"Theda Bara with Butterfly Wings"

The world is a vamp, and I will continue to play one as long as we keep sinning, draining each other's blood. Despite all the claims of my publicity department I am still just a tailor's daughter from Cincinnati, not the Sahara, nor the shadow of the Sphinx.

And even though I'm no serpent of the Nile, I still believe I could bite, and you could not be saved. They say my name spells Arab Death, but I prefer to spell A Bad Earth.

"Lupe Vélez is a Hot Spitfire Fit to Burn"

When I'm mad, I spit fire. When I'm in love, I spit fire. When I'm sad about Gary Cooper breaking my heart, I fire several gunshots at his departing train. When I sleep around, I fuck Robin Hood on Friday and Tarzan on Saturday. When I come home late at night, don’t ask me where I’ve been; you can read all about it in tomorrow’s gossip column. When other actresses rub me wrong, I do spoofy impressions of them on stage & screen, and if they’re too hard to impersonate I can always just sock their pretty faces. When I look into your eyes, can you see a heart uncaged? When even friends seem out to harm you, when time exists to curse you, isn’t it hard to hold a child in a hot September womb? So when my baby’s daddy denies fatherhood, I’ll take my final bow & a stomach full of Seconal. And when I’m dead, please don’t tell the world I stumbled and cracked my head in the bathroom and drowned in the toilet, for Heaven’s sake I’ve suffered enough, though I suppose if that story makes me memorable a few decades longer, I couldn’t be mad at that…

"Josephine Baker Ain't Nuthing ta Fuck Wit"

There's no place to hide when she steps on stage / gives the pit quivers with her cheetah uncaged / on a leash but just enough rope, knocks your knees with her banana dance / she scavenged in the slums and she'll pilfer your intelligence / snoop on Nazi troops with info pinned inside her underpants / strip search her, she'll snitch with invisible ink scrawled / beneath sheet music for "J'ai deux amours" / Hemingway, Fitzgerald, Picasso, Langston Hughes / Christian Dior all call her muse / Nightclub- owning racists from Miami to Vegas / all cave to her demands for integration / Her children the original United Nations / a Rainbow Tribe of French and Venezuelan / Israeli and Colombian, Moroccan and Korean / Japanese, Algerian, and Ivorian / In the wake of Martin Luther King's assassination / Coretta Scott’ll ask her to fill his shoes in the movement / she’ll regretfully decline over one simple qualm / her kids are far too young to lose their mom. Josephine Baker ain’t nothing to fuck with / Josephine Baker ain’t nothing to fuck with / Josephine Baker ain’t nothing to fuck with / Josephine Baker ain’t nothing to fuck with


“Theda Bara…” is indebted to The Smashing Pumpkins’ “Bullet With Butterfly Wings,” lyrics by Billy Corgan “Lupe Velez…” is indebted to Guns N’ Roses’ “You Could Be Mine,” lyrics by Axl Rose & Izzy Stradlin, and “November Rain,” lyrics by Axl “Josephine Baker…” is indebted to Wu-Tang Clan’s “Wu-Tang Clan Ain’t Nuthing ta Fuck Wit,” lyrics by RZA, Inspectah Deck, & Method Man

Joseph P. O’Brien is the managing editor of FLAPPERHOUSE. His writing has appeared in Matchbook, The Alarmist, Yes Poetry, and Entropy. Tweets @JosephPOB. He lives in Brooklyn with his lovely wife & their very popular dog.