give up the hardcore ghost long after the riot’s ended. <b>“He tied a rag around his boot, spare changes for his loot, still lamenting the dead of Sid, he’s The Hardcore Kid.” </b>The legendary 1-2-3-4 countdown runs the gamut from Johnny Thunders, Wilson Pickett, Little Richard, and Sir Paul McCartney.</p>
<p>Disc Over America (DOA) is a political song about murder in the name of church and state. This country feels more and more like a drug store that’s quickly going out of business.</p>
<p>Sea Level Drive finishes the first half of the album. It’s a small road on the extreme end of Malibu right after you pass Zuma and before you enter Ventura County. You could say it’s technically the very end of Malibu. It’s right by Lechuza Beach, which might be the narrowest beach in Malibu. It’s a poem about a couple strung out on drugs who have nothing but the ocean singing for them at night. </p>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbHr_EJpM4yZxQ-Lxb22W6ZrHtc1lx_WURxton6NVwWdzyUkmle2Q5JEc-ououWKKefDt5RQV1vUVIx89mwjpp0Gj7JDhUcHHQboQOZe2mz981b9VvfsEOyKTFMrOIUsduSn_VNUR_GVyBsI_msdD284WrQKYLL2tuJL6DwUOlKhWvD6_iHk_CyiZp0A/s640/Sea%20Level%20Drive%20Rear%202.JPG" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0; text-align: center; "><img alt="" border="0" width="400" data-original-height="479" data-original-width="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbHr_EJpM4yZxQ-Lxb22W6ZrHtc1lx_WURxton6NVwWdzyUkmle2Q5JEc-ououWKKefDt5RQV1vUVIx89mwjpp0Gj7JDhUcHHQboQOZe2mz981b9VvfsEOyKTFMrOIUsduSn_VNUR_GVyBsI_msdD284WrQKYLL2tuJL6DwUOlKhWvD6_iHk_CyiZp0A/s400/Sea%20Level%20Drive%20Rear%202.JPG"/></a></div>
<p>The second half of the album begins with Teethgrinder, a poem about the tension, anger and anxiety pouring out on the internet from all sides. People are angrier than ever, exhibiting not a single note of sensitivity or sympathy for each other. Savaging one another for the sake of winning a worthless argument, and most arguments are worthless in the long run. Everybody’s wrong.</p>
<p>The Ballad of Jack Rose by Maxwell Bodenheim features my Ibanez electric mandolin with a strong delay on my voice. It’s a pretty intense poem about a drug dealer who falls in love with an addict’s sister. This poem reminded me of The Panic In Needle Park and some Hubert Selby prose, too.</p>
<p>All The Madwomen is based on the Sam Fuller film Shock Corridor, specifically the scene where Peter Breck wanders into the nympho ward of the insane asylum he’s committed in. Naturally there are soundbites from the film floating all through the track. The original poem appeared in Horror Sleaze Trash Quarterly.</p>
<p>Sometimes people ask me why there's no guitar on my records, and it's like this: once I saw Allen Ginsberg on a TV show reciting his poetry backed by a punk band, and in theory it should have been awesome, but it was horrible. Poor old Ginsberg read his poetry with all his heart and this band behind him were playing so loud, especially this douchebag guitarist cranked so loud like he was Shitface Ramone and ripping out a solo while Grandpa Beat was trying valiantly to have his prose heard. A real shitshow, but lessons learned. Leave the fucking guitar in the corner, preferably in the garbage bin.</p>
<p>In Bed With The Bomb is about the early days of the atomic bomb, its development and testing. <b>“I’m in bed with the bomb, I’m about to kingdom come, Drop it now! Stop it, how? Duck and cover, my atomic lover”.</b> I enjoyed adding the “Andy, are you okay?” soundbite from Happiness. </p>
<p>Oh, My Love Is Like A Rose is a small abstract piano frisson with some sped-up saxophone and trumpet tracks for the Frank Zappa fans. That sound never gets old.</p>
<p>Death by Maxwell Bodenheim is the first Bodenheim poem I ever read, and I was immediately hooked. Goth to the max with its reference to Death’s longing for me and silver braids of hair, well...I laid down some backwards synthesizer for extra death texture. I also made a video of it, which you can see here.</p>
<p>So that’s my new album, Sea Level Drive. Give it a listen on Spotify, Pandora, Amazon Music, Apple Music or your favorite streaming sevice. If you’re going to listen to poetry/spoken word give it some electronic skronk with some free jazz horns and some lovely mandolin-driven folk to boot.</p>
<p>The tracks:<br/>
Ghosts of Hustlers<br/>
Velvet Candybar <br/>
The Hardcore Kid <br/>
On Her Bed of Roses <br/>
Disc Over America (DOA) <br/>
Sea Level Drive <br/>
Teethgrinder <br/>
The Ballad of Jack Rose <br/>
All The Madwomen <br/>
In Bed With The Bomb <br/>
Oh My Love Is Like A Rose <br/>
Death </p>
<p>Sea Level Drive is available for download or CD format via Bandcamp.com at <a href="https://andysevenltd.bandcamp.com/album/sea-level-drive" target="_blank">https://andysevenltd.bandcamp.com/album/sea-level-drive</a>. Meet me there.</p>
<iframe width="400" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/42JJDuhrSRE" title="YouTube video player" frameborder="0" allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen></iframe>
Andy 7http://www.blogger.com/profile/10212977920568255479noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5763800617635009425.post-54871126879174150092022-10-08T18:00:00.000-07:002022-10-08T18:00:00.154-07:00On Her Bed of Roses<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgBXfcvifL6C0NARDgWKdkr6DtSbgj7hyNV7t8P8aIU81VJ9PX3wDTM4cVZaaMVCY9LyT325Cwm0tJZ7Q3VaB05ma4VlGu_7p6PM1ASVKARpGMpiwEylAYcumfxqYDgmRb_fyICCH9EKxkIDr5hW9kgiqanTaOEWxtgIIIHTcz-TLJq0FgEyxCZhentw/On%20Her%20Bed%20of%20Roses.jpg" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0; text-align: center; "><img alt="" border="0" width="320" data-original-height="0" data-original-width="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgBXfcvifL6C0NARDgWKdkr6DtSbgj7hyNV7t8P8aIU81VJ9PX3wDTM4cVZaaMVCY9LyT325Cwm0tJZ7Q3VaB05ma4VlGu_7p6PM1ASVKARpGMpiwEylAYcumfxqYDgmRb_fyICCH9EKxkIDr5hW9kgiqanTaOEWxtgIIIHTcz-TLJq0FgEyxCZhentw/s320/On%20Her%20Bed%20of%20Roses.jpg"/></a></div>
<p>Many years ago – I won’t say how long - I went to a theater on Hollywood Boulevard that only showed vintage exploitation films, mostly from the Fifties through the Seventies. It was curated by Johnny Legend and Eric Caidin, long champions of cult, exploitation and lowbrow cinema. The films were screened in a small theatre which used to show X-rated films but eventually vacated the premises. There were two separate screening rooms, and both rooms were small with small screens, as well.</p>
<p>Some of the films I saw there were movies like The Gruesome Twosome, directed by Herschell Gordon Lewis, the cult classic Night Tide, and the cinema of Ray Dennis Steckler. But there was this one film that got under my skin: Psychopathia Sexualis aka One Her Bed of Roses, directed by Albert Zugsmith.</p>
<p>Albert Zugsmith was more renowned for being a movie producer, his credits including High School Confidential and the noir classic Touch of Evil. But here he was directing a sleaze classic and a highly disturbing one, about, well let me see if I can adequately describe it:</p>
<p>Melissa Borden’s madly in love with her dad, but he’s so busy swinging he can’t be bothered with his daughter’s daddy complex. Meanwhile, her next-door neighbor Stephen Long has the opposite problem: his mother can’t stop climbing him and pawing him. </p>
<p>The only obsession Stephen has is his garden of roses by his gazebo in the back yard. Cutting to the chase, Melissa crushes on uptight Stephen, and the only way she can get him to make love to her is if she lies down in a bed of rose petals in the gazebo. What follows next is a tragedy of epic proportions, but you’ll have to see the film for yourself to find out.</p>
<p>The film was so nightmarish that I couldn’t get it out of my mind, so much so that I had to find out where I could find this masterpiece on VHS (DVD was not yet a thing). I went to Eric Caidin’s store Hollywood Book & Poster and saw the film sitting on the shelf, almost waiting for me like the demonic roses in the film. The tape was released by Something Weird Video, and I was about to take the ride of my life courtesy of the legendary Mike Vraney.</p>
<p>Mike Vraney first achieved prominence as road manager for punk bands like DOA, TSOL and The Dead Kennedys. He migrated to collecting endless reels of grindhouse and exploitation films, renting out several storage spaces to keep his enormous collection of movies – he collected comics and vintage radio shows, too, but that’s another story.</p>
