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WWW.TONYNESCA.BLOGSPOT.COM
BRAND NEW BOOK BY TONY NESCA
STORIES AND POEMS ABOUT LOVE AND HATE-
PUBLISHED BY SCREAMIN' SKULL PRESS -
AVAILABLE DIRECTLY FROM THE PUBLISHER AT: [email protected]
OR RIGHT OFF THIS PAGE WITH PAYPAL AND/OR CREDIT CARD
AN EXCERPT:
DAY AT THE WELFARE OFFICE -
Goddamn wind tore at my skin like razor-sharp do-nothing smiles we stood in line at the welfare office January winter screaming down our necks all of us shuffling our feet shoulders bunched weak smiles in the morning night, yeah, morning night 7 AM dark sky cars racing by throwing mud and grease and shit in our direction that damn snow piled three feet high on either side of us sidewalk covered in ice man we was wondering, we was wondering, where in the holy all-mighty purpose did we fuck up so immensely ugly and pointless to end up here cuz the slow-easy-movement, the killing-field-assassins are all around us and the mojo gone distant baby, guy beside me lights smoke smiles I smile back he’s got beef-jerky hands shaking last night’s drunk off takes a bite of something warm,
“hey man” he offers me a bite,
“sure” I say “what the hell now, right?”
“ain’t nothing worse buddy, you okay?”
“I is alright baby"
“so what’s your story, where you live?”
“wherever..."
“alright man, alright…what you doing here then?”
“dying slowly, right?...like everyone else…"
“minus fucking 30 out here, you’d think those fucking jive assholes would let us in…lookit them, you can see them walking around in there!…OPEN A FUCKING DOOR FOR CHRIST’S SAKE!!!”...
...but man it was golden crisps and shit-stained wonder-babies, it was justice smiling grimly at the final sunrise, it was us hobos proudly defeated moving forward one more step, toothless love she all around we marched in there shit and snow and grime on our boots faces frozen in silent laughter nothing on our minds but the holiest of holies and my thoughts went back to my bed all toasty and heaven-warm and maybe a woman beside me thighs wrapped tightly around my head hot and juicy mine for the taking,
AND ANOTHER:
I closed my eyes and laid my head back and I saw my youth in Italy, living in the Italian alps and the green and brown and red as the bush and the blue sky mountain caps surrounded us the village down below peach trees in backyard, wow man, what the hell, what the hell? I remembered the old men playing cards on the front stoop of the coffee-bar at all times of the morning noon or night drinking wine and arguing and laughing and dying, I remembered the soccer games with my school buddies on Saturday afternoons mountain shadow hanging over us eventually ending up in a rock fight then our mothers having to patch us up after, I remembered my beautiful neighbor called Fiorenza young thing my age just turned 15 my puberty in full bloom and watching her suntan in her bikini-red backyard then going to the village swimming pool and watching those long fat thighs move one way then the other, and I remembered my great grandmother going for walks with me through the foothills and the woods just behind our villa all the bullshit stories I would tell her weaving one strand of crap with another as we laughed and enjoyed the sun, and my mother with her gentle and affectionate nature calling all us boys in for noon snack-time as we chomped down on the Nutella sandwiches, what a blast man, what an easy memory, nothing but do-nothing days and the mountain sunshine and Fiorenza’s bikini-red…..
