What follows is the opening of a trove. An ill-gotten trove? No, I don't think so. Warlock handed these poems over smilingly enough, "glad to be on the team," he said quite sincerely. Though I do feel a touch unworthy. I only hope our humble, joyless house can give the great Jam Master War the proper room to do his thing - to flail and wail and beseech the heavens . . . as he is want to do, you see. When Warlock signed on to read at Joyless in Brew City, I thought, "Great! Participation! I'm sure his stuff will be okay; after all, I know the crowd he runs with." Well Warlock blew that little room away. Welcome to the team indeed.
I suppose you'd like a bio on this cat. Well, he came bopping in from the Bay area quite some time ago. (Not the GREEN bay area, dipshit. THE bay area.) You can find him now in Milwaukee, behind the bar at Circle-A and in the crowd at the best rock shows. He's a rocker and a poet. A man of taste. A connoisseur of fine libations. A warrior for beauty and truth. What the fuck else do you need to know, Jack? If you'd like, go talk to the man. Have a drink at the Circle-A, put a quarter in the juke and settle in for some good conversation. You could use some culture.
Selected poems from Warwick Seay:
Species-Specific Behavior (composite)
Every living thing is a puppet on a string.
We twist for freedom, break the strand,
Plunge into a dream.
A dog will scratch and sniff, a rabbit’s nose will twitch;
Humans hang around in cafe’s whining
“Life’s a bitch!”
1) Species-specific behavior –
From cradle to grave, God what a load!
Nothing but a slave to the genetic code;
We sing, I hate, in a zombie-wax state –
See you later.
I can’t go yet, I gotta let my hair set,
Fold my socks, press my shorts,
Pick my navel lint, you bet!
Make a want, a need; take a shot of speed;
Brush your hair for 3 days
‘Til your scalp begins to bleed!
(2) Species-specific behavior –
Gives me the creeps as through the cracks it seeps
Into my mind not context-free no matter what level
Consciousness or unconsciousness I achieve –
Look over my shoulder
Oh, not to mention sex. Place a lover’s hex;
Obsess about your object ‘til you
‘Come a nervous wreck!
Now, heed the tribal drumming – the rival gang is coming!
Put out more flags & body bags…
The folksinger’s already strumming.
(3) Species-specific behavior –
From test-tube to incinerator
A sack of cliches along the way
We hate, I sing - what does it mean?
See you later.
And just in case you get the idea that Warlock is all fun and games, here is something nice he wrote for Dick Nixon on the occasion of his much anticipated death.
These poems are reprinted with the permission of Warwick Seay. Thank you sir. Joyless ones - don't worry: I haven't blown the whole load! Keep an eye on the Joyless House blog for more poems from Warlock. Also in December: Meet Screamin' Skull Press & author, Nico Reznick