<p>Something Weird Video became the primary home for exploitation video, even topping Rhino Video which had a hold on the scene for a while. Vraney had authorization from the filmmakers themselves to release their work – artists like Doris Wishman, David S. Friedman, and Herschell Gordon Lewis, among others.</p>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOl2Jw-w6Sgw5bsuZxuOf557aOt6njmVSb4nuw1YMGvyDjUxiu8qRgdtmAd4P3ut71KbzHfK3CBCPHJNvFMsCmyLUEjA2t8ECH9zjy_JRL-uEkdyRNmunXoRj5PDa-kU3X_KzGcXd_Glx19PhmCrqElKguVBVWoa306gm51bXGVNeEh8Nf1ia5dqY7Ug/On%20Her%20Bed%20of%20Roses%202.jpg" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0; text-align: center; "><img alt="" border="0" width="400" data-original-height="0" data-original-width="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOl2Jw-w6Sgw5bsuZxuOf557aOt6njmVSb4nuw1YMGvyDjUxiu8qRgdtmAd4P3ut71KbzHfK3CBCPHJNvFMsCmyLUEjA2t8ECH9zjy_JRL-uEkdyRNmunXoRj5PDa-kU3X_KzGcXd_Glx19PhmCrqElKguVBVWoa306gm51bXGVNeEh8Nf1ia5dqY7Ug/s400/On%20Her%20Bed%20of%20Roses%202.jpg"/></a></div>
<p>After sending away for the Something Weird Video catalog, I found myself obsessed with everything in the catalog, films as obscure as you can imagine: films like She Man, directed by Bob Clark of Porky’s and A Christmas Story about a returning vet forced by blackmail to become a transvestite maid; Bummer, a Seventies exploitation film about a rock band with a homicidal bass player who kills groupies; and tons of Al Adamson classics like The Female Bunch about a gang of Raquel Welch-clone bisexual drug dealers, filmed near The Spahn Ranch.</p>
<p> I eventually met Mike and found him to be a great friend, and unfortunately part of our friendship was based on our love for smoking (I quit a little later, but sadly enough it took his life). I don’t know if this poem/song warrants this much of an introduction, but I always wanted to give props out to Mike and his wife Lisa because they brought so much entertainment to my life. I always had this title buzzing around in my mind, and here it is as a song:</p>
<p><b>On Her Bed of Roses</b></p>
<p>Her house screamed death in the night<br/>
the long grass grew oh, so wild<br/>
bones creaked right under the muddy dirt<br/>
all she did was smile and smile</p>
<p>On her bed of roses<br/>
On her bed of roses<br/>
On her blood red<br/>
Flaming bed of roses</p>
<p>She tore my face off every photograph<br/>
in her dusty, leather-bound book<br/>
the twisting, hissing snakes on her head<br/>
cried, slithered, shivered, and shook</p>
<p>On her bed of roses<br/>
On her bed of roses<br/>
On her blood red<br/>
Flaming bed of roses</p>
<p>She slayed sailors with her sad, sad songs<br/>
every lyric every line was cursed<br/>
not enough menfolk to quench<br/>
her bloodless, insatiable thirst</p>
<p>On her bed of roses<br/>
On her bed of roses<br/>
On her blood red<br/>
Flaming bed of roses</p>
<p><b>©2022, Scuzzbuster Music (BMI). All rights reserved.</b></p>
<iframe width="100%" height="166" scrolling="no" frameborder="no" allow="autoplay" src="https://w.soundcloud.com/player/?url=https%3A//api.soundcloud.com/tracks/1358999239&color=%230041ff&auto_play=false&hide_related=false&show_comments=true&show_user=true&show_reposts=false&show_teaser=true"></iframe><div style="font-size: 10px; color: #cccccc;line-break: anywhere;word-break: normal;overflow: hidden;white-space: nowrap;text-overflow: ellipsis; font-family: Interstate,Lucida Grande,Lucida Sans Unicode,Lucida Sans,Garuda,Verdana,Tahoma,sans-serif;font-weight: 100;"><a href="https://soundcloud.com/andysevenltd" title="Andy Seven Ltd." target="_blank" style="color: #cccccc; text-decoration: none;">Andy Seven Ltd.</a> · <a href="https://soundcloud.com/andysevenltd/on-her-bed-of-roses" title="On Her Bed Of Roses" target="_blank" style="color: #cccccc; text-decoration: none;">On Her Bed Of Roses</a></div>
Andy 7http://www.blogger.com/profile/10212977920568255479noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5763800617635009425.post-31999071224578667862022-09-25T10:33:00.002-07:002022-09-25T12:22:37.333-07:00In Bed With The Bomb<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxgraBqzFl_ShGdfDZ6slT-pdAfiY0lTpDOxUnjRaivJXLVZX6W8s2Mn7z1p2WfXmZCQSJQ1M8mZIoG0KLVoay003oeyQFpPEYpwCagxzCMHjuiEA-ipJiCM0KWqD9jAnSbI7_W1TsOXaoHdF60oLF-qvW8abTNEemPaVogM9LD3g8tYPZSuDCjGJPog/s640/Royalty%20Check.JPG" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0; text-align: center; "><img alt="" border="0" width="400" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxgraBqzFl_ShGdfDZ6slT-pdAfiY0lTpDOxUnjRaivJXLVZX6W8s2Mn7z1p2WfXmZCQSJQ1M8mZIoG0KLVoay003oeyQFpPEYpwCagxzCMHjuiEA-ipJiCM0KWqD9jAnSbI7_W1TsOXaoHdF60oLF-qvW8abTNEemPaVogM9LD3g8tYPZSuDCjGJPog/s400/Royalty%20Check.JPG"/></a></div>
<p>I recently watched my DVD of the great documentary The Atomic Café, a stunning compilation of newsreels, television broadcasts and other mixed media about the birth of the atomic bomb and tests conducted in the West Coast desert for its development.</p>
<p>The soundtrack to the film is a fascinating combination of country swing and folk songs all concerning the threat of communism, the bomb, and the threat of an impending nuclear war. I normally sandwich this film in between viewings of Kiss Me Deadly and A Boy and His Dog, but that’s another story.</p>
<p>I wrote a poem about the film and while it’s not as contemplative as I’d liked it to be, it’s close to expressing the anxiety that ran through every American at the time. I call it In Bed With The Bomb.</p>
<p><b>In Bed With The Bomb</b></p>
<p>I was just a gleam in a physicist’s eye</br>
the final solution from a 12 o’clock high</br>
blowing to bits to a teeny weenie</br>
no people atoll in my radioactive bikini</p>
<p>I’m in bed with the bomb</br>
I’m about to kingdom come</br>
drop it now, stop it how? </br>
duck and cover, my atomic lover</p>
<p>Then I lost my nuclear virginity</br>
on a hot summer’s day in a place called Trinity</br>
caught the atomic dose</br>
in Los Alamos</br>
a sleepy hollow</br>
like Castle Bravo</p>
<p>Got the Manhattan Project in my pocket</br>
hydrogen, neutron, can you fuel this rocket? </br>
shield your eyes and drop the bomb</br>
radiation bath fries in the napalm</p>
<p>Waving it around like a loaded gun</br>
take a look around now everybody’s got one</br>
you think the answer to it all is a mushroom cloud</br>
I’d rather see your corpse wrapped up in a shroud</p>
<p>I’m in bed with the bomb</br>
I’m about to kingdom come</br>
drop it now, stop it how? </br>
duck and cover, my atomic lover</p>
<p>Well, it’s not Phil Ochs but it’s not The Weirdos, either (“we don’t really want it but we got it anyway”). Since there was so much bluegrass in the movie I decided to play my mandolin hardcore punk style to give it an urgent, bluegrass tempo. Here’s the link to the “chune”:</p>
<iframe width="100%" height="166" scrolling="no" frameborder="no" allow="autoplay" src="https://w.soundcloud.com/player/?url=https%3A//api.soundcloud.com/tracks/1350515341&color=%230041ff&auto_play=false&hide_related=false&show_comments=true&show_user=true&show_reposts=false&show_teaser=true"></iframe><div style="font-size: 10px; color: #cccccc;line-break: anywhere;word-break: normal;overflow: hidden;white-space: nowrap;text-overflow: ellipsis; font-family: Interstate,Lucida Grande,Lucida Sans Unicode,Lucida Sans,Garuda,Verdana,Tahoma,sans-serif;font-weight: 100;"><a href="https://soundcloud.com/andysevenltd" title="Andy Seven Ltd." target="_blank" style="color: #cccccc; text-decoration: none;">Andy Seven Ltd.</a> · <a href="https://soundcloud.com/andysevenltd/in-bed-with-the-bomb" title="In Bed With The Bomb" target="_blank" style="color: #cccccc; text-decoration: none;">In Bed With The Bomb</a></div>
Andy 7http://www.blogger.com/profile/10212977920568255479noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5763800617635009425.post-40860516205311249542022-08-05T17:00:00.038-07:002022-09-17T23:09:04.330-07:00Ghosts of Hustlers<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibX28hpWDAqhbjQKFW9MSbcb3dHfP78aCsM9VkvPTZ4fMVjb3UsGGB-3Z8hs5sfuzq6FUsagbxSjKslm_502JXPbHtQ_PSdDskLU6FwqeOHva-uhaA0bDjejJ0cofG7ahF6v6fY9ZNne4X9wHkxMeK_DPLUVZYGlHqVzdNxuvFm9HLQO-zyfODUXK_bA/s1800/heartbelt2.jpg" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0; text-align: center; "><img alt="" border="0" width="400" data-original-height="939" data-original-width="1800" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibX28hpWDAqhbjQKFW9MSbcb3dHfP78aCsM9VkvPTZ4fMVjb3UsGGB-3Z8hs5sfuzq6FUsagbxSjKslm_502JXPbHtQ_PSdDskLU6FwqeOHva-uhaA0bDjejJ0cofG7ahF6v6fY9ZNne4X9wHkxMeK_DPLUVZYGlHqVzdNxuvFm9HLQO-zyfODUXK_bA/s400/heartbelt2.jpg"/></a></div>
<p>In the rubble of the brickbatted city <br/>
you will find<br/>
ghosts of hustlers <br/>
dead queerlust action <br/>
killed by cops, rich old men with silver hair, and or laboratory microbes <br/>
phantom fandom apparitions on streetcorners <br/>
waiting for the man<br/>
the man with the money, the man with the screwball eightball <br/>
the boys in their denim vines<br/>
dripping down their wiry wily bodies<br/>
dreaming of tomorrow<br/>
tomorrow that never comes <br/>
tomorrow that doesn’t belong to them<br/>
in my little white room<br/>
off the sunet strip<br/>
i can feel them drifting<br/>
