Tuesday, May 22, 2018

Listen to My Father on a Radio Show

My father, Michael A. Nardolilli, works for the Montgomery Parks Foundation. Their major initiative these days is building a museum to tell the story of Josiah Henson, one of the real-life inspirations behind the novel Uncle Tom's Cabin. He recently talked about this project on the Kojo Nnamdi show (13 minutes in, under the episode title: How The Region’s Forgotten Slave Stories Are Being Rediscovered)

Wednesday, May 16, 2018

Updates for the Different and Indifferent

In this movie, Jeff Lynne of ELO tries to rescue Communism from Obama
Updates galore. I finished another novel. Number 28. This one is my longest. It was, in part, a form a therapy to deal with the Trump administration and the chaos and cruelty of the Republican Party. instead of having to slog through the hypernormality of the days' terrible headlines, I could escape to world full of indictments, impeachments, special elections, coups, civil wars, and revolutions. Ultimately it was an exercise in world-destroying as much as an exercise in world-building. If I had to reduce it to a simple elevator pitch: this novel asks the question, what would it take to build your perfect world, and once in it, could you truly live there?

Essentially it's Chapo Trap House meets Dr. Zhivago.

Some poetry has also been published since I last posted. Some of it was by me. Pleather Skin generously accepted several of my poems. I also had several accepted at Scarlet Leaf Review. Meanwhile there's a poem at Runcible Spoon and more up at Blood Sugar Poetry. Writing all this makes me feel like one of those comedians who host a podcast where they go through all their tour dates before getting on with the show.

Well there's no show here. This is the end of the post. Go in peace to love and serve the word.

Saturday, April 21, 2018

Trump's 2020 Campaign Poster

If let's Make America Great Again could be taken from Reagan:

Then his 2020 Campaign can steal from Lyndon LaRouche:

Tuesday, March 27, 2018

A Lost Devo Album Cover?

Or Proto-Devo? Would that make it Evo?
The above is an advertisement from John R. Brinkley. He was the original GOAT. One of America's most notable medical quacks, he was almost elected governor of Kansas in 1930. Brinkley's main business involved implanted goat testicles in patients in order to cure them of a variety of ailments (I hope that's not what he did to this poor kid). Hounded by the authorities, he fled to Mexico where he built a radio station to sell his healthcare services. To help drum up listeners, he played country and bluegrass music. He helped boost the career of the Carter Family, among others.

Thursday, March 8, 2018

A Poem in RAW That's Thoroughly Cooked

RAW Journal of the Arts has published a poem of mine in its first issue. It's about Brooklyn before I ever really knew Brooklyn, also when I was still obsessed with Ted Berrigan.

Wednesday, February 28, 2018

Saturday, February 10, 2018

Five Poems in Twenty Two Twenty Eight

Come one, come all, this time I've got a link stuffed with poems. Not twenty-eight poems in Five and Twenty-Two. Not twenty-five in in Twenty-Eight and Two. And certainly not twenty-two poems in Eighty-Five and Twenty. I have five (you can count them) in Twenty-Two Twenty-Eight, a DC and NYC based journal. 

Saturday, February 3, 2018

A Poem from the FBI

When we went after the Communists, it was okay,
Because they were Communists, after all

When we went after the Socialists, it was okay,
Because they were sort of like Communists, right?

When we went after the activists, it was okay,
Because they wanted to help the Reds

And when we went after the Blacks, it was okay,
Because they were all Red underneath

When we went after the anti-War types, it was okay
Because the wars were against Communists

When we went after the terrorists, it was okay
Because they were terrorists, it’s simple

(When we went after the kids in basements
Making bombs with instructions we gave them,
It was okay because they were terrorists too)

Then we went after the Anti-War types again
Because the wars were against terrorists

But look, now the President is going after us,
Come on patriots! Why aren’t you in the streets?

Monday, January 8, 2018

A New Year, A New Journal, A New Post

Exhibit 1: a Pangolin
A poem of mine in the first issue of the Pangolin Review. Read it and ring it the new year.

Monday, December 25, 2017

I Think the Name of this Journal Unlocks a Spell or Something...

If you look closely, it says "Anti-Bank"
...but I don't know. I never read Larry Putter and Horse Kicker's Kidney Stone. Anyway, I have two poems in Rosette Maleficarum. One uses pop-up ads as a conceit, the other uses the mysterious ways of high finance.

Monday, November 20, 2017

First Poem in First Literary Review East

A new poem, AM Variations, is in the First Literary Review East. You'll have to scroll to find it, or you can Control+F to save some time. I'll be thanking you all at Thanksgiving for reading!

Tuesday, October 31, 2017

Happy Halloween/Happy Birthday 95 Theses Charlie Brown!

In honor of this very momentous occasion, I present my Halloween Costume.  Here's a close-up:

I'm not sure if the 47th one will shock you. This person ranked the theses, you can see if you agree. It seems pretty shocking if you've already bought an indulgence. So far, I haven't had any trouble with this costume, just trying to move, drink, and dance with it on. Luckily I haven't run into anyone dressed as Ignatius J. Reilly.

Sunday, October 15, 2017

I Wrote a Spoof

To the tune of "I Pity the Poor Immigrant"

I pity the poor president
Who wishes he would've stayed home
Who uses all his power to do evil
But in the end is always left so alone
That man whose tiny fingers cheats
And who lies with every breath
Who passionately hates his wife
And likewise, loves immigrants’ death

I pity the poor president
Who does nothing but complain
Whose chief enemy is poor ratings
Whose tweets are insane
Who rules but is not satisfied
Who fears and is never free
Who goes to fight with truth itself
And breaks the law with glee

I pity the poor president
Who drags us through the mud
Who steals and golfs while laughing
And who covers other lands in blood
Whose rule in the final end
Must shatter like the glass
I pity the poor president
When our judgment comes to pass