Notes on Three Dog Night Singer Cory Wells

This is an ongoing series of my raw, unpolished thoughts about the biography book project I’m working on about Cory Wells, founding member of the hugely popular classic rock band, Three Dog Night.

As one of the most prominent and visible members of Three Dog Night, Cory Wells was also…

A drunk poem

Of the author by the author

On the South Side of Pittsburgh

Mad, masked Carson Street

Drinking at The Smiling Moose

Lonesome traveler

Bought a leather bomber jacket

Lighter than my others

Good for L.A. winters

Bought some charcoal to burn

Dragon’s blood in my cauldron

I can’t be a witch because of my dick


A poem

Image by Mike Protzik

I awake from dreams of alien sexuality

“This weird enough for you, big boy?”

I wake in fright


A man in a motel room alone

Reduced to my animal core

Neon sign glows in the night mist outside


Electronic fog creeps in through the cracks…

A Trip Through American Rascality: Gambling, Booze, & Crime from Vicksburg to Vegas

Kim Vintage Stock/Getty Images

“They delight in their present low, lazy, sluttish, heathenish, hellish life, and seem not desirous of changing it.”
— Rev. Charles Woodmason, 1766

“Violence is as American as cherry pie.”
— H. Rap Brown

America has got to start being honest with itself.

I’ll be honest.

I really didn’t see…

Flash Fiction

Image by Mike Protzik

The law is hell law. And we’re its keepers. Hells are what the squares and holy rollers call gambling halls. Gambling hells. I guess they thought that was clever. It suits us nonetheless.

Us is me and my associate Viktor Clementine. He’s a Russian and I don’t know what he’s…

A short story about two young gamblers

Image by Mike Protzik

So we’re there driving through the paved streets of the Old West and Damien’s yelling to girls from the passenger window and he’s drinking from a flask and I’ve been taking swigs here and there while “Love Fuzz” by Ty Segall plays on the radio. The only thing standing…

Jenna Putnam

Short Story — Some people are crazy enough to follow their dreams…

Idy wanted to call it OPERATION: STAR CRAWL. Valissa thought it sounded too menacing. Cal said nothing, his hand gripped firmly on the wheel, smirking under his dark shades.

“Our Vision is not one of menace…” Val preached as they roared down the California desert highway in the stolen…

Poem — Phone Call to the Land of the Dead

Photo by Tess Parks

I invoke all failed unknown dead writers into me. I’ve got what all ghosts want — a body. Make use of this flesh. Be a good little writer. You hear that, unheard dead? I can leave where you left off. You dead loser. I am living loser. And I…

Brent L. Smith

Writer 💀 Fiction/Nonfiction

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