intro

• hello lovelies
• wow, this is fantastic — a sold out night at the AMSS
• what a beautiful sight — I want to preserve this moment — allow me
hold up the cell phone
• maybe this is a bit non-consensual, my apology —
• if you are wanted by the cops, owe thugs money, shy, whatever —
• just cover your face with your hands

begin video pan over the audience

dialog while shooting
• mmmmmm — a full house indeed
• full of old friends, full of new friends, full of people about to find out how full of shit I am

complete video
• there, thank you, now I have my momento —
• and I believe I've sent a signal that tonight is all about me

• well, it’s not exactly all about me — it’s also about the AMSS
• show of hands, please, how many of you are at the AMSS for the first time?
• yup, lots — well, I hope it won’t be your last — cuz this place ought to be on your arts radar

• I’m tellin’ you, great stuff happens here
• shows are authentic & unpredicable
• regular people pour out their hearts here

• sometimes regular people demonstrate incredible storytelling & poetry chops
• sometimes not —
• disasters & train wrecks happen here
• I know, I’ve been responsible for a few

• AMSS open mics nights are available to anyone with the nerve to get on this little stage
• you could experience your own train wreck —
• it’s oddly therapeutic, I think
• I’d even help by heckling you — therapeutically, of course

• no — I can't even kid about that — that’s against the rules

• which brings me to the rules
• there’s lotsa rules tonight

• first & foremost, no heckling — we’ve established that — I’ll go off on you if you do
scoldy finger
• no throwing shit at the stage, aside from panties which are acceptable — clean ones are preferred

• this rule is important — like my mom used to say before long car trips — if you have to pee, do it now
• once this show is on the road, there’s no stopping until the journey is over or we crash

• popcorn is free tonight — & there’s rules about popcorn too
• if you want some, you gotta get it now —
• just raise your hand & popcorn will be delivered to you
• in fact, delivered by one of the finest emerging poets in the twin cities — mr. jon carlson

• look, mr. carlson even let me dress him up a bit like a cigarette girl
gesture to jon — with popcorn rig
• jon, be a dear and bring me a bag, would you?

nibble, then stash popcorn & grab flask
• if you need something to wash down your popcorn, water & sodas are available for a buck
• raise your hand to put in your drink order — christine, our hostess & bartender, will set you up
• have a dollar ready — exact change only, please

• If you want something stronger than water or soda — you’re shit out of luck
• unless — you planned ahead, like I always do, & snuck in your own liquor
• if you have done so, please be discrete — cuz that’s against the rules too
hit off flask

biz
during popcorn delivery

• ok, popcorn delivery is going on
• and I swear, I’ll get to tonight’s meat & taters soon, but, a wee bit of business first

• in late february, there's a show that I strongly encourage you to come back for
flash posters
• good medicine is the show’s title & the full cast is here tonight
— Janna, Christopher, Sufian — please stand up and take a bow
• c’mon friends, show a little love for — Janna, Christopher, Sufian —
• they’re real artists — and I guarantee, they will slay at the good medicine show
• trust me — come back in february — details & tickets are on the AMSS website
• take a flyer on your way out — there's a stack on christine's desk
flash flyer

• finally, you can hear christopher perform tomorrow at the ice shanty event on lake harriet
• christopher, what are the details? (start time, number of shows, etc.)
christopher updates the crowd

3d preface

• ok, is everybody set — got your popcorn? bevies? emptied your bladder?

• tonight we’ll kickoff with a drug story
• as we all know, there are many heartbreaking and horrible drug stories
• this is not one of them

drugs

bump off of flask
• a sip of courage — here we go —

• I moved to minneapolis a whopping 40 years ago!
• codgers like me refer to that time, the mid-80s, as a golden era
• it was pretty fucking golden
• the minneapolis sound, as it was called, was in full swing
• jimmy jam & terry lewis were producing monster hits
• morris day & the time were gigging at first ave
• prince still played occasional pop-up shows in the ave —
— right, darling? — single out julie — my beautiful wife has a helluva a prince story from back in the day
— you'll have to hear it another time — cuz tonight it's all about me

