The Rock 'N' Roll Brat with Cesca TomCat- Episode 7: I Don't Wanna Walk Around With You: The Evolution of Punk

P-U-N-K! Everyone’s against me!

Listen up all you cretins, pikers, and turkeynecks: it’s the Punk episode of The Rock ‘N’ Roll Brat with Cesca TomCat!  It’s a Ken Burns’ Dustbowl length three part look at the history and evolution of punk music. From the Ramones to Rancid, The Velvets to Wayne County and the Electric Chairs, The Stooges and MC5 to Pure Hell and Motorhead. With my friend and special guest, Chris Morgan, a writer, improv comedian, and fellow punk joining me for a conversation about the second wave of punk, in Part II.

You better tune in, pinheads and hodads! Gabba Gabba Hey!! Forever!! 

I Don't Wanna Walk Around With You: The Evolution of Punk

The Rock 'N' Roll Brat with Cesca TomCat: Episode 6 - The Mean Streets and Desperados

Come all mobsters, cowboys, hustlers, and drifters. Follow me down the dirty, back alleyway of rock 'n' roll to explore the duality of human nature itself.  The grime of the East Coast meets the dust of the Wild West in this conceptual look at shadow versus light, vigilantes versus villainy, partners in crime versus the world.  The mean streets and desperados are out there for those willing to slide outside the line.


The Mean Streets and Desperados: Part 1


The Mean Streets and Desperados: Part 2

The Rock 'N' Brat with Cesca TomCat - Episode 5: Of Monsters & Men

Listen up all you two-faced jokers and ghoulish mutants, Episode 5 of The Rock 'N' Roll Brat is online now. Of Monsters & Men is a bloodied and battered slog into man's psyche through the smashed lens of rock 'n' roll.  Come get on it.  And as always, Gabba Gabba Hey! Cretins!!!

Episode 5: Of Monsters & Men Part 1

Episode 5: Of Monsters & Men Part 2

The Rock 'N' Roll Brat with Cesca TomCat Episode 4: All Women Are Bad

Listen up all ye sirens and sailors Episode 4 of The Rock 'N' Roll Brat is online and luring Cosmik seafarers onto the rocks, as All Women are Bad...

Episode 4: All Women Are Bad



Gabba Gabba Hey!! Forever!!

The Rock 'N' Roll Brat with Cesca TomCat- Episode 3: Raw Animal Lust and Wild Jungle Rhythms

Putting the SEX back in Rock 'N' Roll



Episode 3: Raw Animal Lust and Wild Jungle Rhythms 

The Rock 'N' Roll Brat with Cesca TomCat: Episode 2- What Might Have Been: Torch Songs of Love, Lust and Longing

Episode two of a weekly rock 'n' roll radio show, broadcasting from an underground bunker on the outskirts of Detroit, into the nebulous ether for you aural pleasure.  A genre-bending mix of all the rarities, B-sides, and deep cuts your earthly bodies can handle.  From the street corner occupied by The Ramones, to the dusty roads walked by Townes Van Zandt; somewhere on Tom Waits home planet, in the The Cramps galaxy: tune in, you magnificent cretins!!

On this week's episode we delve into the deep and treacherous waters of love found and love lost through the agony and the ecstasy of the brutal necessity of the torch song.  Pour yourself a tall scotch and break out that emergency pack of cigarettes you keep in the back of your panty drawer, its going to be a long night. 

The Rock 'N' Roll Brat with Cesca TomCat: Episode 2- Torch Songs


As always, Gabba Gabba Hey Forever!!!

The Rock 'N' Roll Brat with Cesca TomCat: Episode 1- Saved By Rock 'N' Roll

The premiere episode of a weekly rock 'n' roll radio show, broadcasting from an underground bunker on the outskirts of Detroit, into the nebulous ether for you aural pleasure.  A genre-bending mix of all the rarities, B-sides, and deep cuts your earthly bodies can handle.  From the street corner occupied by The Ramones, to the dusty roads walked by Townes Van Zandt; somewhere on Tom Waits home planet, in the The Cramps galaxy: tune in, you magnificent cretins!!  Gabba Gabba Hey Forever!!!

