The Two-Timer's Waltz

And lo, with this following on directly from the previous post's debauched denouement, Scene One of Sodom! The Musical is complete!

"The Two-Timer's Waltz"

[BOLLOX and PUCKANELLO lie post-coitus.]

    PUCKANELLO
My lord and sugar daddy dear,
O royal master of my rear,
Permission to speak freely here?

    BOLLOX:
Go on, you know you have my ear.

    PUCKENELLO:
The last time you were in that tomb
The jaws of Fuckadilla's womb,
You said her juices didn't flow?

    BOLLOX:
And what of that?

    PUCKENELLO:
I told you so.

[PUCKANELLO holds his hands up as BOLLOX frowns. The music begins, a waltz. Think "A Little Priest" from Sweeney Todd.]

Now don't be irate. I've a tale to relate.

    BOLLOX:
Puckanello, tell! Puckanello, tell!

    PUCKENELLO:
It's no wonder her cunt is a fucking affront.

    BOLLOX:
Talk about a smell! Talk about a smell!

    PUCKENELLO
What it is, my lord, to be blunt,
Is that Peen's seen too much of her cunt.
They go at it
Worse than rabbits
Even during her time of the month!

    BOLLOX
The Two-Timer's Waltz? Is this true, is it false?

    PUCKANELLO
Puckanello lie? Never I!

    BOLLOX
So your motives are pure. Are you totally sure?

    PUCKANELLO
Puckanello saw! Dropped his jaw!

Saw the traitor there in her bed,
Wiping menstrual blood from his lead.
With his shirt he
Hid the dirty,
But his hard-on was dyed bloody red.

    BOLLOX:
So he wanted to splurge? It's a natural urge.
Where's the hurt in a little spurt?

    PUCKENELLO:
He's infringing the right of his king every night
Didn't even ask! Talk about some brass!

    BOLLOX:
It's a little prick sneaking thence
To prepare her for the immense.
Crimes like this?
Piece of piss!
His arse can pay for prick's offence.

Ropy seed I shall spill and his fundament fill.
Puckanello, come! Puckanello, come!

My pintle gets hotter, so I think oughta
Take turns with the two of you,
Bugger you black and blue
Do, Puckanello, what I do best!
Let's find Peen and get him undressed!

[Exeunt]

All Things Under Heaven

My mind is a sewer. Yes, it is. My mind is a fricking sewer. Say the words "Sodom! The Musical" to it, and it proceeds to rewrite The Farce of Sodom and make it even more sordid. Cause, you know, Rochester -- assuming the attribution to Rochester is correct -- just didn't go far enough, not without at least a nod to felching.

Oh well. For those of you debauched enough to join me in my bawdy Broadway reimagining of this Restoration depravity, this song actually follows on directly from the first post, in which King Bollox is introduced with his Pimpmaster General, Borastus, and his favourite catamite, Puckanello, for the rousing opening number, "With My Prick I Will Govern the Land". Which you'll note has been updated with a little staging. If you happen to have perused the original, by the way, you might also note I've cut the characters of Pene and Tooly both there and in the following. I may see if I can bring them back into the story later on -- assuming common sense doesn't kick in and tear me away from trying to write a musical that makes Jerry Springer: The Opera look tame -- but I figured there was a tighter dynamic to be got from just the king, his pimp and his bitchboi. So I'm taking liberties with a libertine's licentiousness. Is that ironic or just apt?

Anyways, yeah, if you have a shred of a sense of propriety, probably best to stop reading now. Otherwise... that opening scene carries on thusly:

*

"All Things Under Heaven"

[BOLLOX beckons BORATUS and PUCKANELLO aside. Music begins in a salsa rhythm.]

    BOLLOX:
All you who counsel me...
My loyal fellows...

    BORASTUS
Borastus here, your grace!

    PUCKANELLO
Your Puckanello!

    BOLLOX:
Between the three of us,
Can I be blunt?
Between the three of us,
I'm bored with cunts.

It seems I've lost my fire.

    BORASTUS:
For all the cunts you once admired?

    BOLLOX
I've lost my fire.

