“Our Lips Are Sealed”

So, here we are again in the Privileged Men’s Club, Masters of the Universe,
sitting in nicely-appointed surroundings, upholstered armchairs, pipes and cigars,
pasty-faced old money and new money hob-knobbing, like they do. They still do it,
but I don’t think the clubs exist anymore, or maybe they exist as fronts for
lobbying-concerns and initiatives. This is “The Silence” with Franchot Tone – he
has a great voice, and Liam Sullivan, and also Dr. Smith again from Lost In Space,
but this time he’s a decent guy who is just trying to put a stop to all of this
nonsense. Written by Serling, based in part on a Checkov story, “The Bet” (which is
actually really quite good, I recommend it for people to go out and read), directed
by Boris Sagal, the episode premiered April 28th, 1961.

“Shadow Play” plays as a recurring nightmare. The story remains the same, but the
characters change. An inmate (Dennis Weaver) on death-row suffers the same fate
every night; trapped in a dream where he is handed a death sentence, spends his last
night alive desperately trying to convince all of the people involved they are but
pieces of his fate to be moved around on this horrific chessboard. Written by
Charles Beaumont, and directed by John Brahm, “Shadow Play” premiered May 5, 1961.

Written by David Lawler
Additional Commentary by Colin Hall
Original Music by Alex Saltz, APS Mastering
Introduction Music: “‘Say Say Say” (Paul McCartney, Michael Jackson) by Paul
McCartney and Michael Jackson (from the 1983 album, Pipes of Peace).
Audio Clips: Groundhog Day (a 1993 comedy starring Bill Murray, directed by Harold
Ramis), “The Silence”, “Shadow Play”.

Recorded August 23, 2016

© BlissVille, David Lawler copyright 2016 for all original vocal and audio content
featuring David Lawler and selected guests each episode. Original Music © Alex
Saltz copyright 2015. This podcast, “That Twilighty Show About That Zone” is not
affiliated with CBS Entertainment, the CBS Television Network, or The Rod Serling
Estate. Any and all images, audio clips, and dialogue extracts are the property of
their respective copyright owners. This blog and podcast was created for criticism,
research, and is completely nonprofit, and should be considered Fair Use as stated
in the Copyright Act of 1976, 17 U.S.C. section 107. It is not an official product,
and it should not be sold nor bought; this is intended for private use, and any
public broadcast is not recommended. All music clips appear under Fair Use as well.
If you’re thinking of suing because you want a piece of the pie, please remember,
there is no actual pie. We at BlissVille have no money, and as such, cannot
compensate you. If anything, we’re doing you a favor, so please be kind. I do this
’cause it’s fun, and nothing else.

Running Time: 28:01

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“To Die, To Sleep”

To-Die-To-Sleep

Written by David Lawler
Additional Commentary by Colin Hall
Notes Cribbed from Todd Van Der Weff.
Original Music by Alex Saltz, APS Mastering
Introduction Music: “Cat People (Putting Out The Fire)” by David Bowie.
Audio Clips: “Cat People” (a 1942 film produced by Val Lewton, directed by Jacques Tourneur, and starring Simone Simon). The Twilight Zone, “Perchance To Dream” and “Judgment Night”.

Recorded November 26, 2015

© BlissVille, David Lawler copyright 2015 for all original vocal and audio content featuring David Lawler and selected guests each episode. Original Music © Alex Saltz copyright 2015. This podcast, “That Twilighty Show About That Zone” is not affiliated with CBS Entertainment, the CBS Television Network, or The Rod Serling Estate. Any and all images, audio clips, and dialogue extracts are the property of their respective copyright owners. This blog and podcast was created for criticism, research, and is completely nonprofit, and should be considered Fair Use as stated in the Copyright Act of 1976, 17 U.S.C. section 107. It is not an official product, and it should not be sold nor bought; this is intended for private use, and any public broadcast is not recommended. All music clips appear under Fair Use as well. If you’re thinking of suing because you want a piece of the pie, please remember, there is no actual pie. We at BlissVille have no money, and as such, cannot compensate you. If anything, we’re doing you a favor, so please be kind. I do this ’cause it’s fun, and nothing else.

