the burlesque poetess(s)


i'm jojo lazar, each and every one of your/s burlesque poetess(s) ~ vaudeville/verse upon request for all your parlour room seance needs.
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~ Tuesday, August 24 ~
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poem-a-day week15 recapping the “retrosexual”

August 9-15, 2010 week15: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7
http://locksmithy.livejournal.com/tag/poem-a-day
http://poetesss.tumblr.com/PAD

i’ve decided like that no-good army of TOys band i’m in (who defines its genre as steam crunk) i’d like the tiny instruments to be categorized as “retrosexual.” all of last-last week was spent gearing up for the tiny instruments’s premiere (pix/poem for that!) and palling about with The Slomski Brothers on the new england leg of their epic world tour. thus, the poem-a-days reflect that. not a bad week, eh? all art and delicious vaudevillian-ry.

i feel paparazzi'd

104. August 14, 2010 (sat. - Boudoir Noir, Club Passim)

Listen to Madam
Match-make celibate carnies
Shut the wardrobe door

Don’t flash your netting
It’s not presidential red
Lips that will catch fish

Teacup-shaped escapes
Sidestage— no one cares ‘bout tush
A lighter, a light

Alleyway, butts’ flight
Scraped together etiquette
Rubbish bins, torn words

Chocolate shout outs
A bourgie to-go box, please
Save tupperware sin

Table of foxes
Crumbling five hours of butter
Into martini’d mouths

Glitter sticks to pillow slips
Now, purse your lips

Boudoir Noir.Boudoir Noir

the rest of the poems li(v)e below!

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Tags: vaudeville tiny instruments retrosexual histophile poem a day debauchery Decadence fauxku art
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~ Saturday, August 14 ~
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poem-a-day week14 “Ziegfeld’s midnight jinks”

August 2-8, 2010 week14: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7
http://locksmithy.livejournal.com/tag/poem-a-day
http://poetesss.tumblr.com/PAD

97. August 7, 2010 (sat.)

Carjacking nightmare
For me, recurring bridges
For you no teeth lost

Nosing Inuits
Frisky dolphins on black sheets
Smoke rings stick around

Ukulele Ike’s
High note on Storrow detour
Next car’s doing blow

The Hills seems sincere
After seeing yah-dudes mock
Platform wedges’ tush

Daguerreotype zines
Stitches from fairy stories
Ruthless ivy rope

the rest of the poems li(v)e below!

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Tags: fauxku pinsky caps in faux haiku poem a day day in versery painting art wank tiny instruments
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~ Monday, December 7 ~
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tour faux-ku (tour-ku?)

(x-posted from locksmithy LJ)
some quick poetic sound bites of our *sweet squid mini-tour, part the 1st.

walter sickert = steamcrunk band w. its own cereal

The drive up
steamcrunk cereals, and burrito remains
became, bremains. mali said, “all of the staff
was looking at my staff!” we are tender, subaru lumplings.

Tony’s (Lakewood, NY)
artist’s cottage with one wee lectric fire. koala clung
to walter for warmth. odwalla bars and walks to the wind
-y lakefront. important hippy business interrupted by Canada geese.

Wegman’s
24 hour comforts, the most amenities
of any public restroom ever. and the sushi! secret indoor village hub bub.
and no one malnourish’s near fluffy whole wheat english muffin sandwiches.

En route, Toronto
rachel makes herself a tutu of christmas
paper from mr. salvage. we stop outside
the smokeless smoke shoppe to admire her bustle (longtime).

The Central
“what, is there a magic show downstairs?!” as i go into the ladies, a
hipster insult became the best possible compliment i forget for a few days…
i tumble off the stage in white channeling edrie’s ringleader scream

US border
informs us he doesn’t need to look at my sleeping viola
player, so i roll up the window. apparently our precious import
of precious music memories warrants Lucille Ball trivia. i hate my passport.

Lakewood Starbucks
treated like small-town heroes, dustball rockstars rolling through…
alternately seen as royalty, gothwear pageantry. and also feel
a bit like an eyemakeup’d crusty degenerate. regally slouching!

Nobody’s art space (Buffalo, NY)
i am Cleopatra, an art fag hopping on the leather couch w. the mike
putting my arm around a beer lasciviously we sing
“you told me you were a Dr. when you fucked me,”
& draw blacklight eyeballs in the back room

Labyrinth Press & Coffeeshop (Jamestown, NY)
accordions and underage sweeties in a cuddle pile,
we drink beer & cheese soup, stoner barista receives a zine.
walter & mali’s duets make the drywall dust tremble.

Mojo’s (Jamestown)
the dive bar with a heart of gold, and an open mind
towards torture chamber pop and $1 drafts, and tattooed,
bearded, drunk stalkers sharing my duck umbrella. love our fans:

You guys toy with my emotions! I get so happy when Jaggery
& The Army of Toys come to town. And then you leave. And I get sad.

The trip home
a mom with a hoarde enters a McD’s playplace to her worst nightmare!
dreadlocked/shoe-clad adults playing in the slides!
a cashier & boy make out like angsty 14 year olds. it is beautiful.


THE CAST

walter sickert
draws inkdrips late into the night in his red blanket cocoon.
i smother him with a pillow to wake him. he cannot feel a tickle
through 2 pair of woolen socks. winter in a NY attic puppy pile sleep den.

mali sastri
bursts out of her asylum chic bodice, new chains, new genre
names for ourselves. the metal heads’ new tori amos,
the men in leather flirt with the Jaggery CD’s, then take them home.

rachel jayson
what can’t she make from ties or coil through fluevog eyelets-
lace her dreads into fluffy bumblebee colours, her waist cinched
into a waspy, i eavesdrop on all the unsuspecting folks who fall in love.

daniel
his morning ritual stretches my imagination about oil of oregano,
his old man character, “that’s preposterous!” an entire monty python
episode encapsulated in one person, a cackling fierce drummer.

tony
hospitality that could put holes in the walls to fill them with egyptian
stone. marker’d glimpses of venice, the calves drawn on the bathroom
walls, and the gratitude we left (grapes, tea) by the drainer. ridiculous, magic host.

Overall
we learned it takes 3 broken toys to screw in a lightbulb like our absent edrie.
i understand all tour blogs eversomuch more
one should only bother packing stereotypical too cool for school
rockstar clothes that can double as costume— & pajamas! period.

dr. bronner’s can heal the soul after several hours of driving,
peppermint lashes and flirting at the merch table make me tingle,
i never get used to being handed money for verse, or absently being called out to,
Here you go, beautiful.

mojosblue

moar pix » http://sn.im/squidly
and we tour some more! calendars up @myspace.com/armyoftoys & my facespace, aussi

Tags: fauxku touring toys
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