    PUCKENELLO:
Such drudgery could kill desire.

    BOLLOX
I've lost my fire.

    BORASTUS:
For arse, your grace, you never tire.

    BOLLOX:
I've lost my fire for fucking cunts! pussies! twats! oh-oh-yeah!
I'm going back to buttocks and I'm giving up the snatch.

My joy in virgin cunts, to that I'll hold,
With some small fondness for the very old.
And in my absence dildos may be used
With cream of goatsmilk with some cum infused.
But now the shaven cunt of womankind's my very last resort, oh-oh-yeah!
The merkins just keep rubbing off and spoiling my sport.

    PUCKENELLO:
Let all the merkins, sire,
From this day forth,
Be burned upon the pyre
Or banned from court.
Who wants to fuck a thatch
Dry as a twig?
It isn't right that snatch
Should wear a wig.

    BOLLOX:
As for my queen, her cunt no more invites,
Clad in the filth of her most nasty whites.
Borastus, it's your job to bring me arse.

    BORASTUS:
The choice of buggers, sire, is kinda sparse.
I would advise your grace to make another happy pass, oh-oh-yeah,
At Puckenello's puckered little sphincter in his ass.

[BORASTUS clicks his fingers and PUCKANELLO twirls to centre-stage, strikes a pose. BORASTUS moves in behind, slips his hands into PUCKANELLO's open shirt. PUCKANELLO grinds.]

You can't deny your lust;
So soft a skin
Would tempt a saint to thrust

[Hands dropping to PUCKANELLO's hips, he mimes a hard thrust.]

His pintle in.

[A spank on the arse sends PUCKANELLO in the direction of BOLLOX, where he proceeds to come on like the world's horniest power-bottom.]

    PUCKANELLO:
When last, my lord,
You gave me leave
To let my gentle hand
Your glans unsheathe,

[From behind, he grasps BOLLOX's cock through trousers, then whirls the king round, spinning himself to reverse positions.]

You moved it to my arse,
And with a little shove it fit
Into my arse,
Far better than a hand and spit,
And with my arse
I did the deed, I didn't quit
Till in my arse I felt you spurt! spunk! squelch! oh-oh-yeah!
You must recall your empty balls and all that cum to felch.

[They dance now, salsa-style.]

    BOLLOX:
Your payout's put me in some deep arrears.
So let's get working while my schedule's clear,
And for a mate I'll take you with my staff.
Your pretty arse shall be my better half.

[BOLLOX strips off PUCKANELLO's shirt, tosses it to BORASTUS.]

    PUCKENELLO:
That better half, my lord, although it's blind,
Will hope to be, my lord, loyal and kind.
Ain't nothing I want more than that your Puckenello's arse
May win the royal favour gushing from your royal tarse.

[BOLLOX spins PUCKANELLO away from him, whipping his trousers off, stripper-style.]

    BOLLOX:
With Puckanello then
I'll have a touch.

[PUCKANELLO dances back, drops to his knees before BOLLOX and starts undoing his trousers.]

    PUCKENELLO
Oh lord, you honour me
Oh, way too much!

[BORASTUS clicks his fingers and naked heralds dance onstage. He takes BOLLOX's ermined robe and hands it off to them.]

It means the world to me
To earn your trust,
To be the heraldry
To royal lust.

[BORASTUS pulls down the king's trousers, and BOLLOX steps out of them, naked. The heralds raise PUCKANELLO up, legs spread, arms thrown wide.]

And now I'm truly blest!
Your will is heavenly caress.
I'm truly blest!
Unworthy, but I'll do my best.
I'm truly blest!
I don't deserve your tenderness.
I'm truly blest if you will fuck! Puck! raw! -- oh-oh-yeah!

[He drops backwards, into the heralds' hands, who lay his supine form before a kneeling BOLLOX, place a heel on each shoulder.]

Hard and fast and fuck that ass like Sodom never saw!

    BOLLOX:
All those who pleasure me I will repay.
Sweet land of liberty, this happy day,
Let buggery be loosed across the land,
So cunt is not abused by any man.
To north, south, east and west, indulgence shall be given
In Sodom's eyes to sodomise all things under heaven!

