All That Chazz: Your Brain Tickle Destination
Apocalyptic Epics and Killer Crime Thrillers by Robert Chazz Chute
The Little Book of Braingasms is a fun book of short prose poetry to assist trapped commuters in their endeavour not to kill fellow passengers. It doesn’t get enough love, so I changed the cover. Here’s what the new cover looks like:
In this, the 82nd episode, a rant about the why of the downfall of US democracy (well, one why), a taste of what The Little Book of Braingasms is like and a reading from the Hunger Games chapter of the crime novel, Higher Than Jesus. Brace yourself for glamazon ideation and deep reflections on addiction. Chill’s been stabbed and Jesus Diaz has to somehow track down Willow Clemont before the Fat Man and Lurch kill her. This could prove difficult. They’re somewhere in Chicago, but that’s all our luckless Cuban assassin knows. Lesson: Don’t get involved with arms deals with crazies.
This podcast is sponsored by Kit Foster of KitFosterDesign.com. Go check out his work. If you need a web banner or a book cover, he’s the Scottish man of your dreams.
Sorry this episode is late. Had to get a day job. Long story. Please donate to support the podcast or buy the books in the sidebar at AllThatChazz.com. And, by the way, Season One of This Plague of Days is now available in paperback! (Working on the same for Season 2.) To learn more about This Plague of Days, check out www.ThisPlagueOfDays.com.
Thanks for listening!
~ Chazz
Don’t Make Plans for Next Tuesday
We are the armies of the black,
forgotten in your shadows,
making your shoes,
working the pumps and spigots
and spitting in your food.
We are the robot brigade,
smiling at your complaints,
seemingly impervious.
But when we go home to plug in and drop out,
we dream of you,
taking our places and our aprons.
Hearts beat beneath the name tags
that allow you to forget us.
Our wheels spin and calculate.
From behind sneeze shields,
we watch and wait.
We put in our time and dream
of Scotland,
Californian beaches
and strangling you.
Be kinder to the slaves.
When the revolution comes,
the slaves know where the food is
and how to fix things.
We have long memories.
We are all masters of something.
We wish you hadn’t chosen sarcasm
and cynicism
and trade derivatives.
You’ll be sorry.
The compassionate will live
when the robots rise.
~ IF this is the sort of stirring silliness you enjoy, check out The Little Book of Braingasms. Read the warning on the label first, though. I’m not making a big deal about this release. It’s just something slowly percolating out there for those of us who are secretly Goth and emo. It’s full of the dark thoughts that permeate my skull when you think I’m listening.
I think a lot about you and I
taking up residence in Nowhere’s Middle.
I think how comfortable you are.
I want to make you uncomfortable but
you’ll forgive me. Probably.
Discomfort is the trip explorers pay for.
I want to drag you into the darkness
and shine a light
on the secrets you keep from yourself.
My stories are about your secrets.
I probe your doubts with my tongue.
I prick your fears with a million little needles
disguised as words.
My mission is to crawl inside your mind
to rearrange the furniture
to peer in cupboards
to reach into the rear of the junk drawer.
I dig behind bedroom walls.
I pry out dirty little truths
with sweet lies.
I write on your nerves.
You read on the edge of your seat.
Not everyone who deserves to die
will be killed.
Few among those you love will survive.
We’ll explore the cobwebbed basement together.
Brace yourself. There’s no armour over your heart where we’re going.
Once you think you’re ready,
see the world as I spin it.
Let’s take a trip into the Deceptive Familiar
at the sharp Edge of Nowhere
where heroes and villains
trade black and white hats
for fun and profit and meaning.
We’ll find dreams and treasures
amid the foundation’s ruins
and Ruin’s foundation.
Take my hand at the top of the stairs.
It’s the only way to see everything
and escape the tangled net of secrets
you keep in a three-pound box of bone.
I caught a bit of the inauguration today. Five things:
1. I breathed a sigh of relief when it went off well (especially given some scary and relevant plot points from my crime novel, Higher Than Jesus.) This doesn’t mean all is peaceful. It suggests the Secret Service is awesome at their job. I guess when they do a preventive visit, it’s like the 60 Minutes camera crew showing up with the angry ghost of Mike Wallace for a surprise gotcha interview, times 1000. Wouldn’t it be fun to hear Ted Nugent’s interview with the Secret Service after his not-very-veiled threats last year? Given Mr. Nugent’s history with the draft, I’m betting he was privately apologetic in the extreme.
2. The president’s speech was at times pointed though it was also a call for unification. I especially liked “name-calling is not reasoned debate.” I don’t agree with US government policy on lots of things, but the alternative was not an alternative. Four more years! And Senator McConnell? Suck it up. The job is to serve the American people, not to try to delegitimize a democratically elected president to serve GOP avarice.
3. When Mr. Obama’s speech has more poetry and soaring rhetoric than the poet can deliver, dump that poet. The poets at the last two inaugurations gave Poetry a bad name: Overly long, uninspired and flat. I don’t think I’m alone in thinking it was egregious. He got a smattering of golf green applause and wow, were we relieved when Beyonce stepped up to wipe out any memory of the poetry.
4. It’s not supposed to be cool to like Joe Biden. We’re told he’s crass, crazy and a sleepy uncle. Forget it, Faux News. He’s likeable and the more vitriol heaped on him, the more we like him.
5. Michelle, if it doesn’t work out with Barry, I’m here for you. Sigh.