…guy a few seats down started heaving and vomited all over the floor, beside him young black kid shakes the blue-morning shake, white middle-aged woman down the aisle opens her purse, mumbles, closes it, then repeats, then cries softly, damn it all anyway
BULLETPROOF SMILE
BY TONY NESCA
STORIES AND POEMS ABOUT LOVE AND HATE-
PUBLISHED BY SCREAMIN' SKULL PRESS -
WWW.TONYNESCA.BLOGSPOT.COM
THE POEMS ON THIS PROFILE ARE ALL FROM MY BOOK "BULLETPROOF SMILE"
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THE DO-NOTHING BOYS
and i got off the mat for one more round, one more roll in the hay,one last kiss before midnight,one last joust before the nuclear sunrise,the gods are screaming in rhythmand a horrible music fills the worldas our societies sink deeper into mediocrity,art becomes pretension, the masses rule the airwaves,film and literature turn ugly, music becomes monotone,the crystal-white memories of blue-thunder magicpassing slowly by raucous sex-talk in your windowsunburn alabaster machine-gun ending,all things fade born again whiskey-sour back alleyblow-jobs on her knees begging for more,early morning sex-buzz,love fades in the moonlight,Django plays the strings in the last-call reverie,boom boom and out go the lights,dishpigs run up the bar tab, musicians do the cock-walk ugly as always, that old sweet song on my mind the hours slumber by,with shadows we dance the endless slow-song caress, and the blue-morning dreaming,and the brutal long-hour sunset,and the virgin mind-fuck kiss me deadly,covered in these thoughts I smelled her perfumeand saw her across the back alley asshe led me in deeper and deeperthe tornado in my mind screamingtortured songsunwanted happiness…
THE DO-NOTHING BOYS BY TONY NESCA AND SCREAMIN' SKULL PRESS- NOW AVAILABLE THROUGH PAYPAL RIGHT OFF THIS PAGE AND BY SPECIAL ORDER AT LIBRARIES AND BOOKSTORES ACROSS THE WORLD
HERE'S THE INFO YOU NEED:
THE DO-NOTHING BOYS
BY TONY NESCA
ISBN NUMBER: 978-1-4357-0031-4
ALSO AVAILABLE AT A GREAT NEW SITE FOR INDIE WRITERS: http://www.indiebookshelf.com/indiecontent/tonynesca.html
OR DIRECTLY FROM THE PUBLISHER:
SCREAMIN' SKULL PRESS
[email protected]
FIRST REVIEW OF THE DO-NOTHING BOYS IS IN, HERE'S A BLURB:
...the ferocity of Nesca’s writing is indomitable and covers weaknesses with something that approaches indisputable glory. He is a poet writing prose and dealing with material that is so close to him that he often struggles to manage it objectively. It is raw honesty from one of life’s damaged angels and worth your attention...
AND ANOTHER
...The poetic sensibility is almost pure in this as in many other passages and the ruthless disregard of niceties (like individual sentences) lends a rhythm and flexibility achievable in no other way....
Reviewed by Bob Williams for The Compulsive Reader
A SHORT BURST FROM THE NOVEL:
"...So at around 11 or 12 bottles done acid trip coming down hard and sad we said goodbye on a school night and I watched my cousin walk out the door and I thought the world of him and us and everything that had contributed to this bizarre turn of events, two Italian boys born in Torino, Italy somehow ending up across the world in Canada dropping acid and wandering the streets of Fort Garry what a surreal experience, what an orgy-fest ordeal it all turned out to be, and the melancholy moment got me thinking about my mother and brother back in Italy and my broken family and my misguided adventures I sat there feeling the darkness and the aloneness and the ultimate undeniable truth, moonlight laughter is sad and lonely..."
Full review can be read right here:
http://www.compulsivereader.com/html/modules.php?name=News&a mp;file=article&sid=1807
The Do-Nothing Boys is a raucous tale of teenage rebellion recounting the exploits of a teenager named Ziggy, recently returned to Canada after a three year hiatus in his native country of Italy, and the group of friends that spontaneously gather around him. A result of parental divorce, he turns to sex, drugs and rock and roll and in the process discovers deep friendship, love, loss, disintegration, and the beautiful, sad and wondrous experience of living. Written in an incendiary white-light/white-heat stream of consciousness, the words cascade down the page in a free-flow waterfall of ideas and happenings, hallucinatory at moments with surreal jaunts of what Nesca himself calls “word music”, but never straying far from the downright gritty and street-tough prose, laced throughout with a constant sexual/erotic underpinning.
THREE SHORT BURSTS FROM THE DO-NOTHING BOYS
BURST ONE -
And we continued in that fashion under the barren trees rust-colored grass, couple of kids race by us, a dog barks in the distance, a mother screams out her son's name, '67 Firebird burns rubber right beside us bolts off in a cloud of smoke, three stoned chicks across the street laughing and singing looking lovely in their tight jeans and striped Adidas runners, Nazzie's wiry eyes looking at me with laughter and sadness at the same time talking all kinds of shit waving his hands driven by the manic early morning beer-buzz bounce in his step worn out fedora pulled tightly around his head, myself all sinew and energy and smoking-gun-happy, chicken joint at the end of my block bursting at the edges argument in the parking lot, Vincent Massey High across the street group of punk rockers on the front steps popping pills hurling insults at the sky, Bob Marley song pops into my head "No Woman, No Cry" as we linger on and on and on cross at the walkway start crawling along Pembina past the small apartment buildings, fast food joints, small parks, angry teenagers and the other kind, car horn rips into our reality there's Ross crazy bastard behind the wheel of the Great White pulls up right beside us halting traffic large smile on his panic-stricken face,
"GET IN MOTHERFUCKERS!"
We jumped in the back and the shark took off followed by the complaining car horns and curses and Ross opened the small window in the cab...