    ALL
All things under heaven!
All things under heaven!
All things under heaven!
All things under heaven!

[Exeunt BORASTUS and heralds. Sodomy ensues.]

Can't. Stop.

Dear world,

Further to yesterday's blog post re my mate sending me a link to The Farce of Sodom in an email exhorting me to do something with it -- like, a musical or summat -- I find myself compelled to request that heretofore you refrain from putting ideas like that in my head.

No, really. This is wrong. So so wrong. Seriously, my only defense is that all the wrongness is totally there in the original, honest, or most of it is, at least, and it's not as wrong as Delany's Equinox, and... and... oh, I give up. See below for more updated antiquated filth.

Hugz and kittehs,

Hal

*
"A Cunt is a Most Obliging Friend"

[Enter PRICKETT and SWIVIA, Prince and Princess of Sodom. SWIVIA begins the song slow and tender, lilting:]

    SWIVIA:
Twelve months to wait before you have the years
To fuck as Puckenello does, my dear.
I know the path to fifteen seems a stee-eep in-cline...

    PRICKETT:
You know I would have dipped my prick at nine!

[Music goes into its proper tempo now. Think "What's This?" from Nightmare Before Christmas.]

My prick! My prick! I want to dip my wick!
We're here alone. I'll show you how it's grown.
You show me yours and I will show you mine.
Remember how I showed you it at nine?

    SWIVIA:
Your dick! Your dick! So tell me, is it slick?
With sweat, my pet? Cause I'm a little wet.
I'll shut the door, and let you have your wish.
Just don't be telling me I smell of fish.

[Cut into a slower waltz tempo:]

    PRICKET
Oh, a sister's a most obliging friend, an obliging friend indeed!

    SWIVIA
And a brother's a joy I recommend, cause he's always a friend in need!

[Swivia pushes Pricket to his knees in front of her, whips her skirt off. He gapes.]

    PRICKETT:
How queer! How weird! It's got a little beard!
A mouth, a maw, with lips a liitle raw!
The strangest creature that I ever saw.
Are these the monsters men admire in awe?

    SWIVIA:
This twat, you brat, our mother tells me that
She spat a sprat; it's how you were begat.
Our father straddled mother's open lap
And with his cock he filled her full of--

    PRICKETT:
Crap!

    SWIVIA:
Come here, draw near, there's nothing to be feared.
You'll sigh, you'll cry, you'll absolutely die!
--but the pleasing teasing death you get from cunts,
It'll tickle you alive again at once!

[They waltz, with fondling and frottage.]

Oh, a cunt is a most obliging friend, it's your oldest friend indeed.
Since men had the goods to trade or spend, it's been making them spend their seed.

    SWIVIA
Your prick, so thick! Your heart is beating quick!
You burn, you yearn! There's bliss you want to learn!

    PRICKETT:
My heart incites within me a desire,
My blood is burning—

    SWIVIA:
Let me soothe the fire.

    PRICKETT:
Oh my! Oh me! Oh this is agony!

    SWIVIA:
    (yanking his trousers down)
Then set it free! Now this is lechery.
Now lie on me, and bring your rascal here--
A little higher -- oh, you're getting near!

    PRICKET
Oh, a sister's a most obliging friend, an obliging friend indeed!

    SWIVIA
And a brother's a joy I recommend, cause he's always a friend in need!

    PRICKETT:
It's strange! The change! The way things are arranged!
Your parts! Some charts! I need to learn these arts!
Please lead it where it's never been before.

    SWIVIA:
My brother dear, it's opening the door.

    PRICKETT:
I'm in! Within! The softness on my skin!

    SWIVIA:
Then thrust your lust. The in-and-out's a must.

    PRICKET
So sing it, sister, as my soul departs.

    SWIVIA:
I'd sing it if hadn't pierced my heart.

    PRICKET
Oh, a cunt is a most obliging friend, an obliging friend indeed!
What is this? Is it bliss? Is it my wit's end?