Running Time: 29:48 Direct Download

“The Man Without Glasses”

Sean-Flaherty-BlissVille-picture

 

Ice-T Spit on my Foot (read by Colin Hall)
Striking from the Western Side (read by Mark Jeacoma)
I Dated a Weather Girl (read by Regan Lawler)
Autumn Leaf and John (read by Eve Kerrigan)
It’s Not You. It’s Me. (read by Andrew La Ganke)
The Doctor, Part 1 (read by Bronwyn Knox)
The Doctor, Part 20 (read by Bronwyn Knox)

Sean Flaherty passed away January 4th, 2015. He was a poet, and he spent the remainder of his time putting together a series of poems about his experience with cancer. A couple weeks before (this was at the end of December of 2014), I reached out to Sean to see if he could join me for a podcast. I figured he might want to read some of his poetry. He wrote me back, saying, “Hi, David. I’m sorry but I’m really too busy. Thank you for thinking of me.”

I was like, “I can wait. No big deal.” I wasn’t aware of the severity of his condition because he always kept a stiff upper lip and a sense of humor about himself. I thought he was going to be fine. Bronwyn thought he was going to be fine, but then came the news. I had unresolved feelings about him. We were very much alike. Both Irish. Both assholes, contemptuous, rife with creatively bitter energies that we tried to channel in various forms. I felt like we had all the time in the world to get to be friends.

To commemorate his birthday, November 15th, BlissVille presents an encore of “The Man Without Glasses”. My friends, family, and colleagues read selected works from Sean’s body of work. I hope you enjoy it.

Ice-T Spit on my Foot (read by Colin Hall)

I have been going
to night school
after work
so I can learn
some new things,
to broaden myself
at forty-three,
I met this roofer
at school
who told me that
all the roofers and electricians he knows
do boatloads of cocaine
and he’s been doing too much roofing
and too much cocaine
so he’s trying to learn
computer programming
to get a new gig,
Ice-T is in our school
to study for a new role,
I stopped him
when we were all stepping out
for a break
and said
Hey, man,
I don’t know if we ever met
but I helped you and Coco
with that thing a few years ago
so we hung out for a bit
talked,
mostly about music,
we were sitting down
and I took my shoe off to
work out a pebble
he was talking about
a new band he’s working with
and that they were listening to
a lot of Michael Jackson lately,
he said
he was awesome,
he was one of the very best
and I injected:
too bad
about all that stuff
with the kids
Ice-T stopped talking
he looked at me like I was crazy,
like I had vomited fire
he spit on my foot
stood up, turned his back
walked away
and said,
Fuck you, Flaherty!

It’s Not You. It’s Me. (read by Andrew La Ganke)

I put my daughter to bed,
kiss my wife
and take an easy walk
to get some groceries and a bag of beer,
at Driggs and North 8th
the ground gets hot
and the air smells like cinnamon:
across from the liquor store
a bright light
shines on a parking spot
where a flying saucer sets down,
beautiful, symmetrical
stainless steel
gull wing doors open.
Wearing a navy blue suit,
and black wing tips that look an awful lot
like the ones in my closet,
a green man
steps out of the ship,
he looks around
pretending to be careful,
and he steps towards me,
touches the side of his nose,
fixes his red tie
and says,
“Look,
I’m not from where you might think I’m from.
Not ‘up.’
I’m from the other place.
I just like the way this thing handles.
I wanted to find you
so I can look you in the eye
and let you know
when you’re not looking,
I’m the guy who’s fucking you:
I snort lines of cocaine
from your baby’s round belly
when she’s asleep in her crib;
I strangle your cats until they can barely breathe
so they sound asthmatic,
I make love to your wife
better than you,
she can’t stand you,
and I talk shit about everyone you know,
I told the landlord to get bent,
I told your boss to take a hike,
you think you’re tired now, man,
I am going to burn you down
from every angle possible.”
I pull a pair of beers from the bag,
open them up:
I hand him one,
take one for myself
and take a good long drink out of the bottle
before I look down his pointy green nose
and say,
“Thanks for the heads up;
I’m glad it’s you
and not me.”

