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Tony Nesca's Interests
General
same as above...
Music
Favorite band is The Pixies, favorite form of music is indie/alternative rock (primarily from the 80's), That Petrol Emotion, Screaming Blue Messiahs, The Replacements, etc., followed very very closely by jazz and blues and punk, especially the original first wave of punk from the late seventies, The Clash, The Ramones, The Dammned, The Sex Pistols, The Rezillos, The Jam, The Buzzcocks, etc...but i definitely like some of the classic stuff as well, The Band, CCR, The Doors, The Beatles, The Stones, Jimi Hendrix, Lou Reed alone or with the Velvet Underground is a God to me, same with Tom Waits, and the great and sensational Alex Harvey, Mazzy Star holds a special place for me, as does The Jesus And Mary Chain, P.J. Harvey, Concrete Blonde, Rancid, The Hoodoo Gurus, Social Distortion, Sidney Bechet, Louis Armstrong, Billie Holliday, Charlie Parker, Oscar Peterson, Sarah Vaughn, The Preservation Hall Jazz Band, Muddy Waters, ROBERT JOHNSON, Buddy Guy, Sunhouse, Blind Wille Mctell, Jelly Roll Morton, The Original Dixieland Jazz Band, DJANGO RIENHARDT, TEN YEARS AFTER (hearing alvin lee tear into a riff is paramount to an orgasm) television from the 60's and 70's, some good hash in the shade on a hot sunny day, a cool gin and tonic at a patio with The Pixies playing in the background, cold winter nights seen from indoors, and on and on with the bullshit...
Movies
Federico Fellini, David Lynch and Woody Allen are my favorite filmmakers....but am not averse to the occasional mainstream/action movie, especially if it's a james bond film, ain't no literary snob...lean heavily towards the indie art stuff however...oh, and i love b-movies from the 50's and 60's...
Television
like to get high and watch the tube...Twin Peaks...The Sopranos...Trailor Park Boys...La Femme Nikita...All In The Family...Twitch City...MOST TELEVISION FROM THE 60'S AND 70'S, whoa...
Books
Henry Miller, Charles Bukowski, Jack Kerouac, Papa Hemingway, Micheal Turner, Hunter S. Thomson, Aldous Huxley, Mordecai Richler, Robertson Davies, Alice Munro, D.H. Lawrence, Mark Twain, Anais Nin, Evelyn Lau, Kurt Vonnegut, Dylan Thomas, Rimbaud, Moupassant, Margaret Atwood, Celine, Chekov, the comic book/graphic novel Love and Rockets by Jaime and Gilbert Hernandez, ain't nothing better...alright...and all the books i've written of course...
AND THE POETRY OF NICOLE ISABELLA - READ IT HERE:
www.myspace.com/nicolemisabella
NICOLE ISABELLA'S FIRST BOOK OF POEMS IS OUT:
"THE SEXUAL REPRESSION COLLECTION"
The Sexual Repression Collection is a trip through the heavy-lidded, wine-haze reality of life and love. Emotionally uncensored, free-flow writing at its rollicking best.
AVAILABLE AT:
www.lulu.com/content/2707409 -
Soon available by special order at bookstores and libraries across the world.
About me:
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 rhythm
and a horrible music fills the world
as 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 magic
passing slowly by raucous sex-talk in your window
sunburn alabaster machine-gun ending,
all things fade born again whiskey-sour back alley
blow-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 perfume
and saw her across the back alley as
she led me in deeper and deeper
the tornado in my mind screaming
tortured songs
unwanted happiness…
BRAND NEW NOVEL BY TONY NESCA - 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
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&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), four 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.
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…
MY MELANCHOLY SUNSHINE
rain just finished
slick sidewalk tasty-sweet
neon sign singing end of days
guitar chainsaw deadly as bass goes dum dum
night alive on fire in love man,
The Rezillos cranking the stage-dive-electric
shoes tapping a beat sidewalk-hooker-happy,
round face beauty we smiling kiss kiss
you so sweet girl nicotine-teeth lovely
vodka 7 in the red-light-madness,
early morning gray waiting in the
distant bottle rocket street corner,
what do you say punk-rock-crazies?
what do you say in the dark night wanting,
what do you say on the slick corner tasty-sweet,
what do you say on the blue moon missing,
what do you say baby,
what do you say 'bout my melancholy sunshine...
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…
AFTER MIDNIGHT
sitting around in this wild place
everyone dressed in black with
white faces, desperate lipstick and
army boots
me downing rye and 7 without her,
shots of sambuca man and the
loud alternative band rock-punk madness,
feeling the slow easy night cold early morning
crocodile hangover looking ugly silent red and black
constipated thinking
she goddamn beautiful,
she short-hand-sexy,
she uptown lovely,
she on her sad knees giving whiskey answers,
me singing man,
me singing for you and her tough-ass smile,
and her brown mad-crazy eyes telling stories i call my own,
and her thighs screaming deadly lies,
and her breasts frowning in the rain,
and her love running sweet-water-pools,
and she happy/sad solution,
and she rubbing my off-set personality,
and my fucked-up desire howling without purpose,
and my love staring her in the face
as the sirens run down the street
after midnight...
ESPECIALLY FOR YOU
…i belong to the freaks of the world moving
glad and greasy
gunshot-lovely
moonstruck madness
out all night booze-mad thinking
sleep all day sad-slumber hangover
me thinking brain in overdrive-electric
brain gone wild man, brain time-warp sensation,
ain't singing the songs of the wealthy
ain't singing the songs of the satisfied
cuz
we mind-trippin' through marijuana landscape
sweet memory sad and beautiful
i think of you bitter loveliness
cuz
ain't singing the songs of happy-pappy
ain't singing the songs of money-madness
blue
light
wondering
electrocute
me
madly
we the freaks moving slow-harmony-hungry
we the empty pockets genius
drinking till the end of the world
smiling broken down wisdom,
hear that goddamn guitar in the distance
see the sun beat heavy
feel the night silence so loud man
as i move gently into the
broken-heart-thunder…
Tony Nesca
a href="http://www.msplinks.com/MDFodHRwOi8vcGhvdG9idWNrZXQuY29t" target="_blank">
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 stalekisses@hotmail.com
the deadline is flexible but the sooner the better. it doesn't have to be brand new to get in. rich text format (rtf) would be great and if you could send it to writers-prizefighters@hotmail.co.uk.
I stayed sober long enough to finished Dishpig. Many great lines. It inspired me to read and write more often. I'll be back for more if H.S.T. and Orwell don't do it for me.
"