    SWIVIA:
Is it not just a joy you would recommend?

    PRICKETT:
Yes, a cunt is a most obliging friend,
And a minute's more time than I can spend
    Oh! Oh! OH!
    Now I'm spent, I'm done, I'm dead!

    SWIVIA
And a cock is a joy I recommend, which is my legs are spread!

[Slow to finish.]

Oh, brother, I live at the fucking you give.
And your death would turn pleasure to pain.
So kiss me and live...
Again!

[Song ends]

Sodom! The Musical

After it was mentioned on a BBC4 documentary on Restoration women the other night, it seems, a friend sent me links to the Wikipedia entry on and the full text of a Restoration play carrying the teasing title of The Farce of Sodom, or The Quintessence of Debauchery, possibly written by one of the great libertines of history, John Wilmot, Earl of Rochester. I was, as she correctly guessed, already familiar with it, (by way of John Coulthart, I suspect,) but I did end up glancing through it again, cause her point in sending it was basically: hey, Mr Appropriation/Adaptation Guy, you should totally do something with this. Come on: Sodom! The Musical. This. Must. Be. Done.

But hmmm, says I. It's a tricky one, this. The play is kind of gloriously filthy, with character names such as Bolloximian and Cuntigratia giving a mere flavour of the bawdy excess. Being a satire on the court of King Charles II however, it's all a bit sneakily moralist in the end -- Bolloximian's disavowal of cunt in favour of arse leads to chaos (chaos! I say, CHAOS!) in the kingdom, which is all put right in the end with the social order restored, in part by fiery demons. And yet... the sheer level of filth rather carries the day, to my mind, and makes that upright end (*ahem*) seem about as sincere as any early Hollywood movie using the "If they play, they gotta pay" rule as paper-thin excuse for lurid spectacle: Yeah, sure, it all ends badly for the buggering-crazy king, blah blah blah, whatever; now how many times can I rhyme "arse" with "tarse"?

And yet... does that make it hypocrisy or tricksterism. Given that it seems to be satirising Charles's tolerance of Catholicism at his court, is it playing the moralist's self-deluding/justifying game of sneering from the moral high ground as one conjures sensationalist straw men, all the while secretly jonesing over the juicy of it all? Or is that moral import more... the raised eyebrows of feigned innocence, a prankster pushing buttons left, right and centre, and trying to infuriate further by aping righteousness: what, moi? just trying to shock? why, sir, surely you can see the virtuous message in the ending, how the play brings fiery demons down upon the sodomites! there's at least three whole lines devoted to it!

I'm not sure myself, when it comes down it, but either way, sadly that moral import makes it rather hard for me to see how I could really make this work in a modern-day adaptation. The nearest I can come to an update would be to exploit that ambiguity between celebration and condemnation of rampant licentiousness in a modern framing of a mockumentary set around a staging of the play, with a central character who's the paragon of obliviousness. Like, think Christopher Guest as the gayest ex-gay ever, the most fabulous fundamentalist in the world, piously staging a modern-day adaptation of this shocking(!) scathing(!) searing(!) satire on the sins of contemporary Sodom. An all-singing, all-dancing, all-flouncing Spectacular Spectacular that he wants "above all else to save these poor slaves to sex, you understand, to free them from -- yes, Roger, just put the elephant dildo over there, bless you!"

Anyhoo, as a musical mockumentary clearly having zero prospect of ever getting made even if I came up with a more cogent idea of what to do with the source material and wrote the fucker accordingly, I fear it must be set upon the Shelf of Don't Be Fucking Stupid. Still, needless to say, the moment my mate raised the idea of Sodom! The Musical and poked me into glancing through the first scenes of that Restoration drama, an ickle Barney Stinson in my head rose to his feet with a cry of "Challenge accepted!"

And so, yes, inevitably, I give you the opening number of Sodom! The Musical, "With My Prick I Will Govern the Land."

*

Scene One: An antechamber hung with Aretine's postures. Enter BOLLOX, BORASTUS the Pimpmaster General, and PUCKANELLO, the king's favourite catamite. BOLLOX wears an ermine-lined robe, gold lame trousers and a crown, and is carrying a sceptre. BORASTUS wears full-length fur coat and feathered hat. PUCKANELLO wears a loose shirt and gold lame hotpants.

