Nicholas Brendon Audioblog Update Sept. 18, 2010
Helloooo? Nicky Brendon, trying to blooog.
Alright, well, I’m going to assume it’s on. I hope. And then, if it’s not on,, then I guess I’ll just read two poems, and then I’ll call tomorrow with short stories.
I’ve got some meet and greets coming up in New York, in Boston and then Austin, after that. But New York’s coming up in like, two weeks, and, we are, I hate to say it, and I hate to sound like a hustler and a pimp, but we are not selling tickets for that. (Editor’s Note: He means ticket sales are … slowish. We ARE still selling tickets for it. — jacqui) Um, I guess I can change my last name to Marsters, but boy, this is rough goings over here, people! Help me to help to you help me, and then I’ll help myself of you. Maybe I’ll help myself to you? How’s that sound? In a very sexy way.
OK, here’s a poem that I wrote for an ex of mine.
Spread your thighs,
In ways that displays
a lover’s gaze.
Chew it up
Spit it out.
In other ways.
The absolute wickedness
of your thighs.
This is called Distance:
We need it,
we’ve had it.
When we are together,
the distance is epic.
I am closer to you,
the farther that we are apart.
I’ll send postcards on my travels.
But not too many.
There won’t be that much to say.
Alright. Those are two little poems that I wrote, and then there’s another one here, when I was in Paris. I hope this is recording.
Alright, there’s gonna be two: One’s very disgusting, so I’m going to give the parental warning right now, that one is uncool. I wrote it for a friend of mine, named Mimi. Who after I read the first one, she was like, “Oh, I didn’t know it was over,” so I wrote this other one. Alright, so I was in Paris …
A wedding is taking place in Paris.
I walk to the bathroom in a hotel
The door opens
I see inside the women’s restroom.
Little girls are gathered inside,
in a circle.
Being little girls.
An old woman walks out,
They will be old, too
The little girls
And their daughters will be old
I piss in a urinal
The toilet was too dark and foreboding.
Kind of like getting old.
Alright. There’s that. And then this is the amends to that. This is called “Ode de Mimi.”
I walk, I think
I need to piss
I pass by the bathroom
The door opens
The women’s restroom door.
I look inside.
I see a gaggle of little girls.
Flirting with one another
As little girls are opt to do.
I need to take a piss.
I think of the little girls, pissing
Pissing out of their little young pussies
Pussies that will one day be violated
Some with joy,
Some with fear
But all, with regret.
Alright, three poems for you guys. Short. Couple disgusting, but true. I’ve got a lot more in here; I’ve got, like, six books on my lap right now, but I don’t even know if this is fucking recording. And if it’s not, I’m gonna grow a third testicle, throw it in some sort of stew, and make somebody eat it. And I think you guys all know what I’m talking about.
So, would love to see you guys in New York. I would love to see you guys at the meet and greet. And I know that, in Austin, we’re doing karaoke. In Boston, I’m pretty sure we sold out on the meet and greet, but we’re doing like, this kind of a … I love the title: Toast & Jam Jams. Where I will be wearing my pajamas, down to this event, where it’s going to be like, an omelet bar and stuff. And we’re just all gonna be wearing our pajamas. Kind of like we’re having breakfast at Nicky’s house. Which happens to be in some sort of big room in a hotel.
So, I can’t talk that shit up enough. I mean, I might even wear my old pajamas. And my old pajamas are, well, they’re not too well put together anymore.
But, I am going to call you guys tomorrow, again. I’ve got a couple more stories and poems I wanna write to you – read to you. I wrote a short one, here, hold on.
I came up with one today that hasn’t been written because it’s about … I saw a lovely pair of thighs coming home, I guess, since I was taking this girl on a date. I just saw that short skirt, and those thighs, and the first thing I thought was: Heartbreak.
Um, let’s see here. Uh huh. OK, this is about a paring knife. OK, here we go. This will be the last one. I’m not even sure if this shit’s good, but, whatever. Not my fault.
Um, hold on. Question is on the table, hold on just a second. OK. Looking … what is that, I cannot read my writing. The boulevard, winding through … Alright, that’s a different one. Let’s read it, ‘cause it looks really, really disjointed. I wrote it at my friend Dorie and Joel’s house. … This is called “The Boulevard” – let’s see what it says. I don’t think it’s good, but:
Winding through crime and grime
Sweet and low
Straight as a razor in spots
Green as Al Gore
Round as Al Sharpton.
and it’s glum.
Also jazz and big band
Blood-stained, vacant lots
Hot dog vendors
In greasy splendor
Flows, bros, willing to blow
Red light, go
Green light, slow
Stop and stare
At the boulevard.
A menacing glare
A seductress, in its curves
Leaving one’s mind open to possibilities of yesterday.
Of that day,
So far away
Looking in the rear-view mirror
Only to see me
And the road
And me again
And I was lying
The road was truthful.
Awash in a hazy gloom of restless sleep
What was once a street,
became a fucking nightmare.
That’s called “The Boulevard.” I’ll find my other stuff. I wrote a really, really short one today. If I can find it for you guys. Uh huh. Not there. So many of these books look exactly the same. Um. OK, hold on. Right. OK, oh I’ve got a good show called “Match Man,” which I’ll unleash on the world at some point.
Sorry. We’re just going through my books together here. Hello! I just found Kelly’s journal. I shouldn’t read Kelly’s journal! Wow, that would be awkward. I wonder what happened there. Oh, here’s another one of Kelly’s journals! Oh no! That’s weird. OK. Let’s see what’s in this one. Uh, let’s read it.
Few men are human
when they die
They put them in a tomb
Menses, the blood cleanses
Can I get a witness?
That was one I wrote, so. [pause] Sorry, just reading. Alright, this is probably for an ex-girlfriend, too. Ready. Untitled, but I’ll title it.
You roll your eyes,
I shift my feet.
You sulk, and moan,
And I say tone.
You yell and yip.
I say quit.
You say you’ll change.
And I say that’s strange.
You roll your eyes,
I shift my feet slightly to the right.
The door is to the left.
So. Kind of simple, but easy. OK, right? Anyway, so there’s like, four. I think there’s a few there. And then, there’s Kelly’s journals.
So, OK. I am going to hang up on me, now. Not on you, but on me. Hopefully, this is being recorded. And, again. New York: Dinner. Boston: Is there, a … I’m pretty sure Boston is dinner, and then Toast & Jam Jams. Everything’s on NickBrendon.com. But please come, guys, because then James Marsters is going to sell 250 tickets, and I, literally, have three sold right now. I have three, I am pleading with you, pleading with you, so that I can continue to do this, because I have so much fun doing it.
Anywho, OK. I’m going to hang up, and I will call you all tomorrow or the next day with some more poetry shit. And, that’s it. Love to you all. Also, I’m reading a couple of really good books right now, too, that I’ll pass on to ya’ll.
All right, be well, be free, stay strong, stay straight, stay white, unless, of course, you’re black, then stay black. And if you’re Mexican, stay Mexican. You know what? Screw it. Stay who you are, alright. And be happy with it. Bye.