• in the 80s, I was more punk than funk — I’d come to minneapolis for the replacements & husker du
• in 85, both bands played loads of shows in 1st ave’s main room & the 7th street entry
• and both bands drank heavily at the CC club — such was the rootsy rock scene

• there were so many local bands to love — and I want to drop a long list of them on you as tribute
• but I won’t — instead, I’ll give you your first assignment — use the google box & search mpls 80s music
• you’ll see — it was golden

• 1st ave & the entry were the epicenter of this scene
• they were magnificent dumps
• in the entry, bands shared a single bathroom with the audience
• back then, my favorite graffiti in the city was at eye level over the urinal in the entry bathroom
• it read simply “your band sucks”
• a fine minneapolis punk-rock welcome to all the touring bands that played that room

• the dumpiest features of 1st ave’s main room were the dust stalactites
• back in the day, you could smoke in the club & decades of smoke resin —
• held long, dangly clumps of dust together, forming gooey dust stalactites on the ceiling — so nasty

• cigarette smoking in the main room made a great cover for pot smoking
• the trick was, don’t hang around in one spot too long
• take your hit of pot, exhale amongst the cigarette smokers, & move on to another spot

• one time, I was about to light up a pinched-out joint that I’d started in the parking lot before the show
• a reggae band was playing that night in the main room
• at reggae shows, you hardly needed to hide pot smoking

• somebody bumped into me and I dropped my joint
• I reached down in the dark and lo and behold, found the joint right away
• I lit up, had a hit or two, & felt way higher than expected — I chalked this up to the show and the vibe
• then, at the end of the night, I was in the same spot when the house lights came up
• there on the floor was my pinched out joint
• apparently I’d found someone else’s half-smoked joint — & it was much stronger than mine

• the real gold in this golden era at first avenue were comp tickets — I’ll explain
• the manager of the club at this time was steve mcClellen
• I don’t think his contribution to minneapolis music can be overstated
• he was a great supporter of local bands
• he was a curmudgeon — but famously fair & honest — perhaps a rarity amongst rock-club operators
• and he was a man after my own heart when it came to booking bands on artistic merit not popularity
• lots of great shows that he booked would not sell out — hence, comp tickets —
• comps were free tickets meant to fill up the club — so money could be made at the bar if not at the door

• I sometimes scooped up comps that were stacked on the counter at muddy waters at 24th & lyndale
• there, I’d be waiting for my espresso — & I’d rifle through the stack
gesture flipping throught the tickets
• ok, meh, fantastic — ok, meh, fantastic

• what’s more, first ave staff would hand out comps when you left shows
• sometimes, comp trading took place at the end of a night on the sidewalk outside the club
gesture — holding up & waiving tickets to trade
• hey everybody I’ll swap indie rock for reggae or afropop

• it was a golden time indeed —
• I came to mpls for music & found it in spades
• but I never expected that I would see so many shows for free — or be able to smoke as much pot as I did

• those days are long gone — nowadays, you gotta take out a second mortgage to afford shows
• and you have to pass through metal detectors at the door
• you can’t even sneak in a flask let alone spark up a joint on the dance floor

• thank god for affordable venues like the AMSS — where sneaky bastards like me can break the rules
turn back to audience & have a flask bump

• it was back in the golden days that I met my buddy bonnie
• she was minneapolis rock royalty
• she was steve mcClellen’s friend & a regular at ave & entry shows
• bonnie knew all the boys in the bands — girls too — shout out to the clams & babes in toyland
• she dated some of the band boys — was engaged to a few — & she married one
• her hubby’s band, soul asylum, did very well — as I suspect a number of you know
• credit where credit is due, soul asylum is a source of civic pride right alongside the matts & husker du
• a brief aside — my favorite soul asylum show was when they filled in for t.s.o.l., a hardcore band that had cancelled
• that night at the ave, soul asylum played their songs twice as hard & fast — & won over the hostile t.s.o.l. fans

• in truth, I was never a real rock scenster — but, through bonnie, I was, perhaps, a fringe scenster
• this much is sure — thanks to bonnie, I enjoyed even more free shows and rock-band parties