Music begins. (Think "I Sing the Body Electric" as a benchmark.)

    BOLLOX
In the zenith of my lust I reign
I drink to fuck, and fuck to drink again
Let other kings keep their subjects down
In loveless fear, every queer, as a slave to the crown
    [chorus]
My nation shall be free!
My cock shall be the only sceptre for me!
And my decree, you'll see, shall be as much a joy as a command
And with my prick I will govern the land.
Yes, with my prick I will govern the land.

    PUCKENELLO
Oh, by your grace from the powers above
Your princely wisdom, your princeliest of love
You let your subjects, all of us, enjoy
The freedom sweet, so complete, every tyrant would destroy

    BOLLOX
My nation shall be free!
My cock shall be the only sceptre for me!
And my decree, you'll see, shall be as much a joy as a command
And with my prick I will govern the land.
Yes, with my prick I will govern the land.

[He tosses his sceptre to BORASTUS who henceforth uses it as pimp staff.]

    BORASTUS
May all the pleasures of the cunt and arse
Be always near, pathway clear, open to your royal tarse.
When lust ignites, let your prick shine bright
And fuck all night, every night, with safety and delight.

    BOLLOX
My nation shall be free!
My cock shall be the only sceptre for me!
And my decree, you'll see, shall be as much a joy as a command
And with my prick I will govern the land.
Yes, with my prick I will govern the land.

    PUCKENELLO
And when your royal cock has conquered more
Than all the riches of all the kings and princes of yore.

    BORASTUS
Then may your gracious cock and balls be still
As boundless in your joy as in your boundless will.

    ALL
His nation shall be free!
His cock shall be the only sceptre for me!
And his decree, you'll see, shall be as much a joy as a command
And with his prick he will govern the land.
Yes, with his prick he will govern the land.

    BOLLOX
And as it so transpires, my prick requires your judgement and care

    BORASTUS
And for your prick it's my job to prepare!

    PUCKENELLO
And for your prick...

    BORASTUS
For his prick...

    PUCKENELLO
Your royal prick...

    BOLLOX
For my prick...

    PUCKENELLO
I will always be there!

[End song]

Apocrypha for the Cardinal's Coalition

 The Parable of the Presumptious Servant

And Joshua walked by the Sea of Galilee and came into Capernaum, and went into the congregation house, dark granite, oaken doors, a presbyterian interior of plain white plaster, brass plaque on the wall commemorating the dead of the Great War, cool Hebridean light slicing in through thin windows of clear glass. And he taught there, but the kirk elders muttered among themselves, saying, These teachings are unlike any we have ever heard, and if men shall follow them we cannot know what other teachings they will follow.
    And he spoke a parable to them, saying:
    The kingdom of heaven is like a young man who was to be married but who had no family, and the bride also had no family, so they would invite to the feast those friends who they loved and who loved them. And a servant, who had looked after the bride and groom always, he came to them saying, Let me be the master of the feast.
    But when it came time to invite the guests, the servant considered each in turn and deemed them unworthy.
    He came to one:
    This woman loves the sound of her own voice, he said, and will want to perform the ceremony. And the wedding will be turned upside-down and ruined.
    He come to two others.
    These two men love each other's embrace, he said, and will want to be married with them. And the wedding will be broken in half and ruined.
    And the rest were delinquents in his eyes, so he invited them not; and he invited instead all the servants under him, judging them to be worthy because they served him well.
    But the bride and the groom were always with their friends, saying what joy it would be to see them at their wedding. So all the friends came notwithstanding, and stood at the door asking if they were not invited. And when the bride and the groom came down they saw all the servants sat as guests and all the guests at the door.
    And the groom said to the master of the feast, Do you not know that these are our friends who we love and who love us? And this woman is right to love the sound of her own voice; our joy will be raised up if she performs the ceremony. And these two men are right to love each other's embrace; our joy will be doubled if they are married with us. And the rest are delinquents in your eyes because they do not serve you, but we would have them at the feast that we may serve them.
    So too shall it be when the everyman comes, said Joshua. For those who have asked to serve are become masters of servants, and do not serve; and those who are invited as guests stand at the door, and the bride and the groom will have them enter, that the joy of the feast be raised up and doubled.