 The Rock 'N' Roll Brat with Cesca TomCat: Saved By Rock 'N' Roll



Follow me on Instagram, cool Daddios: @ctomcat55  or @the_rock_n_roll_brat
Email inquires or nasty complaints: cescatomcat@gmail.com

Cigarettes and Coffee: Ancient Love and the Power of the Unknown

Preamble: Spent the Last Piaster I Could Borrow 

I awake with the following Steely Dan lyric playing on repeat, in my head...


"I was halfway crucified / I was on the other side / Of no tomorrow
You walked in / And my life began again
Just when I'd spent the last piaster / I could borrow
All night long / We would sing that stupid song
And every word we sang / I knew was true"

I haven't felt this pang of longing and desire in years.  Feelings I forgot I could even feel. Fuck. It is truly the most exquisite pain; la douleur exquise. You ignite me in a way I've craved to be lit since the genesis of time.  An ancient, primal thirst.  Your virility, your power, your coruscation; you are a brilliant flash of color against an otherwise grey tableau.

I burn with desire to taste the sins of your flesh. There is no one I'd rather be tangled up in blue with...

                                                                   Untitled XVIII
                                                                   Willem de Kooning
                                                                   1970's

Ancient Love

Since primordial times, I've longed for my Cigarettes and Coffee lover. His essence has been fomenting in my anachronistic, jungle soul, waiting to be conjured and made manifest.  Rugged and virile, but boyish somehow. Lascivious, yet undeniably sweet. I love him; with an ancient love.  I am as desperate to worship his cock, as I am to fold his laundry.  He makes me feel like myself.

We are skin-diving into an turbulent eddy, with no real plan other than to let the whirlpool take us where it pleases; down into the depths or lost out at sea. Either way, the dividing line between Heaven and Hell, razor-thin.  As I wait for the pendulum of pain and rejection to swing back my direction, I can at least revel in this ignited moment, that very first second when the struck match is lit. Before beginning it’s slow, inevitable burn into piceous obscurity.

                                                                   Sunlit Surf
                                                                   George Bellows
                                                                   1913


"Won't say I love you, babe / Won't say I need you, babe
I'm gonna get you babe / And I will not do you wrong

Living's mostly wasting time /And I'll waste my share of mine
But it never feels too good / So let's don't take too long

Well you're soft as glass / And I'm a gentle man
And we got the sky to talk about / And the world to lie upon...

 The choice is yours to make / And time is yours to take
Some dive into the sea / Some toil upon the stone

Well, to live's to fly / All low and high
So shake the dust off of your wings / And the sleep out of your eyes"
 ~ Townes Van Zandt, To Live is to Fly




Cigarettes and Coffee Playlist                                           
                                                
                                                         ********

“This then is the game that is afoot... You smolder sullenly until that moment when the flame quickens and you resolve, once again, to drive yourself deeper into the chaos you demand, first singed and finally scorched by the conflagration you create. A serial arsonist, this latest fire will catch as you fan it and the architecture of the Man you burn with and for will find his fate. And you will surge.

The Ancient one, the fulsome Soul, burning now as you always have and always will. You can see all the way back to the beginning. You know the length of days. You count the nights. Tally them all and from the sum derive the total of that jagged chaos you sustain. Your soul feeds on it. And those men you nurture in their due time in turn are fed by the heat and chaos of your scorched soul. This is the gift you bring them, pray that they are aware of the value, not now alone, while they have that benefit directly, but also later, in the lonely nights after you have gone.

And how many will find their fortune in seeing all of you, all sides, not only, not merely, the fiery Sex but, indeed, that other one, that one that weeps, that lays tenderly, that bears the weight of the World on her slender frame, so slender? How many? For that is not the gift you bring to most. The gift you bring is the power to burn, if only for a little while, alongside you as you consummate that union."
  ~ MN

                                                         ********

The gamblers, the bums, the creeps, the tramps, the cowboys, the poets; they are all me. I am them. A strange attractor, an arcane antenna; I draw them to me. Feeding them, as elemental Mother, and feasting on them, in the most carnal, Circean-manner.  I will give until it hurts, as only the truly sadomasochistic can. I am both vessel and drink.