• of course, marriages sometimes end badly — my first one sure did
• bonnie’s first too — maybe this was to be expected in her rock & roll world
• so bonnie began dating again — musicians of course
• & she’d set sights on an irish bassist who once played in the scottish band, the waterboys
• she knew him through 1st ave & soul-asylum circles

• the waterboys were quite a thing in the mid 80s — their song "whole of the moon" is great
• your second assignment — search youtube for the waterboys “whole of the moon”
• have a listen — and you’re welcome

• when I encountered the waterboy, he was playing with sharon shannon’s band
• sharon shannon is a terrific irish accordionist & fiddle player — an important figure in irish music
• she & her band were playing at the cedar cultural center
• bonnie had done her homework — she knew sharon’s band was staying in minneapolis over night
• so bonnie planned on catching the show — connecting with the waterboy — & seducing him

• bonnie wanted a companion for evening — & I believe she carefully considered that her companion:
— should not be a woman — especially a hottie who might distract the waterboy
— should not be a handsome straight man — who might seem a potential rival to the waterboy
— bonnie figured, I think, that the best companion would be a queer man or queer-passable man
— so I got the call since I can pass
• we arranged to meet at the 400 bar, just down the street from the cedar, before the show

• bonnie was first at the 400 — she had a table & a whiskey waiting for me — a true friend
• she laid out the plan — we’d catch the show — after the show, we’d hang with band in the dressing room
• she’d invite the waterboy for a post-show drink elsewhere
• she’d sweeten the invitation with cocaine —
• something hardly needed to do since she was an accomplished seductress
• all I had to do was stick around until a scram-signal was given —
• a wink, a nod, a whispered “time for you to go”

• we clinked our glasses to the plan — then, bonnie slid a packet across the 400-bar table
• a little treat for my participation
• it was a folded paper packet —
gesture — folding
• cocaine origami — she said “that’s a single serving”

• I scooped it up — dashed off to the boy’s-room — unfolded the packet & snarfed it up
• then, I returned to the table — cocaine spring in my step —
• feeling on top of the world — looking down on creation
• then, bonnie & I polished our drinks & walked down the street to the cedar

• the sharon shannon band was terrific
• after the show, bonnie’s connections got us right into the dressing room
• sharon & her band were buoyant after their fine show — & a lot of fun to be around
• they were delightful, whiskey drinking, pot smokers — my people

• in no time at all, the waterboy accepted bonnie’s invitation for a drink elsewhere
• I was ready to scram — but bonnie hadn’t yet given the sign
• instead, she suggested I join them for a drink
• so we set off in separate cars to bunkers on north washington
• at bunkers, we bellied up to the bar — bonnie in the middle — the waterboy and I on either side
• the lovely evening continued — the waterboy was very cool — drinks & conversation flowed nicely
• but it was becoming clear that bonnie’s flirting was working

• finally, she gives me the scram signal — & she slid another coke origami packet down the bar
• this was my send off & I scooped it up eagerly
• off to bunker’s boy’s room & into a stall I went
• I unfolded the packet, took a look, & thought — hmmm, this seems like a lot

• but I didn’t know — I was never really a coke guy — at the 400, I was given a single serving
• so I had it, snarfing it all up — it was a bit of work — I probably sounded like a pig in that stall
mock snorting & make snorty sounds
• I came out of that stall and saw myself in the mirror — man, I looked like I’d gone down on a powdered donut
• so I cleaned up & bounced back to the bar — to polish my drink & say good bye

• as I’m taking my last whiskey swigs at the bar, bonnie turns to me & whispers “do you have the rest of that?”
pause, make a facial expression denoting horror
• fuuuuck, this is a major buzz-kill moment

• bonnie can’t believe what I’ve done
• I have to repeatedly convince her that I wasn’t joking
• I’d snorted her entire evening’s stash — I was royally fucking up the plan
• the waterboy was confused — bonnie was calmy furious — I was fucked

• so bonnie kicked into damage-control mode
• she hopped off her stool to search bunkers for “a guy”
• coked & uncomfortable, I made awkward, twitchy, small talk with the waterboy — an empty bar stool between us
• thankfully, bonnie succeeded quickly — she found a guy who could replenish the stash