spirits drifting<br/>
drfiting across my hopeless homeless apartment room<br/>
now i'm turning over in my grave</p>
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kenneth anger dreams<br/>
of dead sex machines<br/>
BJs for a tenner<br/>
as soon as my crazy friend began collecting SSI<br/>
blew it all on hustlers<br/>
blondes built like Frankenstein<br/>
The Incredible Hulk<br/>
and the ever popular Creature From The Back Hankie Lagoon <br/>
the ghosts of hustlers came to say hello last night<br/>
slamming doors<br/>
knocking over picture frames<br/>
throwing my beach towels on the floor<br/>
the only way I quieted them down<br/>
was by lighting a cigarette<br/>
and blowing<br/>
the smoke <br/>
in their pretty little ghost faces </p>
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<iframe width="100%" height="166" scrolling="no" frameborder="no" allow="autoplay" src="https://w.soundcloud.com/player/?url=https%3A//api.soundcloud.com/tracks/1346023825&color=%23ff5500&auto_play=false&hide_related=false&show_comments=true&show_user=true&show_reposts=false&show_teaser=true"></iframe><div style="font-size: 10px; color: #cccccc;line-break: anywhere;word-break: normal;overflow: hidden;white-space: nowrap;text-overflow: ellipsis; font-family: Interstate,Lucida Grande,Lucida Sans Unicode,Lucida Sans,Garuda,Verdana,Tahoma,sans-serif;font-weight: 100;"><a href="https://soundcloud.com/andysevenltd" title="Andy Seven Ltd." target="_blank" style="color: #cccccc; text-decoration: none;">Andy Seven Ltd.</a> · <a href="https://soundcloud.com/andysevenltd/ghosts-of-hustlers" title="Ghosts Of Hustlers" target="_blank" style="color: #cccccc; text-decoration: none;">Ghosts Of Hustlers</a></div>
Andy 7http://www.blogger.com/profile/10212977920568255479noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5763800617635009425.post-67866857365333063132022-07-16T16:08:00.004-07:002022-09-17T21:33:01.863-07:00Story Telling Time<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigqS-SYNjBci8eIMNjNueB4KmDadHkSM-G09rPXlER0mT9Kny513BpD8H3VJ3yeFaimDxP9pepPi3R10qlE-GqKidzHo2Ag4TtdANQQYiSafzs0G3hwLdmwEyqTOru3__6E9K-vtviEeqC31Jtomjp6WNqVpEVRxoZO_DAippH4Gab4cK0rQh19oICgg/s1364/IMG_5043.JPG" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0; text-align: center; "><img alt="" border="0" height="400" data-original-height="1364" data-original-width="928" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigqS-SYNjBci8eIMNjNueB4KmDadHkSM-G09rPXlER0mT9Kny513BpD8H3VJ3yeFaimDxP9pepPi3R10qlE-GqKidzHo2Ag4TtdANQQYiSafzs0G3hwLdmwEyqTOru3__6E9K-vtviEeqC31Jtomjp6WNqVpEVRxoZO_DAippH4Gab4cK0rQh19oICgg/s400/IMG_5043.JPG"/></a></div>
<p>This one wants to cheat on her boyfriend<br/>
with me and I<br/>
This one wants to cheat on her husband<br/>
with myself and me</p>
<p>They have to tell a story<br/>
"he passes out and farts after he's done"<br/>
"he's not a real man"<br/>
"he goes to strip clubs but laughs at me in a bikini"<br/>
Shakespearean tragedies<br/>
these aren't the merry wives of windsor</p>
<p>I'm the cheat sheet<br/>
when they cheat<br/>
they want andy<br/>
andy andy seven drive me to heaven</p>
<p>Unhappy women<br/>
shower in my spiderweb sperm<br/>
spreading my juice<br/>
all over their breasts<br/>
smearing it on their thighs<br/>
using my jizz for lipstick<br/>
while screaming about<br/>
their shitty boyfriends</p>
<iframe width="100%" height="166" scrolling="no" frameborder="no" allow="autoplay" src="https://w.soundcloud.com/player/?url=https%3A//api.soundcloud.com/tracks/1342042567&color=%23ff5500&auto_play=false&hide_related=false&show_comments=true&show_user=true&show_reposts=false&show_teaser=true"></iframe><div style="font-size: 10px; color: #cccccc;line-break: anywhere;word-break: normal;overflow: hidden;white-space: nowrap;text-overflow: ellipsis; font-family: Interstate,Lucida Grande,Lucida Sans Unicode,Lucida Sans,Garuda,Verdana,Tahoma,sans-serif;font-weight: 100;"><a href="https://soundcloud.com/andysevenltd" title="Andy Seven Ltd." target="_blank" style="color: #cccccc; text-decoration: none;">Andy Seven Ltd.</a> · <a href="https://soundcloud.com/andysevenltd/velvet-candybar" title="Velvet Candybar" target="_blank" style="color: #cccccc; text-decoration: none;">Velvet Candybar</a></div>
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Andy 7http://www.blogger.com/profile/10212977920568255479noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5763800617635009425.post-79071226526509056022022-07-02T20:36:00.005-07:002022-07-03T13:21:08.665-07:00Talking To Myself In Public<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYF2yYaZ4yDULXDNLRQFdSWhARxnaR2G3j39PW9cdqsyxmHdUr0OG3oWTsbZK_qyGCqb18B1JbexqFNoWIUHvBNJkbvpECAjy1jTg_nCrR7LaCywEXbBtSOcMH7bNRO679tdkE3wGJ4022eGNkXYj5Z-PPlmpz-6lbVR_mAtHsZVNwJpw9egaZfryIow/s640/Starboy.JPG" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0; text-align: center; "><img alt="" border="0" height="320" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="481" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYF2yYaZ4yDULXDNLRQFdSWhARxnaR2G3j39PW9cdqsyxmHdUr0OG3oWTsbZK_qyGCqb18B1JbexqFNoWIUHvBNJkbvpECAjy1jTg_nCrR7LaCywEXbBtSOcMH7bNRO679tdkE3wGJ4022eGNkXYj5Z-PPlmpz-6lbVR_mAtHsZVNwJpw9egaZfryIow/s320/Starboy.JPG"/></a></div>
<p>At the height of my band’s popularity many fanzines wanted us in their latest issue but were too lazy to interview me. They always asked me to interview myself, which was a novelty the first time around, but repeated requests for me to interview myself became very dull soon thereafter. Not only did it expose a true lack of interest in what I was doing, but it always felt as if I was simply talking to myself.</p>
<p>So allow me to talk to myself a little bit more, but this time the subject is yours truly. Not the band I literally built from the ground up – no help, no partners – a band I created alone and dragged all the way up from the depths to The Roxy Theater and The Hollywood Palladium. Not bad. I’ve created and reinvented myself time and time again.</p>
<p>Since I’ve made an art form of talking to myself in public I’ve decided to mention a few details about me. Some people will believe what I’m about to say and others (fools) will think I’m merely telling tales.</p>
<p>Playing in other people's bands never got me much attention, and one of the great ironies was I got a record deal simply for looking cool. The head of Sympathy For The Record Industry saw me walking down Melrose Avenue, and offered me a record deal without having heard a single note of music from me, and didn’t really want to. Talk about your Lana Turner discoveries. </p>
<p>Four years later my group broke up, my choice, which made me a pariah on the scene. That was fine, because playing music never made me any money. In fact, at the height of my popularity I lived out of my car because I pumped what little money I had into my band. The same people who ostracized me for breaking my band up thought it was funny I was living on the streets while I was headlining some terrible Hollywood dump. Assholes.</p>
<p>But the next step, and there’s always a next step, was working for local government, and I always found myself in the Executive Office of the LA County Fire Department, Department of Children & Family Services, and finally the LA County Board of Supervisors (my last hurrah). During that time I worked for a varied list of city councilmen, mayors, law enforcement officials, and prominent judges. I won several citations and awards for my service to local government.</p>
<p>But municipal service can be as boring as playing sax behind tuneless punk singers, so I joined forces with my ex designing wardrobe for movies, television, theatre, metal bands and even video games, like Twisted Metal (some video games take live action green screen footage and incorporate it into the game, so we'd fabricate and style the costumes worn for the footage). We’d guzzle endless pots of coffee and stay up for several nights cutting fabric, sewing outfits, distressing and dyeing, whatever the job called for. I did most of the shopping and learned who the good fabric stores were and which ones to stay away from.</p>
<p>In between sewing jobs I began writing serials for my blog, Out Demons Out. The serials then transmogrified into novels. All my novels, except Hot Wire My Heart started out as serials in my blog. My novels, six so far with a seventh on the way, are all available on every eBook outlet – Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Apple, Kobo Canada, and they can even be taken out like library books at hoopla.com.</p>
<p>But it all began to get real when I took on a weekend delivery job, when I drove around on a drizzly afternoon, listening to The Beatles’ “Got To Get You Into My Life”. The dispatcher told me to head on over to Stella MacCartney’s boutique, a lovely baroque building with vines of ivy crawling all over the entrance.</p>
