"To tell you the truth, I'm pretty burned out
on meat poetry or street poetry or poetry of
the down-and-out, whatever you want to call
it, because so much of it is bullshit; either bogus
motherfuckers who never shed blood but
insinuate themselves into the lives of those
who have and then make a name for themselves
by writing generic imitations, or a bunch of
middle-class kids still living at home talking
tough, aping Bukowski, Wantling, levy, Micheline...
but HAPPY HOUR is the real thing. Stark precision.
It's stripped down, bare bones authentic.
You be the real McCoy, amigo..."
-John Bennett

A new EBOOK!

"For a while, now, outside of
what you/ve been doing
outside Klamath Falls and what
Todd Moore was doing outside
Albuquerque, not much
integrity married to the inside
dope of the poetic imagination
as far as my jaded view
has been concerned."
-Michael C. Ford

From 48th Street Press,
Philadelphia, PA. 2010
is simply a great piece of work."

From If Year Books,
Brooklyn, N.Y. 2009
"A cool little scrabble of
fugitive pieces, some
handwritten, some paste-
ups, all laid in like a scrapbook
miscellany with mean teeth."
-Kevin Opstedal, Ukulele Feedback

From Blue Press,
Santa Cruz, CA. 2008
"F. A. Nettelbeck isn't
fucking around."
-Patrick Dunagan,
galatea resurrects #9

Signed copies are $10 each,
plus $2 postage and handling...
checks payable to F. A. Nettelbeck,
POB 69, Beatty, OR 97621 U.S.A.



recollect some years back here on the then terminated rez a bright winter morning cruising from Beatty with a case of Rainier headed out to the hills visiting a partner here there and after leaving this one dude's house after doing this huge curlicued line of crank he gave me going down this snow covered country road where I then get flagged down by some Indian partners of mine older cowboy guys cool as shit but not so cool now they were all animated about another cowboy Chunky who fell off his horse over the rise and their pick-up stuck there in the ditch now I was coming on pretty good to the dope and they wanted me to help them go get him take him out of there I did have a 4x4 older Chevy but the tires were bald and fuck the beer the white well you know so big Burt about 6 foot 6 and 400 pounds jumps in and tells the other guys to get that truck out the ditch me and Mr. Fred will go get Chunky blah blah so I hang a U go down to a side road that will get us approx. to where he'd be and it's all covered in snow and we gotta go up over this rise and the bald tires are spinning and we can't get no traction so big Burt jumps out and back into the back of the truck bouncing up and down back towards the tail gate with his 4oo pounds screaming at me to floor it and I got it in low and all four wheels locked in and I'm flooring it and he's bouncing up and down and there we go up and over slick as shit only he jumps out at the top screaming at me to keep going to go help Chunky so I keep going and about a quarter mile here's these other Indian friends of mine and I get out and they get off their horses and there's Chunky alright dead as shit laying on his back in the snow god damn man god damn he broke his neck when he fell off his horse so after a while of standing there someone gets a blanket and we roll him over on it now they didn't call him Chunky for nothing he must have weighed 400 pounds himself it took about 5 of us to lift him into the back of my truck and now big Burt walks up and takes Chunky's saddle off his horse and throws it in the back of the truck so by this time most of the day has been consumed by this drama and it would be getting dark soon big Burt decides me and him should take Chunky down to the main road while the guys on horses take off and call the Sheriff well big Burt jumps in the back of the truck with Chunky and I take off back the way I came and after a few minutes I hear big Burt screaming and I look in the rear view and he's got the saddle ON Chunky and RIDING him screaming YOU AIN'T DEAD COWBOY GOD DAMN YOU or something and shit man fuck I stop get out calm him down and big Burt gets in the cab with me and I open him a beer and we take off again he's pretty tore up anyway by the time we get to the road that turns left to the main road there's the Sheriff and he stops us and he's pissed off that we moved a dead body and you can't do that for Christ's sakes and blah blah and big Burt tells him to get fucked you fucking asshole cops wouldn't have moved him tonight anyways and by the morning the coyotes would have got him fuck you the cop just looks at me and sez follow me to the main road now I'm pretty fucked up and me and big Burt each got an open can of beer in our hands but I follow him and when I get there I pull over on the right behind the cop where the road Ts now this fucking cop gets out comes and tells us to put Chunky ON THE GROUND and that he's called the meat wagon and that WE COULD GO NOW well of course here comes big Burt this time really going off and the cop don't want none of it and sez ok you wait here for the meat wagon and then takes off so by now all the Indians have got word about Chunky and they all come and have sort of a public viewing with Chunky in the back of the truck and I put my old navy coat over him and people bring whiskey beer the pall and we stand there a couple of hours most of them leaving and it's getting dark and the undertaker comes up in that long Caddy and backs up to the back of my truck and me and big Burt slide Chunky out of the truck and onto the stretcher and before the undertaker slides him into the Caddy big Burt stops him and big Burt tells Chunky that this will be his LAST RIDE then he just stands there pissed and sad then the undertaker slides him in and I notice Chunky's dirty ball cap that fell to the ground and I pick it up and on the front of it it sez I HAVE A DRINKING PROBLEM I'M BROKE