• then, bonnie pointed out the ATM machine — & I understood that this would be an expensive night
• finally, with bonnie paid off, I made my exit —
• with a jittery, clumsy, handshake with the waterboy — & a tepid hug goodbye from bonnie

• oh the glamour of cocaine that night —
• I found myself alone, outside of bunkers
• it was late — all the bars were closing — I had no after party to go to
• all I could do was head home — and tip toe in so as not to disturb my sleeping wife —
• who surely wouldn’t appreciate a super jacked hubby with no drugs to share

• I squandered that massive buzz — but at least I used my energy wisely
• like a good tweaker, I quietly scrubbed every inch of my already OCD surgically-clean kitchen

debauchery

flask bump
• courage for what's next...

• in the late 90s & early aughts my musical tastes shifted
• dance music & electronica replaced punk & rock as my primary listening
• this changed the clubs I hung out in
• I started spending less time at 1st ave & more time at the saloon & ground zero
• at ground zero I made a new buddy — my dear friend lady diane
• lady diane was often at ground zero’s bondage a go-go night
• she was typically dressed in pink & shaking her ass on the dance floor to
the industrial music that was the bondage-night soundtrack —
n.i.n, prodigy, white zombie — that sort of thing

• at this time — through bonnie & my old rock & roll connections —
• I had access to a warehouse space
• & after a night of dancing, & over breakfast at the old ruby’s cafe on loring park,
• lady diane and I hatched a plan to throw a party at the warehouse —
• we’d base our party on ground zero’s bondage a go-go
• but we’d be bound (so to speak) by fewer rules

• our night would be a kink play-party meets underground-dance-extravaganza
• we branded our effort “vagabondage” — & so began my days as a party impressario

• diane & I leveraged our connections
• I had dj friends & access to sound & light gear
• diane was friends with “the missies” & had connections for all-together different gear

• “the missies” as I called them — heaven help me, that’s so impertinent — were professional dominatrixes
• they were fascinating, remarkable women
• if you don’t know, I’ll tell you, theirs was not sex work — it was fantasy — it was power exchange
• they had mad, exotic skills
• & they had personalities as enormous as their wardrobes
• they also had loads of kink equipment, some of which regularly appeared at vagabondage parties

• diane occupied a place in that world — like bonnie did in the music world — she hobnobbed with the stars
• once again I was a fringe scenster — but a really ambitious one

• by ambitious I mean, I hustled to make vagabondage parties successful
• I had dj’s to pay — occasionally, a band to pay — rental truck fees — flyers to print — all sorts of expenses
• I didn’t need to make money, but I couldn’t take a bath on these things either
• so, with diane’s introductions, I cozied up to local kink clubs — to hawk vagabondage events & sell tickets
• I quickly became a gadabout in the kink scene — an ambitious fringe scenster

• thanks to crew & community, the vagabondage parties were a smash success
• many parties followed our first &, ultimately, I found myself back at 1st ave dealing with steve mcClellen
• I teamed up with the glam/goth/trans band, all the pretty horses
• venus, the horse’s founder, had organized a series of shows with bands in the main room —
• "savage garden," I think she called it
• on those nights, the vagabondage crew was in the VIP lounge — with our series that we called "erotogenic"
• the VIP lounge was a 7th-st-entry-sized space upstairs in the main room — it’s been closed for years

• on one of those nights, mcClellen called me into his office
• I thought I was going to get shut down cuz our event was too freaky
• insead, mcClellen offered vagabondage a monthly show
• he said he was impressed with our crew & the crowds we drew —
• man, I consider that a huge badge of honor

• recently, as I thought about these times, I dug into old momentos & found something I’m proud of
• allow me to share
read erotogenic 3 review in 2002 lavender — steve linius
• I’ll pat myself on the back for arranging these gigs, but my crew were the stars of these shindigs
• take a look at this —
check out the eroto 3 flyer — original
•  this flyer is roughly 24 years old — I knew it would be too small for you to see, so I blew it up
show front side blow up — read the event tagline
•  a pansexual celebration of kink
show the back side blow up — read the crew details & dress code
• sure sounds like a wicked good event to me
• I wonder if current promoters can get away with the shit we did?