Striking from the Western Side (read by Mark Jeacoma)

The addictive aroma of
Well-aged nostalgia, and a
Hurricane-yellow sunset, was
Striking from the Western Side.
The east, full of forest. It
Often goes Unappreciated.

Sat alone, and gritting his teeth
Over it, his forehead wet,
Losing patience, sweating
Droplets, wiped up by the
Dollars you couldn’t afford to spend.
Outwardly expressing: “Overwhelmed.”

Born of the burning woods, and
Left to ash, again, with the leaves, the
Scent settled, clearly set on
Sticking around.

In the mood to bleed, and
Drag some metal, through the
Dirt caked on your legs?
Filth burns brighter indoors, and my
Power’s just gone out.

But you cast quite a shadow, when
Lightning interrupts the black.
“Storm’d been on it’s way for a while.
I’m relieved, it finally hit us.
Fair weather felt dishonest. ”

Long hair’s got a few more days left in it,
Bags under his eyes, not quite full,
Intent on the ideal, and
Going out on his shield.
Decrying the Curse of the Under-employed.

Barking beckons him back, and
Beneath his broken heart, beating,
Beyond a reasonable doubt,
Buggering on. Exhaustingly enthusiastic.
The howled woofs, and selected drum lines.
Droning, diligent,
“And pleased to meet you, darling.”

He flips open one of his
Boxes, counts to seventeen, and sighs.
Puts a cigarette between his lips.
Lights it. Counts to sixteen, and sighs.
Closes that box, and buys another.

“One third of what he says is nonsense, but
When you talk, he listens.” And
Love’s a vice, he can’t help but
Nourish. Hiding in fog, and
Drowning in his cheap whiskey.
Perfectly cornered, writing a poem about it.

Autumn Leaf and John (read by Eve Kerrigan)

Autumn Leaf
was born on an ashram
up north
on a piece of land her parents owned,

John
was a math guy
making Wall Street money,
they both lived in the city,
radiation levels were getting too high:
babies grew too big
in the womb,
often killing the mother,
leaving the children feeble
or worse
and vexing, Mendelian mutations
were occurring
to a variety of the citizens:
accountants were spawning
extra eyes,
extra hands
and did away with sleep cycles,
bicycle messengers were growing
longer legs,
strippers
had tails
stretching out of their tailbones.

Autumn Leaf had a tail,
John had an extra thumb on each hand.
They met and fell in love at a doctor’s office in midtown.

John had a thing for her tail:
the fucking was epic.

Autumn Leaf’s parents
allowed the two
a house on a plot of land,
the mutations hadn’t started up north,
but
away from the city
all their time piled up on one another,
their love distorted.

One day
after another dismal effort to be intimate,
John sat at his desk
wearing a green v-neck T-shirt
and white boxers
with watermelons printed on them
eating an apple,
looking over some old work papers,

Autumn Leaf walked up to John’s desk,
her tail twitching,
whipping back and forth,
she looked at John
and told him
she didn’t love him anymore,

the length of his tongue
flapped out of his mouth,
bits of apple
falling onto his desk,
his face turned bright red,
his eyes bulged –

he watched with his left eye
as the right eye
shot out of his head
into a corner,
the top of his skull
cracked open,

the explosion
splattering the
robin’s egg-blue walls of the room
with pieces of his hot brain.

I Dated a Weather Girl (read by Regan Lawler)

She could be seen
on channel
two twenty five
touching numbers,
pushing clouds
with her perfectly manicured hands
across America,

she got
prettier
the closer
she got,

men try to walk away
from their teevee screens
but as soon
as she got closer to their cities,
they’d catch fire,
their hands would be burning,
their hair
would go up in flames
for the weather girl from WPIX.

The Doctor, Part 1 (read by Bronwyn Knox)

I have always sought
my own
extreme
emotions,
threatening people,
often
with love,

asking if it means
enough
to you,
do you
trust me
enough,
if you’ll spread your legs long,
wide enough
for me to see
your liver,

I am breathing
heavily now –
not hard –
listening to the sound of my own breath,
following the
idiosyncrasies
of the air
passing
in and out,
the fear and fasting
turning the air
colder
on the way
in

waiting for the doctor
to reach up inside me.