"WE LIVE IN AN ARTLESS SOCIETY!!"...
BURST TWO -
laughing like rabid dogs we finished the job and got the fuck out of there running down the street with three garbage bags full of marijuana each buds and leaves sticking out of the tops Nazzie's fedora flying off his head took both of us to restrain him from going after it, made it to Ross and the Great White and that fucker was passed out at the wheel we jumped in slamming doors swearing our heads off Ross lurched awake with that horror-look on his face, and we burned rubber out of there man wired and taut and frenzied explosions but within ten minutes driving down Pembina Highway we were laughing and sticking our faces in the green green grass and complimenting each other on a job well done and the world kinda tilted to one side and the sky turned crimson red then blue and purple as the sun reared its head and we paused amidst the vanishing fog and the hopeless teenage victories…
BURST THREE -
But it was a mellow night at back-alley-park that I was musing over…Ross and Joe talking in one corner about music and guitar players, Nazzie, Cindy, Brenda and Max sat on the grass in a semi-circle laughing about something, Brenda jumping up and down…me and Judy huddled against the fence on the other side of the park soft kisses in the sun-go-down beauty, my hand on her fat thighs plump and long and fleshy, we're smiling in each other's arms saying nothing just swaying in the summer breeze golden moments at dusk like these never forgotten thinking I could do that forever, thinking that life would never change and that change can go fuck itself, unwilling to accept the unavoidable ending of all things, the constant state of flux called life, the inevitable change that all things have to go through in order to achieve individuation, no, no way anyhow, not ever, I ran my fingers through the grass the leaves cool to my touch, Judy laid her head on my chest and closed her eyes, a siren echoed in the moonlight then faded, a sudden stillness came into the night where everything went quiet, or seemed to, I could feel Judy breathing on my chest and her heart beating slowly against me, happy moments at back-alley-park as the dusk settled in and we leaned forward and breathed in the moment…
THE DO-NOTHING BOYS -
cheers,
tony nesca
- http://WWW.LULU.COM/NESCA - FOR E-BOOK ORDERS AS WELL AS HARD COPY -
- ALSO AVAILABLE BY SPECIAL ORDER AT BOOKSTORES AND LIBRARIES ACROSS THE WORLD -
- copyright TONY NESCA -
- www.tonynesca.blogspot.com -
- www.editred.com/nesca -
Tony Nesca was born in Torino, Italy in 1965 and moved to Canada at the age of three. He was raised in Winnipeg but relocated back to Italy several times until finally settling in Winnipeg in 1980. He taught himself how to play guitar and formed an original rock band playing the local bars for several years. At the age of twenty-seven he traded his guitar for a Commodore 64 and started writing seriously. He has published six chapbooks of stories and poems (which he used to sell straight out of his knapsack at local dives and bookstores), five novels, a novella, a book of poetry and has been an active contributor to the underground lit scene for ten years, being published in innumerable magazines both online and in print. He currently writes a monthly article for Poetic Monthly and he resides in Winnipeg.
WORD MUSIC
deadly silence got me low-down-hungry
thinking about that hot-dog stand on the dismal corner
beside the old beggar hand extended 16 year old
virgin in hot-pants looking mad-bad-dangerous crimson
fireball streaking across the sky middle-aged hooker
front tooth missing she beckoning my weary ass
one I love absent in world-gone-hungry
Dixieland trio singing happy songs amidst angry
downtown laughter low-down drug-mood feeding me blue
music pornography rattling my brains wrap your
lips around me back-alley broken hearts
whiskey bottle-shards hitting the off-keys feel
that fucked-up saxophone tickling your ribs
atom-bomb-luvly feed me sin-soaked dead flowers
on my grave warm kisses moonlight smiles
her distant touch,
her long-dead-musings,
her love-gone-missing,
her hips arching in the afternoon lust-dance,
and your blue velvet beauty grinding away from me in
the gutter-love sunlight…
MUTED LOVE SYMPHONY IN THE BIG EASY DRIZZLE
empty pen on table
concrete walls in my body
bearded man blows the saxophone
politician says alright slickster
head feeling down-low
world news grim
purple moonshine out the window
I watch the timewheel rotation moving easy
henry miller he got some wild ass cockroach-sexy
he smilin’ like satchmo in the big easy drizzle
I smilin’ like ella she giving me sweet ass
one I love misbehavin’ cuz it’s me and my radio
world singing the muted-love-symphony
it’s rain on your sunshine
it’s no idea in the urban indifference
it’s love in dark corners
it’s angry-jack in the wildman blues song
it’s me and you holding hands in the forever-happy
unforgiving celebration…