• during this time, I made new friends with loads of crazy people — none crazier than madame C
• madame C (god rest her soul) was a pro dominatrix from germany
• straight out of central casting with her look and her accent — is there a better accent in her profession?
• she was connected through work and friendship with the other “missies”
• she was part of the tribe — & a key player in a number of vagabondage events

• madame C seemed to really appreciate the friendship & collaboration between lady diane & me
• eventually, she suggested that lady diane & I do a scene with her
• she said she wanted to test our friendship
• she wanted to see how we relied on each other, how we would support each other
• of course we agreed — & after a little negotiation, we chose a date & venue

• the venue was a dungeon in st. paul, where another kink club was throwing a party
• here’s a trigger warning: self aggrandizing will follow
• I believe it’s true, when madame C, lady diane & I rolled in, dressed to kill, there was a buzz at the party
• the vagabondage crew was in the house with a pro dom — who knew what was going to happen?
• some party attendees gathered round to observe

• now consider stepping out of your comfort zone — something we all ought to do from time to time
• well, this night was a big fucking step

• madame C had lady diane & I strip — something I didn't hesitate to do back in my amphetamine-skinny days
• lady diane & I faced each other — legs spaced slightly apart — we stood close, our chests touching
• with rope, madame C bound our ankles — & we became a bit unstable
• lady diane & I embraced around our waists — madame C bound our wrists behind each other’s backs
• we became more unstable

• now, I’ll tell you with no trigger warning, lady diane had a dick —
• & it was pierced, same as mine used to be
• madame C knew this — & she produced a tiny padlock
• she locked lady diane & me together by our piecings

• whoa — now we understood the point of the scene — we really would have to rely on each other
• we would have to support each other — quite literally
• I don’t think I need to explain how awful falling with padlocked dicks would be

• then madame C produced her single tail — a ferocious whip that should not be used by an amateur
• well, madame C was no amateur — she was an expert
• and her intention was not brutality — it was psychology

• most of her whip strikes exploded with snaps over our shoulders — the sound alone testing diane & me
• some strikes of the whip fell so close to our bodies that just a puff of air was felt — but no pain
• a few strikes landed — like the sting of a fucking murder hornet
• that was all that was needed to keep diane & me on our toes
• and we surely needed to remain on our toes

• lady diane & I succeeded — we did not loose our balance
• we relied & supported each other — & ended the scene with our dicks intact —
• madame C released us from our bondage — she was pleased with our performance
• our reward — madame C allowed us to (heavily accented) vership her boots, ja

• & so I found myself on my knees — hands around the ankle of a german dominatrix
• diane in the same position, gripping madame C’s other ankle
• we kissed & tongued the lower portion of madame C’s patent leather, thigh-highs
• my tidy tendencies compel me to tell you — her boots were as immaculately clean as a cocaine-scrubbed kitchen
• what’s good for the boot is good for the kitchen, I suppose

• then, madame C said (heavily accented) — und now, my darlings, you may vership my quadriceps
pause for effect
• fucking panic washed over me
• I didn’t know what a quadricep was — apparently neither did lady diane

• what a sight
• I’m peering over the shiny ankle of a german dominatrix
• my friend peers back at me from beyond the other shiny ankle
• we look into each others faces — befuddled — & mouth the word “quadricep”(?)

• miracle of miracles, we guessed correctly & found our way up the thigh highs to the quadriceps
• & I knew then — madame C had schooled us brilliantly
• lady diane & I learned that we really could support each other — under really strange fucking circumstances

• and we learned where the quadriceps are

deliverance

• now the show is going to get really weird —
• maybe from this point, less story & more manifesto

flask bump
• performers prerogative

• before checkered adulthood, I was a good catholic boy
• now, aside from weddings & funerals, I haven’t darkened a church door in 40 years
• yet I still, I remember this — may I be spared the lightening bolt —
recite the lord’s prayer
• pause / hmmm — what evil, exactly, are we to be delivered from?

• I even remember this zinger
recite the act of contrition
• pause / hmmm — who defines sin — what are these near occasions?

• I’ve done my share of soul searching wondering —
• am I’m a sinner — do I need deliverance from my sins?