<p>I came in for the pick-up and the salesgirl told me to take this to Olivia Harrison’s house. Holy shit. I’m going to George Harrison’s house. It was all too much, delivering to George’s widow from Paul’s daughter. All I’m going to say about George’s house is that the walls are VERY high – can you blame him? – and it’s very Spanish styled. When the housemaid came out to pick up Olivia’s dress she halted at the sight of me for a moment, smiled and then handed me a crisp twenty dollar bill. When I die that’s all I’m going to remember. </p>
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<p>Black velvet wonderwoods of<br/>
Venice Blvd, sky darkened like<br/>
ejaculations of squid ink<br/>
there’s a bar named Saints & Sinners<br/>
just to make sure we get it<br/>
they hang a neon halo and neon<br/>
flames jumping out of the signs</p>
<p>Saints & Sinners slung drinks<br/>
with handles like Fallen Angel<br/>
The Devil Made Me Do It and <br/>
Heaven’s Eleven</p>
<p>With walls of red and black<br/>
booths of leather, satin, velveteen<br/>
it was Satan’s crib, St. Michael<br/>
hadn’t slung his sword here…obviously</p>
<p>The clits here had mad game<br/>
I brought my girl here once<br/>
and it didn’t stop the saloonsluts<br/>
from hitting on me in front of her<br/>
all Hell almost broke loose…almost</p>
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<p>The drinks were tight <br/>
the drinks were stiff<br/>
Unholy Passion Sam Hain on the juke<br/>
Everclear flames from the bar<br/>
Teasin’ a Scorpio with a TV eye</p>
<p>Later on the girl slithered away<br/>
I slithered back to the S&S<br/>
there was this tramp with flaming red hair<br/>
tight red dress<br/>
smelled of barbecue and catnip<br/>
told the BT <br/>
she was “waiting for her boss” <br/>
leaned over and axed me for a light<br/>
I lit her up the flame shining her deep, deep eyes<br/>
plumes of smoke billowed out</p>
<p>A month later Saints & Sinners burned down<br/>
to a hellish crisp<br/>
was it<br/>
Archangel St. Michael<br/>
fire and brimstone<br/>
or too much BBQ and catnip<br/>
RIP Saints & Sinners</p>
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Andy 7http://www.blogger.com/profile/10212977920568255479noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5763800617635009425.post-62537887673696226532022-01-22T15:51:00.003-08:002022-03-25T23:00:45.960-07:00The Sea of Intoxica</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgfYd0071QnIEY0tf8Yto7cvY33sDysXhtCoA1YHqJJwGKwuf7rnY5tJeZxMlDI_affsxL-qKFVptC8_4pHPoIonir2qbHCXWeuqu_d0vNn2IJUkK0b56JMz8UIeE7-NaLGzY7QMHBuHDYOLCe1vOt2U67SvtRk2UOAJlcBl76S4Lh2n3RC8-xjieDjTw=s648" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0; text-align: center; "><img alt="" border="0" height="320" data-original-height="648" data-original-width="481" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgfYd0071QnIEY0tf8Yto7cvY33sDysXhtCoA1YHqJJwGKwuf7rnY5tJeZxMlDI_affsxL-qKFVptC8_4pHPoIonir2qbHCXWeuqu_d0vNn2IJUkK0b56JMz8UIeE7-NaLGzY7QMHBuHDYOLCe1vOt2U67SvtRk2UOAJlcBl76S4Lh2n3RC8-xjieDjTw=s320"/></a></div>
<p>My name is Andy and I am an alcoholic. Well, I was. Let's talk about drink. After you recover you have all the time in the world to talk about the thrill of the slow kill.</p>
<p>When I took a drink of Irish whisky it was like drinking pure liquid gold. I could even taste the goldness of the fluid as well as savor the aroma of the aged wood from the barrel it was aged in. It would caress my throat and fill my body with a lusty warmth.</p>
<p>You know it's love, no addiction, when you drink not for the high but for the taste, the flavor and how it bursts all the pleasure centers of your body.</p>
<p>Your fingers tingle and legs relax, all your muscles untense in a comfort no one else can give you. As I drank more and more I knew how to regulate my moods according to what I drank.</p>
<p>Wine kept me hyper and social, scotch made me mellow, rum & coke for the obvious sugar rush, which could also be obtained from Jagermeister, Goldschlager and the other liqueurs. </p>
<p>Bourbon killed my fears and inhibitions. I never would have been able to front a band if not for my bourbon buddies nudging me towards the microphone. Half pints in the parking lot before the show, that's all you need. There was always something about rye that always mellowed me out.</p>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg62ohbxdGm3nrJCy25pjtHW3HjUdy9nGMSKF48HENNdUX9QHH1vQ8no3hIAKNC-R7L0CEnBc_kweACU419nF7KqpwXB-OC_-P7BPZWrRd43Qpj-PmNQyV_oGS28m-qVyUlGvWIXbRbMJ3NbZiu4E9C_FiOMF6sZiBQhpiQ6XKKSQZ-EnhDtB4CKgaKLw=s504" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0; text-align: center; "><img alt="" border="0" height="320" data-original-height="504" data-original-width="468" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg62ohbxdGm3nrJCy25pjtHW3HjUdy9nGMSKF48HENNdUX9QHH1vQ8no3hIAKNC-R7L0CEnBc_kweACU419nF7KqpwXB-OC_-P7BPZWrRd43Qpj-PmNQyV_oGS28m-qVyUlGvWIXbRbMJ3NbZiu4E9C_FiOMF6sZiBQhpiQ6XKKSQZ-EnhDtB4CKgaKLw=s320"/></a></div>
<p>Vodka was stealthy in the way it would go invisible after mixing with just about anything; it would hide behind any juice or sweet beverage. I'd never realized how progressively pissed I got from the way it hid behind those sweet drinks. Positively lethal.</p>
<p>I'm not going to tell you any funny stories about things I did when I was drunk. Things seemed funny at the time, but now they're not. I never drank during office hours but there was no shortage of tempters and temptations. </p>
<p>I was a good drunk, maybe too good. A friend of mine who was a recovered alcoholic saw me putting it away one night at the club and decided to drive behind me when I drove home. He said I drove as if I was stone cold sober, never weaving or running red lights.</p>
<p>I should have been somewhat flattered, but instead I set too good an example of what a professional drunk is capable of. It made me feel guilty a few years later when I heard he lapsed back into alcoholism and died from alcoholic poisoning. </p>
<p>I didn't quit cold turkey - that's for suckers. I quit drink the same way I quit smoking, tapering off day by day. A little less each day until you realize you don't really need that junk to get through the day. You do less and less until it dwindles down to almost nothing at all.</p>
<p>I won't lie to you. I still have a bottle of Jameson's in the pantry, but it doesn't get much play these days. If you've really conquered your poisons never let them completely disappear. Always have them on hand to let them know they're gone, but not forgotten.</p>
<p><i>Artwork by Derek Yaniger.</i></p>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgWufXBKxJ8GU5oN7KkfY8mwGdHmJsiIirvaHRN-N9l2x1ixQd8RccR1dX0_-Ejfy4Bymf-_wLor7oCFoxvYvOBxC4MVnloQ-M7NZv9dWVTdw8BxPHRSSsE7FWRGFRSaLXanmt8yPMnQg710BZ_0768UXze77Gi4maG-AK5sHlPW5Jmk_xc_6VVVcMoVA=s225" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0; text-align: center; "><img alt="" border="0" height="320" data-original-height="225" data-original-width="224" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgWufXBKxJ8GU5oN7KkfY8mwGdHmJsiIirvaHRN-N9l2x1ixQd8RccR1dX0_-Ejfy4Bymf-_wLor7oCFoxvYvOBxC4MVnloQ-M7NZv9dWVTdw8BxPHRSSsE7FWRGFRSaLXanmt8yPMnQg710BZ_0768UXze77Gi4maG-AK5sHlPW5Jmk_xc_6VVVcMoVA=s320"/></a></div>Andy 7http://www.blogger.com/profile/10212977920568255479noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5763800617635009425.post-40100219183044603632021-12-26T15:04:00.006-08:002021-12-26T15:04:46.710-08:00The Rats of Autumn<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhltUhDSNSpfFi8RyWHU-Iyq_KJ87EPXEO27E8060QlE4Sm2SCtx4Tjaa_z6mylNQg0_eBTh4x8wYfzyrYc-pz9sEyHgA-p5pOabSvhFh0vwgtUeOmpgHf93TxU4NdL7U2P-YBWeQVB8qOmThr9S_u8tsaMEudIByClqIOhFDgadfKbkCd8M40hzV_gXQ=s876" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0; text-align: center; "><img alt="" border="0" height="320" data-original-height="876" data-original-width="688" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhltUhDSNSpfFi8RyWHU-Iyq_KJ87EPXEO27E8060QlE4Sm2SCtx4Tjaa_z6mylNQg0_eBTh4x8wYfzyrYc-pz9sEyHgA-p5pOabSvhFh0vwgtUeOmpgHf93TxU4NdL7U2P-YBWeQVB8qOmThr9S_u8tsaMEudIByClqIOhFDgadfKbkCd8M40hzV_gXQ=s320"/></a></div>
<p>You'll probably think I've lost my mind when I tell you about the night the rats knew something the rest of us didn't know...yet. You'll think I've gone mad, but somehow those awful beasts have some kind of instinct the rest of us don't have.</p>
<p>When rats are hungry they're pretty unstoppable; they'll go to great lengths to get to whatever food they can scrape up. Even if you're working 85 flights up they'll climb that far to get to their food.</p>
<p>I worked in a building that was so insane my company was just that, situated on the 85th Floor. It wasn't even the top floor, there were still about 20 more flights up, maybe more. But those goddamn rats could sense there was food this far up and they were going to climb all the way up here to get to it.</p>