The Doctor, Part 20 (read by Bronwyn Knox)

A call
from the right place
I suppose,
a long distance
motherfucker
jammed my signal,

shook me
with the words
“miracle doctor,”

with the words
“miracle cure,”

with the words,
“if you were my son
I’d fly you to
Las Cruces
tomorrow”

jolted
my fear,
made me check my
balance
and
pissed me
off.

Special thanks to Ciaran Cooper for providing me a copy of the tribute notes.

“Not Responsible For Nerve Damage”

obamacare-logo_full

The Patient Protection and Affordable Care Act (PPACA), commonly called the Affordable Care Act (ACA) or “Obamacare”, is a United States federal statute signed into law by President Barack Obama on March 23, 2010. Together with the Health Care and Education Reconciliation Act, it represents the most significant regulatory overhaul of the U.S. healthcare system since the passage of Medicare and Medicaid in 1965.

Wikipedia

While originally conceived as a benefit to poor income households who could not ordinarily afford health care and related services, the Affordable Care Act has proven to be fairly inconsistent in overall rates, quality of health care, and dispersal of insurance.

We took our microphones outside to sit on the front steps over here in BlissVille to discuss the effects of Obamacare on our day-to-day lives. My family’s insurance was altered and then changed by my wife’s employer. Colin’s Medicare deduction on his check increased dramatically. Someone might say these are simply exceptions to the rule, but I can’t find anybody out there who will tell me their health coverage and quality of care improved as a result of Obamacare.

SPECIAL PODCAST: “The Man Without Glasses – Sean Flaherty (1966-2015)

Sean-Flaherty-BlissVille-picture

Ice-T Spit on my Foot (read by Colin Hall)
Striking from the Western Side (read by Mark Jeacoma)
I Dated a Weather Girl (read by Regan Lawler)
Autumn Leaf and John (read by Eve Kerrigan)
It’s Not You. It’s Me. (read by Andrew La Ganke)
The Doctor, Part 1 (read by Bronwyn Knox)
The Doctor, Part 20 (read by Bronwyn Knox)

Sean Flaherty passed away January 4th of this new year. He was a poet, and he spent the remainder of his time putting together a series of poems about his experience with cancer. A couple weeks before (this was at the end of December of 2014), I reached out to Sean to see if he could join me for a podcast. I figured he might want to read some of his poetry. He wrote me back, saying, “Hi, David. I’m sorry but I’m really too busy. Thank you for thinking of me.”

I was like, “I can wait. No big deal.” I wasn’t aware of the severity of his condition because he always kept a stiff upper lip and a sense of humor about himself. I thought he was going to be fine. Bronwyn thought he was going to be fine, but then came the news. I had unresolved feelings about him. We were very much alike. Both Irish. Both assholes, contemptuous, rife with creatively bitter energies that we tried to channel in various forms. I felt like we had all the time in the world to get to be friends.

Sensitive Skin Magazine

Hello Poetry

Stat Rec

Medium

Ice-T Spit on my Foot (read by Colin Hall)

I have been going
to night school
after work
so I can learn
some new things,
to broaden myself
at forty-three,
I met this roofer
at school
who told me that
all the roofers and electricians he knows
do boatloads of cocaine
and he’s been doing too much roofing
and too much cocaine
so he’s trying to learn
computer programming
to get a new gig,
Ice-T is in our school
to study for a new role,
I stopped him
when we were all stepping out
for a break
and said
Hey, man,
I don’t know if we ever met
but I helped you and Coco
with that thing a few years ago
so we hung out for a bit
talked,
mostly about music,
we were sitting down
and I took my shoe off to
work out a pebble
he was talking about
a new band he’s working with
and that they were listening to
a lot of Michael Jackson lately,
he said
he was awesome,
he was one of the very best
and I injected:
too bad
about all that stuff
with the kids
Ice-T stopped talking
he looked at me like I was crazy,
like I had vomited fire
he spit on my foot
stood up, turned his back
walked away
and said,
Fuck you, Flaherty!