• on one shoulder, the voice of catholic guilt whispers in my ear
— “for fuck’s sake, peter, get your ass to confession right away” —
• on the other shoulder, the voice of a thrill seeker whispers
— “lighten up, peter, hedonism aint necessarily evil” —
— "your shenanigans only damaged your own brain cells and liver” —

• I suppose, the truth is somewhere in the middle
• I do wonder how my patron saint Peter will weigh in — if he’s real and waiting at the pearly gates
• as you now know, my rap sheet is pretty long

• well, maybe I’m a champ at rationalization
• but I believe I can absolve myself of my indulgences so long as I stick to the core principles
• don’t lie, don’t cheat, don’t hurt people
• do unto others as you’d have them do unto you
• remember, whatsoever you do to the least of God’s brothers, that you do unto him

• apparently, that approach is out of vogue
• each day, in the news, we read about real sinners — they lie, cheat, and hurt people
• they do unto others as they damn well please
• they don’t give a fuck about the least of God’s brothers

• deliver us all from these evil bastards —
• deliver the world from the orange motherfucker

• but how are we to be delivered?
• I don’t expect a second coming

• I think the lord helps those who help themselves

• and, I think we’ll best help ourselves by chipping away at the wall that now divides our nation
• for example, suppose that your MAGA neighbor is also the guy who plows your drive way when the blizzard comes
• or maybe his wife — surely, she’s the one in the kitchen — shows up with a casserole when she knows you’re not feeling well
• could we possibly see some goodness in them and cut them a little slack?

• this is a tall order, I know
• I, myself, am the kinda guy who wants to scream at them:
— fuck you, psuedo christians — jesus didn’t teach us to hate — jesus hung out with lepers & hookers
— fuck you, rednecks, you don’t need a machine gun to hunt a deer — maybe, stop hunting deers
— farmers, why do you vote against the immigrants who harvest your crops?
— poor white folks, don’t you know you’re the first to suffer when the safety net gets shredded?

• but that scolding only makes me feel better
• it won’t help us get out of our pickle
• shouting isn’t persuasion — and everyone digs in their heels when the judging begins

• that biblical dude, Mathew, wrote — judge not lest ye be judged
• right on Matt — that kind of gets me off the hook —
— judge not the whiskey swilling, pot smoking, coke snorter — for he inherited a fucked up hang over
— judge not the kinky hedonist — for his indulgences only hurt his own ass

• of course, Mathew expects a two-way street — I suppose, we must do our part
— judge not the fox propoganda victim — for he as been duped by a divisive line of shit
— judge not the bitter rust-belter — for his job at the plant vanished and he looks for someone to blame

• yikes — all of this nonsense may have you worried that I’ve taken
to listening mostly to the little christian voice on my shoulder
• truthfully, I never stopped listening to that voice

• but, as always, I listen more to the thrill seeker on the other shoulder
• and as I prepared for tonight, that voice whispered something remarkable to me
• the voice said — "pssst, Peter — Jesus is all well and good, but, remember the lesson madame C taught you

• bing — that’s my sound of my epiphany —
• to best persaude my fellow americans, all I have to do is imagine — my dick is padlocked to them
• after all, as a nation — we must rely on each other — we must support each other
• it’s just like my scene with lady diane — except, I loved lady diane and I sort of hate most americans

• but I can’t remain filled with hate — I must deliver myself from a hateful state
• and the lord heps those who help themselves

• so here comes the kumbaya moment and your final assignment of the night
• the next time you want to slap a MAGA imbecile —
• pause, take a deep breath — and imagine your dick is padlocked to them
• if you don’t have a dick, just imagine any body part you don’t want torn off

• is this going to fix things — of course not —
• it’ll take generations to repair the damage that’s been done
• but we’re teetering and we can’t fall
• and, I'm just suggesting a step towards civility —
• for me, it’s a hate reducer — a little bit of personal deliverance
• and remember the rules, tonight, it’s all about me

• so c’mon, let’s all get onboard the deliverance train
• let’s do our own evangelizing — let's spread the gospel of the padlocked dick

• and there you have it —
• pray for me — it’ll get me out of purgatory sooner
• and remember —
• God loves you — madame C would have loved you — and I love you
• I’m glad you listened — thank you
— fin —