<p>I was working late on some last minute matters which my deadbeat supervisor sat on for about a week. He called me in to his office and told me I had to put in some overtime to get it done, in fact it had to be ready for his desk the following morning. What a prick.</p>
<p>I had the task of reconciling our financial records, which were so poorly entered into the system it was going to take hours to clean up. If and when we get audited it's going to be a bloodbath. While I was crunching numbers and shuffling papers around like a Monte Carlo baccarat dealer I heard that familiar sound.</p>
<p>Scratching sounds coming from the walls, other times you could hear the thumping inside the walls and other distracting noises from the ceiling. Everyone knew what it was but didn't want to discuss it much. I think it scared a few temporary employees away. Rats.</p>
<p>We knew all about them without discussing them at length. The general rule was cover your waste bins before you went home, and if you didn't you'd usually find them knocked over with your crap all over the floor. The cleanup crew came in every two days, so you had to cover your crap.</p>
<p>When it got late the rats got bold and would run around in packs pushing over the bins and going for whatever food they could find. Finding rat turds around the carpet wasn't uncommon. Naturally the cleanup crew was terrified of these rat packs so they'd work in pairs, just in case.</p>
<p>As I worked I saw a small ratpack race by me, and then they did a strange thing: they stopped and just stared at me for a few seconds before they continued scrounging for food. They were headed for the break room, so I was going to stay out of there.</p>
<p>The clock edged closer to midnight, and as it did my head started pounding with pain. Maybe I was allergic to all the rats running around the floor. Perhaps a disgusting cocktail of rat piss and crap fumes were getting to me. As my head pounded harder and harder, I could hear the rats stopping their rummaging.</p>
<p>When the clock finally hit midnight they quickly scurried towards the elevator shafts and whatever cavities in the building they came in on. A mass evacuation, building wide. You could hear echoes of their putrid little bodies thundering down the shafts, hundreds of them running down the concrete and steel nooks and crannies of this oversized structure.</p>
<p>My head hurt so bad I decided to call it a night and go home. As I grabbed my coat and headed for the elevator I wondered what made all those rats run out of the place in one group like that. That's unheard of, and you couldn't hear them at all in the shaft. It was weird.</p>
<p>Exhausted, I slept in the next morning. I awoke when a friend phoned and told me to turn on the TV. I saw my building on fire and collapsing. American Airlines Flight 11 flew into the North Tower with the South Tower destroyed shortly after. I slept in the next day and the day after that.</p>
<p>Did the animals know? Well, the animals knew something. Their mass evacuation from the building spoke volumes. Their instincts, their intuition can speak more than human insight can. But it doesn't matter. I spent the rest of 2001 looking for another job. In another state.</p>
Andy 7http://www.blogger.com/profile/10212977920568255479noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5763800617635009425.post-61298405023002876182021-10-31T18:00:00.015-07:002021-10-31T18:00:00.332-07:00Sweet 65<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhADCl7YC4Mc6QNdfIVrnzWEUHoR6Sx2zkYpc1e82W6l28kKVMXJwkES6Tv5CuC8SLSZ9jdEg74NEMij7rn6ewdgFMAflcMjLi3E_1mQ1tUEoP4yoVMsnEqCKjPQAfM3Eq54AsWHHoYb-IQ/s500/Green+Devil.jpg" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0; text-align: center; "><img alt="" border="0" width="400" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="500" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhADCl7YC4Mc6QNdfIVrnzWEUHoR6Sx2zkYpc1e82W6l28kKVMXJwkES6Tv5CuC8SLSZ9jdEg74NEMij7rn6ewdgFMAflcMjLi3E_1mQ1tUEoP4yoVMsnEqCKjPQAfM3Eq54AsWHHoYb-IQ/s400/Green+Devil.jpg"/></a></div>
<p>Prowling on the sawdust is a naked boy cracking a whip. He has a pile of tornadic ink black hair draped all over his childlike face...like a samurai orphan. He cracks the whip like a lion tamer. There are no lions in the cage, but clocks. Half a dozen clocks. They angrily prowl the cage and he cracks the whip again. They sit up on their stools, roaring and screaming at him.</p>
<p>The clocks have wet fangs bared at him, they also have razor sharp claws with blood stained on them from scratching themselves. They want to tear away at him with time…ravage him with painful years and decades.</p>
<p>Once they lost the plot and got at him..a little lunge and he went a little deaf and went a little blind. In revenge, he not only cracked the whip but made contact to them, tearing off a minute hand here and there. Let them know who’s boss. Now they obey.</p>
<p>Before he was born his mother was in a jail cell pregnant, expecting him and a gypsy shared the cell with her. She told his mother that the boy was going to be the loudest most cacophonic creature ever born…he would burn up every room he walked into. Outside the cell were the sounds of people rioting, burning cars, pulling down monuments and breaking shop windows.</p>
<p>Insane Scorpio boy, intoxicated by the darkness, turning everything upside down and frightening every beauty and every beast in the forest. Look at him now, cracking his whip and taming the clocks that want to tear him up. They’ll never succeed. Sweet 65.</p>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNqD4UkG6lJbcFM-lqFHrOw5FmWzmeD8zEh4EQNuzXRgoLu8wQkBhICJdage2WXcS4d6z75cBWeo6S_U6e29757XHrPAkh0CGnIYU1oElafqXt2zhsSmmmLe481CapNt1Z6o_SqOVazeku/s414/yuu+kanda.jpg" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0; text-align: center; "><img alt="" border="0" height="400" data-original-height="414" data-original-width="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNqD4UkG6lJbcFM-lqFHrOw5FmWzmeD8zEh4EQNuzXRgoLu8wQkBhICJdage2WXcS4d6z75cBWeo6S_U6e29757XHrPAkh0CGnIYU1oElafqXt2zhsSmmmLe481CapNt1Z6o_SqOVazeku/s400/yuu+kanda.jpg"/></a></div>
Andy 7http://www.blogger.com/profile/10212977920568255479noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5763800617635009425.post-56576941548449815462021-10-01T18:00:00.002-07:002022-10-24T08:43:46.502-07:00All The Madwomen (Shock Corridor)<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBtUgttWWvQ6rIDawmVw_KDOLypsWpeSsswqcyBFtjS4a2wc0Suks8yeBNwFC8ZI_yu5cZVaCnrBdlRDGKx4KYH7QRQPeSmxqxhUL2MyLIE3nx6XOXZdnOcsvnRXVqrb3hzROFk5KAL-Y-/s512/shock+corridor+1.jpg" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0; text-align: center; "><img alt="" border="0" width="400" data-original-height="330" data-original-width="512" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBtUgttWWvQ6rIDawmVw_KDOLypsWpeSsswqcyBFtjS4a2wc0Suks8yeBNwFC8ZI_yu5cZVaCnrBdlRDGKx4KYH7QRQPeSmxqxhUL2MyLIE3nx6XOXZdnOcsvnRXVqrb3hzROFk5KAL-Y-/s400/shock+corridor+1.jpg"/></a></div>
<p>Creeping up a dark crooked staircase pushing on a large steel door<br/>
opened up to a cracked linoleum floor it was a roomful of women<br/>
all the madwomen<br/>
one sat in a rocking chair singing lullabies to a doll with no eyes<br/>
and one arm missing<br/>
another laughed hysterically at me, choking on her laughter<br/>
tears rolling down her face in cascades of pain</p>
<p>Hearts and hard-ons scrawled all over the walls<br/>
boys’ names scrawled in crayons <b>HARRY ADAM DAVID CHUCK</b><br/>
correction: ADAM was scratched out with the scrawl <b>FUCK HIM</b><br/>
a girl stared into nowhere tearing hair from her head<br/>
whispering He Loves Me He Loves Me Not<br/>
the little black one baring her teeth at me pushing me in the back<br/>
hissing <b>I’m sick of your shit ya hear?</b></p>
<iframe src="https://giphy.com/embed/uFCRg5o3wZbYk" width="430" height="262" frameBorder="0" class="giphy-embed" allowFullScreen></iframe><p><a href="https://giphy.com/gifs/maudit-maudit-elizabeth-taylor-joseph-l-mankiewicz-uFCRg5o3wZbYk">via GIPHY</a></p>
<p>The cracked window high above pouring broken light into the gloom<br/>
there was the blonde who slapped me over and over, yelling<br/>
<b>“I’M SAD! MAKE ME LAUGH!”</b><br/>
a few clawed between their legs vigorously rubbing their vaginas<br/>
bright red raw ‘n mangling their breasts<br/>
as their tongues mechanically rolled around their lips, drooling<br/>
moaning like cows in an abattoir</p>
<p>The room heated up and manic musk filled the room<br/>
they moved in and circled all around me<br/>
pushing me down and grabbing my sex kissing and licking and biting me<br/>
like piranhas, a swirling maelstrom of hair and teeth<br/>
I screamed and screamed<br/>
the last thing I heard was <b>Daddy I love you</b> </p>