Tick Press

You know how I have a profound animus as regards vampires, how I will happily call the undead out for the manipulative leeching bastards they are. Mindless parasitic poisonous miasmas and all that.

It seems like Undead Press is aptly named.

Hark ye, aspiring writers, to the tale of Mandy DeGeit, whose story was accepted by an anthology from aforesaid publisher and thereupon royally fucked. A gobsmackingly moronic typo introduced into the title itself. A non-gendered character turned male. The utterly spurious insertion of material suggesting animal abuse -- with an undercurrent of bestiality -- and rape.

Wow.

Note that the anthology was non-paying, that the writer received "not even a contributor's copy."

The desire to simply see one's name in print is understandable, but the minimum -- let me repeat that, THE ABSOLUTE MINIMUM -- you should be getting is a contributor's copy. Getting a single contributor's copy is a non-paying market. Getting more than one copy is... arguable. And there are notable exceptions of respected indie press zines where the editor's inability to pay is made up for by the respect for those zines within the field, the fact your story will be read by Year's Best editors simply because it's in that mag. Generally though, you are selling yourself short in submitting to a non-paying market. I know, I know, you think you're not ready for the big leagues yet, that you have to pay your dues, serve your time, as an aspiring / new / beginning / novice writer.

See my first rule of writing: You are not a new writer.

Your writing is a service. You should be looking for payment for it. You should be expecting payment for it. If you don't think it's good enough to deserve payment, make it the fuck better. And crucially, remember that the minimum -- THE ABSOLUTE MINIMUM -- required to constitute even a non-paying market is that you're getting a contributor's copy.

Otherwise, that is not even a non-paying market. It's a market requiring payment from you to see your name in print. In which case, we're not talking about a market at all. We're talking vanity press. We're talking parasite press. We're talking Tick Press.

Nuff said.

BFS Awards Shortlist

The British Fantasy Society is pleased to announce the shortlist for the 2012 British Fantasy Awards. Determined by the 952 recommendations from BFS members and FantasyCon attendees and overseen by the BFS Award Jury, the shortlist is:

Novel:
 
The Heroes; Joe Abercrombie (Gollancz)
11.22.63; Stephen King (Hodder & Stoughton)
Cyber Circus; Kim Lakin-Smith (NewCon Press)
A Dance with Dragons; George RR Martin (Harper Voyager)
The Ritual; Adam Nevill (Pan)
Among Others; Jo Walton (Tor Books)

There will be two awards in the best Novel category: The August Derleth Award for best horror novel and The Robert Holdstock Award for best fantasy novel...

I'll let you click through to read the rest.

Coming Events

As part of the Southside Film Festival, I'll be at a screening of the Scottish BAFTA-nominated Ballads of the Book documentary, as made by my good mates, Margaret Shankland, Claire McCluskey and Julie McCrone. I believe I'll be doing a wee reading at some point, and joining Mags, Claire and Julie for a Q&A session after the screening. Should be loadsa fun, not least cause none of them have done this public appearance malarkey before and are all Oh Noes, Teh Publikz about it. So come along with your Pinteresque questions pre-prepared, and be sure to stare suspiciously at them throughout the interrogation... bwa ha ha ha!

Nah, seriously, come see it. Interviews with -- I think -- every artist on the album, literary and musical... like, for example, the ever-awesome Alasdair Gray. Some great footage from the Celtic Connections Festival, with some stunning live performances from the musicians, including Aereogramme, of course, with their wonders worked upon yours truly's very own wordage. And, you know, the whole process of putting the album together really is a great story. This is the extended cut too, so even if you caught it when it aired on the telly, grab a rare chance to see the full shebang.

18th May, 7.30 pm to 10 pm
The Shed, Loft
26 Langside Avenue
Glasgow