LOOKING AT YOU IN THE BUSY RAIN
No chance in the easy rain
your smile makes me slick young and hungry
your hips like moonlight-serenade on the hazy
cobblestone
my eyes resting gently
resting gently on your unexpected discovery…
JENNIE SQUEEZING TIGHT
jennie sweet-music blue eyes
got thing for mike he easy gliding downtown hustle
leans back lights cigarette
still satisfied he says,
jennie sweet sex running
spreads her legs to the a.m. music
too damn stoned for you
and for your techno bullshit
driving mike insane he getting busted
smoking pot on the downtown streets,
jennie dancing sweet-water-pools sex-romp
spreads her legs to the a.m. silence
still satisfied she smiles
mike grinning moves forward
jennie squeezing tight legs wrapped around the
sleepless music…
Tony Nesca
a href="http://www.msplinks.com/MDFodHRwOi8vcGhvdG9idWNrZXQuY2 9t" target="_blank">p>LIKE SUGARCANE SWEET
take me back when naked thinking
not so easy,
when brown-green eyes would smile at me,
first thing in the morning gray shadows in corner
sunlight coming through in thin stripes
she used to smile
her eyes brown-green in the dim sunlight
IF YOU WANT BLOOD, YOU GOT IT
band cranking the electric crazy
guitar so wild me thinking luv death sugar-lies
girl she so sexy lips wet and wanting
bass player shaking his thing punk-rock luvly
smoke filled room strobe light blindness
feel the fuzz-box madly
see the never-ending laughter
long-gone-hooker dancing at the end of the world
cobra-smile-pimp he sly and deadly
knife fight dark corner celebration
pinball machine lights out mohawk kid slumped over
me feeling nasty and mean without your love
and I say,
world flushing itself down the toilet
atom bomb madness just a kiss away
gunfight at the liquor store,
give it to me hard sweet pain electrocution
cuz
if you want blood man,
you got it…
"About a Girl started off as an exercise to deal with writer's block...it was a novel called Emma Strunk i was working on...completely blocked, blurry vision, reaching down deep and finding nothing man, a nightmare, truly...so i started writing about this young woman i met at a bus-stop, just a purely arbitrary memory, and the damn thing took off on its own, all i could do was follow...it had me firmly by the throat, accelerated writing, slow easy days surrounded by that blue-dizzy smoke and the sound of ice cubes at the bottom of my Rye and 7, and two months later, there it was man, there it was...so enjoy this silent scream from the frozen city, and laugh loud and distant..."
Tony Nesca
Summer, 2007
Winnipeg, Canada
"...ALL SENSES ARE SATISFIED WHEN READING THIS PIECE..."
SARA CALNEK - THE PROJECTOR
THE BEAUTIFUL, WANDERING FLOW
"About a girl" is a book that will waft the stench of smoke and liquor right up your nostrils and leave you begging for more. It is so vivid, so real, that the true sense of a dingy downtown bar will invade your inner soul. "About a girl" will transport you into the world of a pub crawl that begins in the early afternoon and ends when the bouncer shoves you out the door. The book is about two strangers, a man and a woman, who meet at a bus-stop. The story is told in the first person from a point of view of the man who describes their journey from one downtown Winnipeg bar to the next and all the fascinating characters they meet along the way. By the end, your heart bleeds rock-rhythim guitar and you feel an overwhelming urge to stop for a drink at the nearest bar. Written in spontaneous prose with sentences that go on for pages the book flows beautifully, free, rebellious and alive. The book reads like random thoughts - all thoughts, even the wicked - frantically scribbled onto the page, not one tiny detail overlooked. All of the senses are satisfied when reading this piece. This is a raunchy read, laced with profanities - exactly the language you would hear at any licensed establishment. All in all, this book is an insightful view into a life of free spirits who live day-to-day and love every minute of it. It provides the reader with inspiring and uplifting thoughts combined with an urge to spark up a conversation with a stranger over a drink or two or three...
SARA CALNEK - THE PROJECTOR
About a girl
“About a girl” is a short novel that begins with two strangers, a man and a woman, who meet at a bus-stop and go on an impromptu bar-crawl on a cool, winter day. Taking place in twelve hours it recounts the oddball, hardcore, characters they meet and their increasing emotional connection as they fall for each other almost immediately. Infused with sexual energy, pop-culture references, intellectual debate and literary allusions this is an unapologetic, uncensored look at our society through the eyes of the outsider. It is written in a free-flow, spontaneous style with long unhindered sentences that enable the reader’s eye to glide down the page as the story flows and moves to an urban beat of strippers, punk rockers and nightlife happenings.