<iframe src="https://giphy.com/embed/3o6Zt6HDV77bocFggE" width="430" height="269" frameBorder="0" class="giphy-embed" allowFullScreen></iframe><p><a href="https://giphy.com/gifs/paramountpics-rings-samara-movie-3o6Zt6HDV77bocFggE">via GIPHY</a></p>
<iframe width="100%" height="300" scrolling="no" frameborder="no" allow="autoplay" src="https://w.soundcloud.com/player/?url=https%3A//api.soundcloud.com/tracks/1368927769&color=%230041ff&auto_play=false&hide_related=false&show_comments=true&show_user=true&show_reposts=false&show_teaser=true&visual=true"></iframe><div style="font-size: 10px; color: #cccccc;line-break: anywhere;word-break: normal;overflow: hidden;white-space: nowrap;text-overflow: ellipsis; font-family: Interstate,Lucida Grande,Lucida Sans Unicode,Lucida Sans,Garuda,Verdana,Tahoma,sans-serif;font-weight: 100;"><a href="https://soundcloud.com/andysevenltd" title="Andy Seven Ltd." target="_blank" style="color: #cccccc; text-decoration: none;">Andy Seven Ltd.</a> · <a href="https://soundcloud.com/andysevenltd/all-the-madwomen" title="All The Madwomen" target="_blank" style="color: #cccccc; text-decoration: none;">All The Madwomen</a></div>
Andy 7http://www.blogger.com/profile/10212977920568255479noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5763800617635009425.post-7288682926685774512021-09-03T18:00:00.012-07:002021-09-03T18:00:00.214-07:00The Figurehead<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhW6MdTMCaBooI44rlQoEGadBvfp3jNs-nP6cPWAZTGta_mpr7So-3eQPurjxDaWr0hJxJgICL8vPnEh_EtJ41j1h9KprDlPNeS7gLjMSBI28OIJKOl5Kbif6TRNQHoOcg6WmCKSs_UYiUB/s700/Star+of+India+figurehead.jpg" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0; text-align: center; "><img alt="" border="0" height="320" data-original-height="700" data-original-width="466" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhW6MdTMCaBooI44rlQoEGadBvfp3jNs-nP6cPWAZTGta_mpr7So-3eQPurjxDaWr0hJxJgICL8vPnEh_EtJ41j1h9KprDlPNeS7gLjMSBI28OIJKOl5Kbif6TRNQHoOcg6WmCKSs_UYiUB/s320/Star+of+India+figurehead.jpg"/></a></div>
<p>I have walked slowly away from the jeers and ridicule of others. They follow behind me, throwing trash and their feces kept in sacks, screaming obscenities at me. They have tied cans around my testicles which scrape against the pavement as I walk. It would be foolish to expect anything from everyone otherwise. I’ve seen the films. I’ve heard the stories.</p>
<p>I’m heading to the ocean and a few of them are dropping off. Walking patiently to the sea where I’ll feel real. In the beginning God created a blue ocean of water below and a blue ocean of air above. Everything blue.</p>
<p>The rabble has slowly dissipated to a couple of drooling idiots who follow behind like babbling cretins, mumbling and cursing me, some not even knowing my name. Just kidding. None of them really know me. None of them even know my name.</p>
<p>Hypnotically walking to the harbor, the small port. There’s a boat I remember and I climb the bow like a spider. The drooling idiots urinate all over each other and collapse into a purple seizure, swallowing their tongues.</p>
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<p>I lie on top of the bow, mounting it like an erotic clutch. I feel my limbs harden then petrify and I am now a figurehead. I have grown wings and fins both. My hair dangles like seaweed and cold sea green water courses through my veins. I no longer belong to heaven or hell because I belong to Poseidon. His misfit child.</p>
<p>The boat embarks from the harbor and I can smell the salt air, the cold waves lapping against my long, slender legs. The wind is fresh and rippling around me. Sea gulls circle around screaming like hysterical old wives. Sailors run around setting sails and lifting anchors. Tattoos of feet running around the deck, keeping busy.</p>
<p>Quietly in the distance I can hear mens voices behind me talking about women they've loved. Women they've left behind. Laughing. Lying. Laughing.</p>
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<p>For awhile the ship rocks in a flicker ring of light and color, one minute sunny and clear, the next all cloudy and harder waves rocking the ship. I look down and see a jungle of marine life passing around me. The whales. Sea lions. The dolphins. Octopus. The sharks.</p>
<p>If I died like…people, they would have to burn me and sprinkle my ashes all over the sea. The very first thing God created. Land was an afterthought. People were just an afterthought.</p>
<p>My body points the way ahead into the deep blue sea. The waves reach out and caress my legs as King Neptune greets me. The clouds quietly part to let the sun come in and greet me again. When it gets dark the moon and the stars will show us the way. Next stop Athens. </p>
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Andy 7http://www.blogger.com/profile/10212977920568255479noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5763800617635009425.post-67232188154377786242021-08-20T18:00:00.003-07:002021-08-22T14:45:08.082-07:00HOT WIRE MY HEART Punk Noir Potboiler OUT NOW! <div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHz4MQBWjf5zNvBSK_WusR8_uH71IOk5SFAYkue5bHw5r11dKJCTVCs_pBi71JGVqrOx81wnTTuukG12DOfJTI5ll7QThuv3feS4SO08GvzEqWLgBYqQ7BBJlylwo95k2uEqbTiNhBwCeM/s2000/HWMH+072320+Cover.JPG" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0; text-align: center; "><img alt="" border="0" height="320" data-original-height="2000" data-original-width="1545" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHz4MQBWjf5zNvBSK_WusR8_uH71IOk5SFAYkue5bHw5r11dKJCTVCs_pBi71JGVqrOx81wnTTuukG12DOfJTI5ll7QThuv3feS4SO08GvzEqWLgBYqQ7BBJlylwo95k2uEqbTiNhBwCeM/s320/HWMH+072320+Cover.JPG"/></a></div>
<p>Hot Wire My Heart is now available for your entertainment and continues my string of punk noir novels, which include Every Good Boy Dies First and Every Bitch For Himself. It’s a punk take on Sweet Smell of Success, a whirlwind ride through the 1978 San Francisco punk scene through the eyes of gossip columnist Dante Sterno. He dishes out all the dirty gossip on all the local punk heroes and heroines for Ripoff Magazine, a cheap local zine.</p>
<p>Dante’s pursuit for more and more dirt on popular rockers in the scene becomes more and more shameless and scurrilous as the book goes on, and it finally reaches a point where his dirty scoops catch up with him. To ensure his survival he hires the services of car thief and protection thug Big Jason Gulliver, back again from Every Bitch For Himself (which chronologically follows this novel).</p>
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<p>Big Jason provides some much-needed protection but unfortunately raises the ire of a prominent politician, who in turn contracts rival car thieves and gunmen to liquidate Jason. In between the action there’s lots of sex, violence and hardcore punk. There’s even room for a roller derby match in between all the skull cracking.</p>
<p>The character of Big Jason was based on a real punker I knew, a tough, amoral thug – Irish, of course – a cross between Lawrence Tierney and Matt Dillon. He really did protect people, sometimes for money but mostly for the thrill of kicking assholes around. A man like that is instant gold for noir; a thug who’s capable of making any kind of trouble is as noir as it gets.</p>
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<p>Hot Wire My Heart, named after a Crime song, was a chance for me to reminisce about the old days of San Francisco punk, a scene that many of us Southern California punks would trek up the coast periodically to enjoy. San Francisco punk was more art damaged than LA punk, beneficial because it resulted in less aping the London scene, which LA sometimes indulged a bit much. </p>
<p>Bands like The Avengers, The Offs, Crime, UXA and The Sleepers made art on their own terms. Since the average punk audience back then was so small there wasn’t a lot of money to be made, resulting in no need for compromise and creating the most original and exciting punk of that era. I hope Hot Wire My Heart recaptures some of the energy of those electrifying San Franciscan nights.</p>
<p>Hot Wire My Heart retails for only $3.99 and can be bought at these eBook retailers:</p>
Amazon Kindle:<br/>
<a href="https://www.amazon.com/Hot-Wire-Heart-Andy-Seven-ebook/dp/B09CRVJHL1/ref=sr_1_3?dchild=1&keywords=hot+wire+my+heart&qid=1629249084&s=digital-text&sr=1-3">https://www.amazon.com/Hot-Wire-Heart-Andy-Seven-ebook/dp/B09CRVJHL1/ref=sr_1_3?dchild=1&keywords=hot+wire+my+heart&qid=1629249084&s=digital-text&sr=1-3</a></p>
Apple Books:<br/>
<a href="https://books.apple.com/us/book/hot-wire-my-heart/id1581407105">https://books.apple.com/us/book/hot-wire-my-heart/id1581407105</a></p>
Barnes & Noble Nook:<br/>
<a href="https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/hot-wire-my-heart-andy-seven/1140023225?ean=9781098399412">https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/hot-wire-my-heart-andy-seven/1140023225?ean=9781098399412</a></p>