                                                         Stationary Figure
                                                         Philip Guston
                                                         1973


                                                          ********

"When I say I'm in love, you best believe I'm in love. L-U-V."  ~David Johansen, by way of The Shangri-Las

All I have are these stupid words to give you, for I cannot touch you, I cannot taste you.  I burn to offer you my love, my affection, my tenderness, my sex.  I ache to render myself to you in tangible form, not just the symbolic.  Alas the longing deepens, as the chasm of my animus floods with cum and blood; fervor and love. 

                                                The Treachery of Images
                                                Rene Magritte
                                                1929

Lust and Longing in San Francisco: Love Letter For the Quixotic Man

A vision of a plane heading west...

Tom Waits- Goin' Out West

I know we literally just hung up, but God, that was such a fantastic conversation. We certainly eye-fucked each other’s brains out. You’re so sexy. I can’t resist you. All I could think about was you kissing me, and licking me, and how badly I wanted your gorgeous cock inside of me. My pussy aches for you. I ache for you.

I can’t get enough of you. You consume my every thought, you invade my obsidian dreams; your sex, your wit, your charm, your cock. I long to be your adoring, model girlfriend, and your dirty little secret slut. I want to be covered in you, to drink you; to be fully subsumed by you.

The Ramones- My Kind of Girl

You know shit is getting real intense when poetry takes place of of my prose.

I’ve never experienced this level of desire with someone so quickly, so far out of reach. This intensity is atomic. We may just rip a hole in the time/space continuum when we fuck for real. But there’s no one I’d rather destroy the fabric of reality with than you. ; )

I can’t wait to cum for you. I can’t wait to make you cum. You sexy, handsome, magnetic fucker.

The Clovers- Devil or Angel 

And for what it’s worth, I think we’re just the right amount of fucked up for each other.

                                                       ********

“And the reason why they were so compelling, besides those cute haircuts and tight leather pants, was because they were sexy losers.”

I don’t see what’s so wrong with sexy loserdom. I find it terribly hip, and incredibly sexually arousing. It’s in that devil-may-care attitude, the shine of the switchblade, the roar of the motorbike, and the smell of the leather that all the fun lies. Why that fell out of favor for some flimsy illusion of maturity and puritanical morality, is baffling. Meanwhile, the soul is asphyxiated by the putrid stench of bullshit and sexual repression. 

The Cramp- Goo Goo Muck 

So many rules to follow, so many structures to adhere to, to be good. To be popular. To be loved. Who fucking cares about being good? Good is boring. Who fucking cares about being popular? Most people are a joke. And most importantly, who cares about that kind of false love? Love isn’t putting someone in a straightjacket and expecting them not to go mad. Love isn’t convincing yourself it’s really not *that* bad. Jesus. How abysmal. Fuck that.

Real love is freedom. Freedom from rules, freedom from judgment, and freedom from lies. The lies we tell our partners and the lies we have to tell ourselves. There’s something incredibly freeing about fully embracing yourself, no matter how perverted, but it’s even more stratospheric when lovers can embrace themselves within each other. That’s the Holy Grail; riding the crest of the wave for as long as fucking possible, on some far-out Universal plane, until it inevitably slams you into the galactic surf.

                                                       ********

Tom Waits- Downtown Train

Is there a more intoxicating love than the one laden with prurient hunger, sensual thirst, and the bittersweet longing built right in: la douleur exquise?

My body burns with desire. My mind races with smut. My soul crackles with atomic electricity. The melancholic yearning; el duende, it only intensifies the passion, like throwing Molotov cocktails into a volcano. It only amplifies the bloodlust with the threat of destruction and chaos.

It’s like Year One. The clock is being reset. We can start all over if we want. Why should we settle for anything short of cosmological? Why do we have to even dumb down our dreams. Without the hope of something stratospheric, some suicide pact-sized tire fire; a connection greater than the sum of its parts, what’s the point? I might as well drive my car off a fucking bridge. If this is all there is. 

 Ween- Light Me Up

Why am I so fucking stupid? Why do I care about this? About anything? Why can’t I just be an apathetic nihilist? Instead of a romantic, sentimental, bone-headed fool? Why does it all have to mean soooo much. Why does losing control make me so fucking high.

Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers- Too Much Ain't Enough 

Why must I take the idea of the challenge to such obnoxious extremes? My relationships akin to walking a tightrope between two skyscrapers. It all has to be so fatalistic. Why is that what excites me so? Bonnie and Clyde without all the gunshot wounds. He said. Yes, in a perfect, non-neurotic world. But without all those gunshot wounds, does it really have the threat of tragedy necessary to make me hot/cum/give a shit?

Not fucking likely. Addicts need to keep seeking out that bigger, more intense high. Too much ain’t enough, for this junkie. Fuck it. I need my heroin fix. 

Johnny Thunders- Too Much Junkie Business 

I realize I’d rather wade in memory than wallow in fantasy.

                                                          ********

Warren Zevon- Desperados Under The Eaves

“Still waking up in the mornings with shaking hands / And I'm trying to find a girl who understands me / But except in dreams you're never really free...

Don't the trees look like crucified thieves/

Don't you feel like Desperados under the eaves”

Warren Zevon’s Desperados Under the Eaves plays as I was leave my bedroom after our amazing morning together, in one of many poetic moments. Your primal virility seared in vivid color in my mind; gorgeous, granite cock in hand, jacking for me; your casual masculinity inescapable. I am looking for a supplement, not a replacement. I have my own obligations and commitments, that I’m not willing to cede. And I fear I am more than any one man can handle; this hard-to-tame Appaloosa, but I also know my limit. But because I we are of the same mind on this, I am afforded the comfort needed to explore this from a place of emotional depth and total indulgence. I hope this elucidation allows you to feel the same.

I’m no stranger to intensity or passion; love and lust are my stock and trade. I’m a junkie for it. And while the threat of pain is always lurking just below, the excitement and pleasure far outweigh the fear. The fear, that is, of getting hurt, as emotions are inextricably entangled. I relish and adore your attention, and love to adore and attend to you, worship at the altar of your cock as you ignite me, but I’ll never ask you to give until it hurts. I don’t know how to be that selfish; it’s antithetical to my nature. I’m all about pleasure, as panacea to all the pain. This type of connection is not without its complexities, which makes it all the more arousing. I want to evolve, challenge and be challenged, and push each other to our sensual limits, but only on our own planet, out on Neptune somewhere, not back on Earth; the Sirens of Titan seducing us to the Liquid Sky.

Xoxox

Your quixotic, anachronistic, cock-sucking, Cosmic, Sex Kitten ; )

Roxy Music- A Really Good Time

Post Script

Chuck E. Weiss- Blood Alley

"Men will always fall in love with you. They always have. You are alluring and evocative of that certain something they long to attain. Which among them has the fiber, the connective tissues to allow you to continue to seek what you desire even as you deign to please them, at least in that fired moment? And yet, they cannot "allow" you anything, your life is yours for the making. They delude themselves . . . You are lovely and deep and wild and willful in your own way. Can you be contained? I think . . . No. And yet you will pursue that ecstasy - one more time, two more times, every time it feels soooo right. I think that I will work to be here when you need me. A flicker of light. A scented space . . . the musky smell of Man. A memory from the future. A dream of past lives surging along our elliptical orbit across the Universe."  ~ MN 

Dave Alvin- King of California

"The long Poetess, stricken. Smitten with that bitter hunger. A bitterness that spurs you on, impels you forward, reckless (some say) and thickened by the turbulence of the swirl.
But I say no, not reckless at all. This is a measured descent with a hard-won calculus derived from time (years, eons) spent watching, baiting, fetching unwary travelers and temporary companions . . . " ~MN

                                        ********

"If there's not something wrong with me, there should be." ~ Johnny Thunders

 The Birthday Party- Fears of Gun

I’m descending into some obsidian, psychosexual madness. My only solace found in the lascivious sleaze and melancholic smut. As the angst and perversion roil inside like Charybdis, swallowing sailors down her hungry gullet, I reel. Fingers down the throat of love, indeed."

The New York Dolls- Personality Crisis

"But you think about the times you did they took every ounce/
When it sure got to be a shame when you start to scream and shout"

Why I ever turn my back on punk, I’ll never know; it ebbs and flows over and inside. It electrifies me with power and lust, like a trashy, sordid shock treatment. Seducing me back into the cum-soaked brine of the Liquid Sky.

Rock and Roll Playlist in G...

If this is out there, think how much more is out there!


(Click link for playlist.)