One Tin Poet

ONE TIN POET - FIRST DRAFT - LIAM SHECKLER

A conceptual piece, a waking blasphemy, a poetic felony in parts. Music, dance, death and ritual. Cinema.
Outline number one.

(note: theatre to black, all lights to black) Silence.

the Poet: No constrained narration might contain
the rage of the rotting mind pierced by the livid shards
of transient perception screaming wild amid the chaos of sound forgotten
in ages of putrid .. Silence.
Silence.

Ancient jew sages of the beat, the pen sublime, spoke to me sullen,
ghosts of mighty iconic retrospect in smooth waves smoldering nightly with jazz perplexing
about random riddles, minds destroyed by madness and all that sort of thing ...
And so my generation without leave I'll speak for, these wretched cyber hyenias cackling wild at midnight watering holes drunk
and fornicating with paysites as empires clash hot and savage in strained black coated desert regions
under a decaying rust sun ...

Silence.
(Pin light to spotlight on empty center stage)
So begins the invocation unholy and erractic,
frantic with flesh,
blood and the virginal mayrterdom of sodden sweet barmaids on nights when death hovers vacant yet proud within realms
and sanctuaries of pulsing quick neon spouting truth and issuing caution surreal ....
Bring forth the one, she utters, utters weeping, not knowing, always daring, heart flowing, loins flaring,
enter he in dreams of of ruin and minds of nonchalance but teeming with dregs and chains and fetters with his scimtar crimson streaming ....

silence.
Yes, yes, sweet and tender bar girl princess noble, regal,
hair forver glowing crazy, flowing madly, capers of the heart brazen and untold,
sing on and bring us bleating horrid to the alter of divine madness;
where gray speckled priests in midnight robes grin wicked in moonlight glades
among the pines stretching ... I
nvoke, invoke, invoking the shudder of thy tender thighs sweating;
a trickle, a sigh, a tear of hatred and rage and folly is but needed ...
silence.

(Cackle in distance) Thrown in all his violent gore into dungeons of logic rigid,
flawless perfect and marred indecision, and hearts broken numb not bleeding,
and offices and lemonade porch surprise this sunday down at the club puking,
smacked wretched coonhound repose, that stupid fucking look forever etched on the face
of the fallen master, until breaking forth with divination eternal, disollution entire,
frameworks forgotten, with a whiskey hiss of the gutter, and froth hot foaming,
and seamen pumping harsh, and words for the bar queen,
and roses for her dark hair silken (Mellisa), chant, and gold cobras to adorn her figure, Mellisa,
and rubys for her pleasure, and poems to delight her, Mellisa, a
nd spaniels to do her bidding, Mellisa,
and a cock for every maiden, Mellisa,
for every fat sow mother, Mellisa,
breasts laden with the milk of absolution, Mellisa,
and love for her honor or vice versa ....
Mellisa, gypsy high priestess twirling madly ...

And at the striking of this hour (Bell
And against the strains of power (Bell
To Fuck the American night ironic, Bell
Fuck it without mercy. Soul forgotten, Bell,
Mellisa (
(Much commotion and the lights to black.

(Up spotlight to reveal the Coming of the Prince.
Tattered and bloodied, long hair matted, filthy with stench and insanity is the Prince,
and in the lust of his wretched presence, there is a purity ...
See it. Eyes wide bloodshot ... breath a whiskey hiss ...
swagger, stumble, bottle hoist, stagger, shaman, beats primal begin, and then ...

the Prince: (Shout) The absence of the word equals to the second power.
So ... You thought you'd bury me profane in the gleaming silver plated mire of thought in repose and reason and luxury ...
You give him one more visit with that cock sucking towel headed curry eating witch doctor shrink son of a Dehli whore with a gaping stench ridden cunt
and I'll kill this fucking host myself '
with too much booze
and not enough sleep
and you can just mourn the passing of another bloated irishman
doped up on dreams of yesterday
while you tried every so fucking hard to keep him well and safe and honest and responsible to freinds family kin fit for all of society to gawk at smiling buzzards flopping, and just, just, just ignored my screams of agony
and longing from the pits of doom and degredation and social function fires blazing,
thinking, thinking, thinking I'd just perish writhing at the iron choking claws slashing always of three types of antidepressents
taken like bitch smacked prison clockwork, given by some black big cock prick with a wry grin ...
go on's boy, take the big one up yer ass ... And two, and three, and four little pillians ...
Suck my ass, you wretched bastards, I'm going to baste your collective soul to ruin,
and watch you suffer for MY indignation and punishment at the hands of prim nurses uttering innane bullshit proper
about the dangers of alchol while her puny cunt dried further,
sucked up in her bulging white flour flesh stomach puckered,
and her death reeked heavy in the sterile room while the wine fought the madness of her spells and daggers heavy ...
(Mike in hand, Stalks, lower voice)

Gonna take something special this time, folks. They really got us good, see.
Got us good and the words don't flow cause there's too damned many fucking words now '
and there is no beat anymore, it died with Jack K in a battered armchair while he shat one last holy and marvelous snickering shat at you, and you, and you, and you ....
And you've suckled every last morsel of waste until you started on the mortuary brains of your aborted children products alone
in the desert, with the scorpion warrior far away roving,
and the dancing harlot priestess queens reduced to bar swill slopping,
drunk and reeling ignorant thought buthering red neck vermin defiling her with speech slurring warm and pukey
while the host sat quivering warmly drunk himself straining for the connection,
singing her praises, worshiping thoughts of fucking, and cradeling her heaving maternal breast to his parched lips
and scribbling in the dank glow and shivering at the words of the infidels
who have been allowed into the hallowed halls of blissful intoxication, Dionysus defiled forever,
reaching, reaching, pen jerking, napkins flying, the priestess mock laughing at her captors,
and he strains in the quiet hysteria at the moment forward and ...
(Smiles, twirls fingers) Suddenly, a key to the dungeon of stagnation, where I've long waited,
to brand you all cowards of sinister mayhem and slaves of the most desperate hour,
burdens to your own riddled flesh, medications and long life perscriptions,
minds die in wait before the body,
cocks die in hunger before starving pussies,
and animals seek follow beggars where once they strode with men and heroes.
Miss me?

Silence.
All lights to black.
First musical number, with or without dance - Stage change setting to the St. Bridgid shrine. Altar is placed, crimson cloth, candles, inverted pentacle, heads on skulls, goodies of all sorts, urine splashed on stage, audience, etc. Smoke machines for five min. Musical number/ dancers close - a silent ring and
To Black.
Silence