It’s Not You. It’s Me. (read by Andrew La Ganke)

I put my daughter to bed,
kiss my wife
and take an easy walk
to get some groceries and a bag of beer,
at Driggs and North 8th
the ground gets hot
and the air smells like cinnamon:
across from the liquor store
a bright light
shines on a parking spot
where a flying saucer sets down,
beautiful, symmetrical
stainless steel
gull wing doors open.
Wearing a navy blue suit,
and black wing tips that look an awful lot
like the ones in my closet,
a green man
steps out of the ship,
he looks around
pretending to be careful,
and he steps towards me,
touches the side of his nose,
fixes his red tie
and says,
“Look,
I’m not from where you might think I’m from.
Not ‘up.’
I’m from the other place.
I just like the way this thing handles.
I wanted to find you
so I can look you in the eye
and let you know
when you’re not looking,
I’m the guy who’s fucking you:
I snort lines of cocaine
from your baby’s round belly
when she’s asleep in her crib;
I strangle your cats until they can barely breathe
so they sound asthmatic,
I make love to your wife
better than you,
she can’t stand you,
and I talk shit about everyone you know,
I told the landlord to get bent,
I told your boss to take a hike,
you think you’re tired now, man,
I am going to burn you down
from every angle possible.”
I pull a pair of beers from the bag,
open them up:
I hand him one,
take one for myself
and take a good long drink out of the bottle
before I look down his pointy green nose
and say,
“Thanks for the heads up;
I’m glad it’s you
and not me.”

Striking from the Western Side (read by Mark Jeacoma)

The addictive aroma of
Well-aged nostalgia, and a
Hurricane-yellow sunset, was
Striking from the Western Side.
The east, full of forest. It
Often goes Unappreciated.

Sat alone, and gritting his teeth
Over it, his forehead wet,
Losing patience, sweating
Droplets, wiped up by the
Dollars you couldn’t afford to spend.
Outwardly expressing: “Overwhelmed.”

Born of the burning woods, and
Left to ash, again, with the leaves, the
Scent settled, clearly set on
Sticking around.

In the mood to bleed, and
Drag some metal, through the
Dirt caked on your legs?
Filth burns brighter indoors, and my
Power’s just gone out.

But you cast quite a shadow, when
Lightning interrupts the black.
“Storm’d been on it’s way for a while.
I’m relieved, it finally hit us.
Fair weather felt dishonest. ”

Long hair’s got a few more days left in it,
Bags under his eyes, not quite full,
Intent on the ideal, and
Going out on his shield.
Decrying the Curse of the Under-employed.

Barking beckons him back, and
Beneath his broken heart, beating,
Beyond a reasonable doubt,
Buggering on. Exhaustingly enthusiastic.
The howled woofs, and selected drum lines.
Droning, diligent,
“And pleased to meet you, darling.”

He flips open one of his
Boxes, counts to seventeen, and sighs.
Puts a cigarette between his lips.
Lights it. Counts to sixteen, and sighs.
Closes that box, and buys another.

“One third of what he says is nonsense, but
When you talk, he listens.” And
Love’s a vice, he can’t help but
Nourish. Hiding in fog, and
Drowning in his cheap whiskey.
Perfectly cornered, writing a poem about it.

Autumn Leaf and John (read by Eve Kerrigan)

Autumn Leaf
was born on an ashram
up north
on a piece of land her parents owned,

John
was a math guy
making Wall Street money,
they both lived in the city,
radiation levels were getting too high:
babies grew too big
in the womb,
often killing the mother,
leaving the children feeble
or worse
and vexing, Mendelian mutations
were occurring
to a variety of the citizens:
accountants were spawning
extra eyes,
extra hands
and did away with sleep cycles,
bicycle messengers were growing
longer legs,
strippers
had tails
stretching out of their tailbones.

Autumn Leaf had a tail,
John had an extra thumb on each hand.
They met and fell in love at a doctor’s office in midtown.

John had a thing for her tail:
the fucking was epic.

Autumn Leaf’s parents
allowed the two
a house on a plot of land,
the mutations hadn’t started up north,
but
away from the city
all their time piled up on one another,
their love distorted.