Kobo (Canada):<br/>
<a href="https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/hot-wire-my-heart">https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/hot-wire-my-heart</a></p>
Scribd:<br/>
<a href="https://www.scribd.com/book/520407943/Hot-Wire-My-Heart">https://www.scribd.com/book/520407943/Hot-Wire-My-Heart</a></p>
BookBaby Bookstore:<br/>
<a href="https://store.bookbaby.com/book/Hot-Wire-My-Heart&b=p_fr-ho-bl">https://store.bookbaby.com/book/Hot-Wire-My-Heart&b=p_fr-ho-bl</a></p>
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Andy 7http://www.blogger.com/profile/10212977920568255479noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5763800617635009425.post-82805238284095462682021-06-17T19:59:00.004-07:002021-06-17T19:59:24.096-07:00The Heartbreak Playlist<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHZeEHHsbEtq1xXusjNQi6EZvHPBzSbWygtIbdd80uPR073-Y09zEWhgb2WB_I1SxCbfHusrYzm-_9cNXyGvSKT8y2mUlBEcpNnn3sc_2emxmH0SQdv85BcntVxGtrWQMTYQmH3Rtnmxuv/s1200/PRSM_0008.jpg" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0; text-align: center; "><img alt="" border="0" width="400" data-original-height="903" data-original-width="1200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHZeEHHsbEtq1xXusjNQi6EZvHPBzSbWygtIbdd80uPR073-Y09zEWhgb2WB_I1SxCbfHusrYzm-_9cNXyGvSKT8y2mUlBEcpNnn3sc_2emxmH0SQdv85BcntVxGtrWQMTYQmH3Rtnmxuv/s400/PRSM_0008.jpg"/></a></div>
<p>Well, there she goes again…another song about me…how I broke her heart…the story she never gets tired of telling…just think, she’ll be singing this song about my cruelty all over the country, all over the world…hey, Dallas, I broke someone’s heart…hey, Baltimore, I broke someone’s heart…today her heart, tomorrow Tokyo…then there’s the other one…she wrote that one about me lying to her…my love was lies…so she said…all the girls in the club cry along with her…that’s me, chrome-hearted Romeo…Chromeo…your heartbreak is filthy lucre…selling millions of units, didn’t you…talking about my cold, cold heart…you cashed in with your broken heart…other fellas moved in but I was song-worthy, yeah?...here’s another one about that prick who lied…he lied…I died…thank you, for my next number this one’s about that asshole again…you’re too kind…back stage all the new boyfriends get pulled like little marionettes…while I recline in my leather loveseat…the cad clad in black…I’ve never done good things…I’ve never done bad things…I’ve never done anything out of the blue…</p>
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<b><p>Cockroach Shoes</b></p>
<p>See me walkin’<br/>
pair of cockroach shoes<br/>
brown crinkled leather<br/>
long antennae kicks</p>
<p>When I walk <br/>
it makes sounds<br/>
castanets cast a net<br/>
christ Annette</p>
<p>La cucarachas<br/>
clicking down the concrete<br/>
the pavement ‘n apartments hear<br/>
cockroach shoes</p>
<p>‘N christ Annette<br/>
castanets<br/>
clicking clicking<br/>
christ it’s sickening</p>
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Andy 7http://www.blogger.com/profile/10212977920568255479noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5763800617635009425.post-32424886517834001482021-03-03T18:57:00.007-08:002021-03-03T19:50:56.175-08:00The Hell of Administration<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpgzj7vN3YA6JgobHkZkGVwUiDEPYHlqUM4oY2uLaezf3sJplbF8gMhltxPCFyywrOMqcO2OYkh_NWn0KLLlDZYAeKs6AjKVY2glHHfOMHKaPMlC0zwBV5ZWzvd795_5dHEmUnUloZS5pS/s1116/Suit+1.JPG" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0; text-align: center; "><img alt="" border="0" height="320" data-original-height="1116" data-original-width="672" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpgzj7vN3YA6JgobHkZkGVwUiDEPYHlqUM4oY2uLaezf3sJplbF8gMhltxPCFyywrOMqcO2OYkh_NWn0KLLlDZYAeKs6AjKVY2glHHfOMHKaPMlC0zwBV5ZWzvd795_5dHEmUnUloZS5pS/s320/Suit+1.JPG"/></a></div>
<p>Years ago I worked for local govt.<br/>
i'd take my aft. break<br/>
standing in front<br/>
of the Steppes<br/>
of the Hall of Administration<br/>
suit and tie<br/>
smoking on a big cigar<br/>
ragmop cigar<br/>
reading the Bible<br/>
chuckling to myself<br/>
Book of Isaiah<br/>
across the street from the<br/>
Cathedral of Our Lady of the Angels<br/>
Temple Street to be x-act<br/>
kids getting off the bus <br/>
staring at me<br/>
the Devil's sparkle-headed boy<br/>
the all-time fallen angel<br/>
with a <br/>
big swingin' dick<br/>
and smokin' one too<br/>
fuck you</p>Andy 7http://www.blogger.com/profile/10212977920568255479noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5763800617635009425.post-15932037413708562662021-01-15T18:00:00.017-08:002021-02-21T17:22:02.781-08:00Minstrels Anonymous Spoken Word Album Available Now on Bandcamp<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgppKNtFmihMSGDL_YqZIz4gBOLZ4W27x6-BD7cwoRY60-1NRbZul6ENMjC_eLs9UGCtojSjqnipHe8S4ciB8oAStyWgwfNZzj61Gyn4aahWWpZb7T6qcDc8407tVYS_yIOhXd3ysw34O5C/s2000/Minstrels+Anonymous+Front+Cover.JPG" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0; text-align: center; "><img alt="" border="0" width="320" data-original-height="1886" data-original-width="2000" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgppKNtFmihMSGDL_YqZIz4gBOLZ4W27x6-BD7cwoRY60-1NRbZul6ENMjC_eLs9UGCtojSjqnipHe8S4ciB8oAStyWgwfNZzj61Gyn4aahWWpZb7T6qcDc8407tVYS_yIOhXd3ysw34O5C/s320/Minstrels+Anonymous+Front+Cover.JPG"/></a></div>
<p>Today marks the release of my first full-length spoken word CD, Minstrels Anonymous. Tracks can be bought individually for download, or it can be purchased as a CD On Demand. There will be no vinyl or cassette releases (I can't believe people are making and buying cassettes again, but whatever!).</p>
<p>Minstrels Anonymous is my first solo album after several decades of making noise in the trashed-out back alleys of Hollywood. Years spent haunting clubs like The Masque, The Roxy Theater, The Gaslight, The Shamrock, The Hollywood Palladium, The Whiskey A Go-Go, and a million dead ballrooms.</p>
<p>After years of playing ear-splitting noise punk I've settled down to playing neofolk music on my mandolin and free jazz on my pocket trumpet and tenor saxophone. Neofolk is folk music with heavy goth and industrial influences, artists like Death In June, Emily Jane White and David Eugene Edwards, formerly of 16 Horsepower and now Wovenhand, just to name a few.</p>
<p>What prompted a writer who swore off a music career into making a spoken word record? When the pandemic hit and I went into lockdown I released a long-shelved novel, Red Coffee, and then proceeded to work on my poetry compilation, Year Of The Bat.</p>
<p>After editing, re-editing and rewriting Year of The Bat to my satisfaction I sent it off to the DIY publishing house for formatting. What they sent back was a nightmare.</p>
<p>It looked like a drunk five-year old got ahold of the manuscript and formatted the whole thing. Titles in tiny font running into the opening lines of the poem, pages not aligned properly, fonts changing up and down for no rhyme or reason - and not bad enough to even be deemed avant garde, for Christ's sake! It was like they hated the whole project and threw it back in my face.</p>
<p>After a week of nagging me constantly DO YOU APPROVE? PLEASE APPROVE? and then the annoying TELL US HOW WE DID begging, I sent back a message saying KILL IT and I WANT A REFUND.</p>
<p>Instead of crying in my beer about the savaging of my poetry book, I sat in front of my synthesizer. Then I played with my drum machine. Then I turned on my mp3 player in dictation mode and started reading these very same poems. I've since bought a Tascam 4-track recorder, but the earlier recordings have a weird metallic vocal sound to them. That's the mp3 player.</p>
<p>The first recording was Hollywood Is Killing Me, which I posted on SoundCloud. Ideas for new recordings started pouring out of my brain like a leaky faucet. I made the most of my lockdown by staying in and recording constantly, until the album you're holding represents the majority of my aural output for 2020.</p>
<p>As spoken word artists go, my main influences are monologists like Joe Frank, Ken Nordine, Lord Buckley, and the great Gary McFarlane. The Kenneth Patchen album with the Canadian Jazz Quartet was also a major influence on my album. </p>
<p>I made every effort to make each and every track sound unique and separate from each other to avoid any kind of monotony, which can often mar many spoken word recordings. Some tracks have folk backing. whereas others are heavily influenced by early Seventies electronic artists like Ruth White, Delia Derbyshire's White Noise, and Jean-Jacques Perrey.</p>
<p>Track listing:</p>
<p>1. PKW<br/>
2. Hollywood Is Killing Me<br/>
3. Stainless Steel Trees<br/>
4. Disney Superstar<br/>
5. The Scenester<br/>
6. Tomboys<br/>
7. Nerdy Girl<br/>
8. Rorer 714<br/>
9. Power Trio<br/>
10. Dreams That Money Can Buy<br/>
