Support The Black Pearl Cabaret’s Tour of “An Evening With The Kreep” On Indiegogo

Presented by the Black Pearl Cabaret, AN EVENING WITH THE KREEP, written and hosted by Gothic poet and illustrator Brazillia R. Kreep, will play 8 pm, October 25-27, 2012 at the Undertown in Port Townsend, WA.. A deliciously dark blend of the Kreep’s original music, poetry, and artwork, the “Kreep” show, directed by Amanda Steurer, will include readings from his book Kreeplets along with anecdotes about his life.  With a special appearance by Alanna Dailey as Parthenia Goste, Aidan McClave as cellist Kreepy Krawler, and Jason Altamirano as Jack Frost, AN EVENING WITH THE KREEP promises to be a Halloween treat for the entire brood.

Tickets are on sale now at Red Raven Gallery on Water Street, between Taylor and Tyler, downtown Port Townsend.

Black Pearl Cabaret is a professional troupe of actors, variety artists, and musicians. We perform only original works of a Gothic and macabre nature. We are located in the Victorian seaport of Port Townsend, WA..

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2 thoughts on “Support The Black Pearl Cabaret’s Tour of “An Evening With The Kreep” On Indiegogo

  1. In the eyes of children the world is pressed.

    The young girl stared out the window, eyes fixed on her father. He stood alone at the edge of the property. An empty road silently snaked passed. Ice-laden clouds moved like rusty tankers overhead.
    At first she had no idea why he was there, unmoving, stone still. Only a single strand of his greying hair lifted, coaxed by the bite of the winter wind.
    It was her tenth birthday. It was supposed to be a happy day. A day of celebration.
    The party was carefully organized by her Mother. Her two younger sisters danced around the kitchen table. A child’s nursery rhyme sang out from their innocent lips, “…ring around the rosy, pocket full of posies, ashes, ashes, we all fall down…” Her mother towered over head, wielding a cake knife. “Where’s your father…I’m about to cut the cake?” Brook was spelt out in blue icing across the top of the cake. The evening seemed magical. Ten tulips of flame burned atop red candles.
    “Where is he Brookie…come blow out the candles,” Mother called out.
    Brook watched as Father drew a gun from his coat and brought it to his head. She wrapped her arms tightly around the wooden rails of the chair’s back. Her knees pressed painfully against the hard wooden seat. Then it happened. The glass of the window muffled the shot to a soft crack.
    She remembered how he fell. The force of the bullet cocked his head to the side. His legs, at the knees, went the other way and he dropped – fast. It was as if a great hammer pounded him to the ground. She saw the whole thing but understood nothing. A moment later, it began to snow.

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