"There is a constant poetic tone and musical sense in About a Girl. There are also some shrewd observations of great penetration."..."Nesca brings a largely unpunctuated and lyric flow of observation and thought. There is no plot in the accepted sense of the term although there is a progression in the relationship of the narrator and the young woman who ends up in the narrator’s apartment. In place of plot we have a studiedly precise description of a gritty life-style. It is a sufficient answer to pretensions and falsity in the dominant culture, sick with its material glut and fast food ethics. Through the narrator’s reflections we accumulate an unusually exact understanding of his aims and character. His life is not pretty and he may waver and wobble but he is grounded in honesty. He waves illusion away and sees life with a directness and acceptance that is refreshing and, rightly apprehended, renewing."
BOB WILLIAMS - THE COMPULSIVE READER -
"The musical background is a strong influence in Nesca’s poetry. In the present collection there are references to Stan Getz, Billie Holliday, and Count Basie as well as to more current groups...."..." Tony Nesca is original and in the best sense tuneful...The musical influence is also apparent in the elision of superfluous words and in the multiply hyphenated words that slip and slide around precise meanings...."
BOB WILLIAMS - THE COMPULSIVE READER -
La Gioconda is a novella from underground writer Tony Nesca, a boozy, rock and roll love story about a Canadian college student who meets a beautiful young exchange student from France, and their unexpected immediate connection as they're surrounded by a whirlwind of marijuana sex-jaunts and live-band, late-night drunk loving. Both sad and beautiful, desperate and raunchy, and jam-packed with humour, La Gioconda is written in Nesca's unique free-flow-lyric, with words, ideas and sentences that go on for pages, alive and beautiful and unfettered by conventional modes of writings...
"The flow is stream of consciousness reminiscent of Kerouac or Ferlinghetti (they of the beat generation) or of Patti Smith, resembling speed rap here and there throughout...It is immediate. Loss and longing recur as themes throughout. Everything is tinged with realistic sadness. This is not the rarefied or removed world of some elite rock star but a life we have all experienced at least at some point in our youth, whether we remember it correctly or not"....
- BRIAN FERGUSON - RESIDENT WINNIPEG GENIUS - A PAL
"Emma Strunk" is a novel-in-verse about a group of downtown, core-area dwellers taking place in the fictional town of peg zero, and the lives they lead through addiction, wandering, love and sex. From Laura the goth crack-head, to Reggie the Barbados immigrant turned small time criminal, to the drug dealing Bob and many others, Emma Strunk takes you through an uncensored, desperate, emotional, humorous, gut-wrenching and sometimes surreal wild trip of late-night-ghetto-living, and the struggles and small triumphs that ensue. Written in free-form verse, or poetry if you like, Emma Strunk is a singular and important work from the pen of underground writer Tony Nesca.
"This is an approach that has peculiar qualities. It never becomes poetry of the quotable and pretty sort but it avoids the pitfalls of a prose that needs connective tissue that is simply functional. It is not conventional narrative but it has an extraordinary fluency..."
BOB WILLIAMS - THE COMPULSIVE READER -
"Dishpig" is an experimental approach to writing. Written in five weeks, spontaneously in free-form, uncorrected and untouched from exactly the way the word was originally laid down, this is a first draft where sentences go on for pages, undisciplined and full of vitality, exuberance and sexuality. It chronicles the bawdy adventures of a dishwasher/unpublished writer as he tries to make sense of what it means to be alive. From the fifteen year old Brazilian Maria, to the young, beautiful, wayward Betsy, to the protagonist, Tony, cynical but full of life, Dishpig takes you through the streets and bars of urban Winnipeg and the trendy strips of little Italy. With a keen sense of confused insight and humor, the language whips through a landscape of lost dreams and oddball characters, serious at moments, downright grim at others, but never collapsing to the point of complete defeat. It’s a rush of vitality. It's a sense of living. There hasn't been a book like this in quite some time...
- "Dishpig reads like a stream of consiousness that denounces materialism and success as frivolous and unimportant..."..."His critique of our generation burns like whiskey, but his humor is as fresh as the grass banks of the river that he lies upon, watching the days pass by..."
- LANCE MCKINLEY - A FAN -
FULL REVIEWS AND ALTERNATE ORDERING METHODS AVAILABLE AT:
www.tonynesca.blogspot.com ---
www.editred.com/nesca ---
www.lulu.com/nesca ---(TO ORDER BOTH HARD COPIES AND E-BOOKS) -
Books can also be ordered by cash or M.O. from Screamin' Skull Press
Contact [email protected]
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