11. Action Painter<br/>
12. Suburban Adam & Eve<br/>
13. Halloween Birthday</p>
<p>Minstrels Anonymous is available for download or CD format via Bandcamp.com. You can find it at:
<a href="https://andysevenltd.bandcamp.com/album/minstrels-anonymous" target="_blank">https://andysevenltd.bandcamp.com/album/minstrels-anonymous</a></p>
<p>Newer tracks can be heard at:
<a href="http://www.soundcloud.com/andysevenltd" target="_blank">Soundcloud.com/andysevenltd</a> </p>
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Andy 7http://www.blogger.com/profile/10212977920568255479noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5763800617635009425.post-59101057986726431662020-12-25T18:00:00.037-08:002021-01-19T12:49:43.033-08:002CJ<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBsmhPS9V7pwRPkgp59C2YKo9UmMgu646N2XFdsAsL03v7C4AZFc1ca5P3wgtFh_NnRqlyfvtm1mp7ZAj0nSaYZZG6lAAU-22fUD4b0GeP-dBFNLq-zVz6dvXJpVJimUg-MmQFLxOg4fyr/s2048/Claudia+Jennings.jpg" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0; text-align: center; "><img alt="" border="0" height="320" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1636" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBsmhPS9V7pwRPkgp59C2YKo9UmMgu646N2XFdsAsL03v7C4AZFc1ca5P3wgtFh_NnRqlyfvtm1mp7ZAj0nSaYZZG6lAAU-22fUD4b0GeP-dBFNLq-zVz6dvXJpVJimUg-MmQFLxOg4fyr/s320/Claudia+Jennings.jpg"/></a></div>
<p>When I drive down<br/>
Pacific Coast Highway<br/>
I bless the ocean<br/>
I bless the sky<br/>
and remember always<br/>
this is where Claudia Jennings<br/>
tragically died</p>
<p>Glittering glow girl<br/>
shimmering apparition under the disco ball<br/>
another centerfold shot<br/>
for a diamond hard apple 8-ball<br/>
silver tank top<br/>
glitter on your jeans<br/>
gritting your teeth<br/>
through another nude scene</p>
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<p>Gator Bait<br/>
Deathsport<br/>
Unholy Rollers<br/>
Fast Company<br/>
looking so perfect<br/>
living so imperfectly</p>
<p>Malibu ocean’s drawn a veil<br/>
for Claudia’s tears<br/>
my frightened fractured<br/>
Playmate of the Year<br/>
holding hands to eternity<br/>
with Stratten, Monroe, Mansfield<br/>
and Thelma Todd<br/>
sorority of the damaged<br/>
celluloid gods</p>
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Andy 7http://www.blogger.com/profile/10212977920568255479noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5763800617635009425.post-17882497350564702832020-12-11T18:00:00.002-08:002021-01-19T12:49:18.548-08:00Reno, Tahoe, Vegas<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiP_uP3fNHQcXHGwC0V5kkzTZi-tJ1h6RJRYc6gjqW-nPJ8-8WUoxqx3D-C3TorFCMnWnTaN4dgGM3fj_XQVDmffDAzE88regfsf5ql8Q1lSy-uwJ0zu86T_GAcVRStLfSnBJL6pfxws-l2/s1600/HollywoodBlvdBiker.jpg" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0; text-align: center; "><img alt="" border="0" height="320" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiP_uP3fNHQcXHGwC0V5kkzTZi-tJ1h6RJRYc6gjqW-nPJ8-8WUoxqx3D-C3TorFCMnWnTaN4dgGM3fj_XQVDmffDAzE88regfsf5ql8Q1lSy-uwJ0zu86T_GAcVRStLfSnBJL6pfxws-l2/s320/HollywoodBlvdBiker.jpg"/></a></div>
<p>Reno, Tahoe, Vegas<br/>
Buddha, Mohammed, Jesus<br/>
from the streets to the sheets<br/>
on my heels in my wheels<br/>
Reno, Tahoe, Vegas<br/>
black sheep to London, New York, and Paris</p>
<p>I went looking for America<br/>
but alas, she didn’t want me<br/>
no drugs in my jeans for her, you see<br/>
she was an opioid whore<br/>
gone to seed<br/>
sluttony, gluttony and selfish greed</p>
<p>Scarsdale to Scottsdale<br/>
Austin to Boston<br/>
give me your tired<br/>
give me your poor<br/>
so I can throw them in prison<br/>
that’ll teach them for sure</p>
<p>America cares<br/>
like a bandage at a beheading<br/>
the lizard eternally shedding<br/>
itself from the rest of the world<br/>
like a spoiled teenage girl</p>
<p>How can you call this <br/>
the land of the free<br/>
get me some drunks to spell “liberty”<br/>
line my jails with hobos and whores<br/>
white people lynching<br/>
round the Christmas tree</p>
Andy 7http://www.blogger.com/profile/10212977920568255479noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5763800617635009425.post-75451170012230286992020-11-26T18:00:00.071-08:002021-01-19T12:47:42.532-08:00Dreams That Money Can Buy<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCSVICPLe811ZncT3Rca6wNJ5RTfh5XnqkNfeOBWzEOnV8IT3qwIRGzTJIg29fmTaz71-TVJpaVkrBhiHP9Kekw7c8sJOjpHwF4stIgenIdt6lU2dIUtQeiigGivTtcXm7lcPHRb8d51vs/s1280/Jane+Greer+in+Out+of+the+Past+1947+%25287%2529.jpg" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0; text-align: center; "><img alt="" border="0" height="320" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="1024" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCSVICPLe811ZncT3Rca6wNJ5RTfh5XnqkNfeOBWzEOnV8IT3qwIRGzTJIg29fmTaz71-TVJpaVkrBhiHP9Kekw7c8sJOjpHwF4stIgenIdt6lU2dIUtQeiigGivTtcXm7lcPHRb8d51vs/s320/Jane+Greer+in+Out+of+the+Past+1947+%25287%2529.jpg"/></a></div>
<b><p>Dreams That Money Can Buy - Andy Seven Ltd</b></p>
<p>Thin emaciated petite<br/>
and pale blonde<br/>
she had the gift of grift<br/>
deaf mute picking pockets</p>
<p>Shoplift shuffles<br/>
watched by 69 eyes<br/>
circuito cerrado<br/>
like an electric fly<br/>
like a hydra<br/>
the larcenous Medusa<br/>
weaving through aisles at all the busy shop floors<br/>
drifting and floating her way out revolving doors</p>
<p>Hitting up subway trains<br/>
a restless madame<br/>
shifting fingers<br/>
which never linger<br/>
restless grabbing claws<br/>
without a pause</p>
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<p>Jamming the aisles<br/>
are oceans of crowded men<br/>
she’s sacrificing herself<br/>
for a fondle or ten<br/>
as she grabs wallets and watches<br/>
and scattered foreign swatches</p>
<p>Handbags with trapdoors<br/>
passageways in her purse<br/>
the take on her bed<br/>
the harpy’s nest<br/>
Irish coffee and a smoke<br/>
as she kicks off<br/>
her high heels<br/>
she flies again in the urban dawn</p>
<b><p>Copyright 2020, Scuzzbuster Music (BMI). All rights reserved. From the album Minstrels Anonymous, available on Bandcamp.</b></p>
Andy 7http://www.blogger.com/profile/10212977920568255479noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5763800617635009425.post-68561986242106785752020-11-14T18:00:00.002-08:002021-01-19T12:48:42.012-08:00Power Trio<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlvnmiM6YB2u7wK5lFPuoXwD_KG2316vIA_V_E3jqt0wsyNg83xdvQP7d503NbDwuqn75EhDZu_VKH4CsvKvSHumrvglYWjiXw9BpO0QQsDmt9RURq_Ev3ODvNQEuuXqp-83zQGZdGZA1H/s500/Gene+Simmons+mask.jpg" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0; text-align: center; "><img alt="" border="0" height="400" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="386" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlvnmiM6YB2u7wK5lFPuoXwD_KG2316vIA_V_E3jqt0wsyNg83xdvQP7d503NbDwuqn75EhDZu_VKH4CsvKvSHumrvglYWjiXw9BpO0QQsDmt9RURq_Ev3ODvNQEuuXqp-83zQGZdGZA1H/s400/Gene+Simmons+mask.jpg"/></a></div>
<p><b>Power Trio</b></p>
<p>Three guys walk into a bank<br/>
wearing cheap plastic rock star masks<br/>
there was Elvis, Gene Simmons and Ringo Starr<br/>
customers stood in line and<br/>
laughed at them</p>
<p>It was the day after Halloween<br/>
month end deposits<br/>
rent payments<br/>
welfare checks</p>
<p>Elvis swiveled his hips and flashed<br/>
white hot lead<br/>
shot the underpaid security guard dead</p>
<p>Well the laughter all stopped <br/>
and everybody dropped<br/>
Elvis covered the tellers<br/>
Gene Simmons swagged the merchants on the floor<br/>
while Ringo watched the door</p>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilOLU2_1czWFzudnRj1w0a9UzedgbnwlZPw62TzyUcA-5ER7vWTsmc5D9BOV0JGlhtGvVbbJn_d_EScm3jIn0IQnmXcpOb1ZjOLLnzIOhaEerEt15kEAQe_zjincfkhf2kCuGl0tRiIiyQ/s958/Elvis+Mask.jpg" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0; text-align: center; "><img alt="" border="0" height="400" data-original-height="958" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilOLU2_1czWFzudnRj1w0a9UzedgbnwlZPw62TzyUcA-5ER7vWTsmc5D9BOV0JGlhtGvVbbJn_d_EScm3jIn0IQnmXcpOb1ZjOLLnzIOhaEerEt15kEAQe_zjincfkhf2kCuGl0tRiIiyQ/s400/Elvis+Mask.jpg"/></a></div>
<p>Elvis shucked “thankyouvurrymuch”<br/>
Gene told everyone they should be honored he’s robbing them<br/>
and Ringo nervously tapped his feet</p>
<p>A few beats later you could hear a siren wailing<br/>
backbeat later a tear gas canister came crashing and sailing<br/>
Elvis moaned, “We’re caught in a trap,<br/>
we can’t walk out”</p>
<p>Shot Gene Simmons in the face and<br/>
his tongue flew off <br/>
then he shot Ringo in the neck<br/>
ever run riverrrun jugular fountain<br/>
then he put the gun in his mouth pulled the trigger<br/>
and went down to the edge of Lonely Street</p>
<p>Copyright 2020, Scuzzbuster Music (BMI). All rights reserved.</p>
<p><b>From the album Minstrels Anonymous, now available on Bandcamp</b></p>
Andy 7http://www.blogger.com/profile/10212977920568255479noreply@blogger.com0