One day
after another dismal effort to be intimate,
John sat at his desk
wearing a green v-neck T-shirt
and white boxers
with watermelons printed on them
eating an apple,
looking over some old work papers,

Autumn Leaf walked up to John’s desk,
her tail twitching,
whipping back and forth,
she looked at John
and told him
she didn’t love him anymore,

the length of his tongue
flapped out of his mouth,
bits of apple
falling onto his desk,
his face turned bright red,
his eyes bulged –

he watched with his left eye
as the right eye
shot out of his head
into a corner,
the top of his skull
cracked open,

the explosion
splattering the
robin’s egg-blue walls of the room
with pieces of his hot brain.

I Dated a Weather Girl (read by Regan Lawler)

She could be seen
on channel
two twenty five
touching numbers,
pushing clouds
with her perfectly manicured hands
across America,

she got
prettier
the closer
she got,

men try to walk away
from their teevee screens
but as soon
as she got closer to their cities,
they’d catch fire,
their hands would be burning,
their hair
would go up in flames
for the weather girl from WPIX.

The Doctor, Part 1 (read by Bronwyn Knox)

I have always sought
my own
extreme
emotions,
threatening people,
often
with love,

asking if it means
enough
to you,
do you
trust me
enough,
if you’ll spread your legs long,
wide enough
for me to see
your liver,

I am breathing
heavily now –
not hard –
listening to the sound of my own breath,
following the
idiosyncrasies
of the air
passing
in and out,
the fear and fasting
turning the air
colder
on the way
in

waiting for the doctor
to reach up inside me.

The Doctor, Part 20 (read by Bronwyn Knox)

A call
from the right place
I suppose,
a long distance
motherfucker
jammed my signal,

shook me
with the words
“miracle doctor,”

with the words
“miracle cure,”

with the words,
“if you were my son
I’d fly you to
Las Cruces
tomorrow”

jolted
my fear,
made me check my
balance
and
pissed me
off.

Special thanks to Ciaran Cooper for providing me a copy of the tribute notes.

10896269_10204363936033512_223466179836031050_o

Podcast: “The Kung-Fu Grip”

star-wars-action-figure

This is the second part of my discussion with Colin Hall regarding action figures, toys and bits of nostalgia from our respective pasts. What’s interesting to me is that more value is placed in the packaging of the toy, or action figure, than what is contained within that package. In fact, I’ve read in certain circles, collectors purchase packaging without the toy inside. They enjoy the card-backs, the burst packaging, the transparent plastic, and the artwork.

While Colin’s collection would be worth well into the thousands, the figures without the packaging would be worth only a few bucks. Same goes for my Star Wars collectibles. This goes for all kinds of collectibles, except that when somebody purchases a comic book, there is no way to gauge the worth without a detailed inspection. The comic book would have to be placed in a sealable acid free backing and a plastic case after it has been authenticated and given a rating, from “mint” to “damaged”. Action figures (and packaging) are inspected with the same process.

Questions? Comments? blissville1870@gmail.com

Super Bowl Podcast: “This Is Why We Can’t Have Nice Things”

IMAG0139-for-BlissVille

A day later, and I still can’t believe that pass was intercepted with 20 seconds left on the clock. If it were caught, the Seahawks would’ve had a second Super Bowl victory in as many years. But, no! Instead we’ll have to hear more wisecracks about the Patriots cheating, and we’ll get a lot of New England fans throwing it our faces, but hey, I guess you can’t lose every Super Bowl, right? I keep wishing one of those dancing sharks in Katy Perry’s bizarre half-time show would jump right up and eat Tom Brady as he hoists that trophy in the air!

Let’s get past this. After the show, my friend, Colin Hall (despite going through intense tooth pain) joined me for an impromptu podcast. We speak a little bit about the Super Bowl and then we launch into our topic – those wacky mid-morning/afternoon talk shows – Steve Wilkos, Bill Cunningham and such. It made for an interesting debate, and we got to use my new microphones, thus making for a much easier post-production process.

Questions? Comments? blissville1870@gmail.com