THE FOLLOWING BOOKS
WERE PUBLISHED WITH
WORK OFF OF THIS BLOG!!!!



FOR MORE INFO ON HAPPY HOUR
AND HOW TO ORDER, CLICK HERE:

http://lokidesign.net/2356/2010/11/four-minutes-to-midnight-issue-eleven%E2%80%94happy-hour/

"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!
FREE DOWNLOAD!
CLICK HERE FOR MORE INFO:
http://www.lulu.com/content/e-book/pesticide-drift/9128215


DRINKING & THINKING
FROM BLUE PRESS,
SANTA CRUZ, CA. 2010
"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


SOMEONE WHO LOVED YOU
From 48th Street Press,
Philadelphia, PA. 2010
"SOMEONE WHO LOVED YOU
is simply a great piece of work."
-GERALD NICOSIA


TASTE THE
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


DON'T SAY A WORD
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.
__________________________________




10/31/07

HALLOWEEN

the Lord's Prayer is recited backward

over a dead hummingbird wrapped

in embroidery thread of brilliant

colors as Americans suddenly rain

down from the sky in a final release

of energy before being buried

alive with their masters

10/30/07




The bright lights and
the go-go dancers
acted as a lure
for the lonely
sailor.




10/29/07

DESOLATION ANGEL

My stimulants are all
in agony wiped across
a cataract while hitch-
hiking this desert
postal card inside a
mailbox at noon.

10/27/07

All Love

you don't lose
your woman

you just lose
your turn

10/26/07

THIS FROM A NOTEBOOK CIRCA EARLY 1970'S L.A.:

lonely arms

,flowers

child noise.

we find the
message
amusing.

what / fine

way

the leaping breath.



freedom. music
of arms

,terrible

th
__

let / mouth /
pain.

wash the
face:

scrape god/goo/d



body pumping
blood,
soundless deep
sanctuary.

A man displays
his visions
by the way
he walks,
straining at
the legs every
world he knows.

I strain against

air do not
notice
particles/ /sounds
the foot
steps of
creatures lonely
as I.



do not ask
the air

solid worry

your cold beginning



walking
down the hill
drunk. the
years like voices

our laughter; birth



never to replace
this flesh

10/25/07

YOU HAVE TO DIE FOREVER

for Susie


to make time pass.

10/24/07

WALKWAY

there are secrets
while staring
at your hands
opening and
closing black
deep lines
silhouetting
the biography
much crisper
than a first
shadow

10/23/07

The Music

if you were drinking
in that ambulance
of despair on a
rainy night in
Georgia

wearing Conway
Twitty's shoes

it wouldn't mean
any less than

if she had
squatted on
your face
when you weren't
looking

and you
couldn't hear
the music

at all

46 BILLION DOLLARS MORE

Other presidents
were shot for
a lot less.

10/21/07

liesliesESlieslies
PRO
GRESS
proress
rather story from
be
ginn
ing to end
end toing frm story
DMIN
TE
dominate
MACRATE
mac
erate
GENE
RALITY
gerality
the story is from
the
story
PRREAT
prreate
proc
re
ate
OBLI
T
ERATE
rat
E
FP
TOZ
LPED
FECTD

10/20/07

HIKING THE AFGHAN BACKCOUNTRY

while a guide book is not a substitute for

Spawn Caddy
Blow Up All Cars)

regenerating and lactating
Pandora's box from the Holy Grail?


Across the Bamiyan Valley.



"those goat fuckers have our oil"

perfect handling, suicide, all green lights
This route can be hazardous until late summer

Never Get Hungry
Riot Mode
Spawn Dozer)

including nearby showers, laundry, restaurant, tap
room, grocery store, etc.

Infinite Ammo, No Reload....
Piss On Them And Their Mothers....



Field Notes: Not officially maintained, easy hike.
Opium and oil. Great Buddha dawn. Everyone is armed.
Stopped at abandoned patrol cabin where a huge dead
tree stands. Fucked its last remaining occupant in his
greasy ass, then made him suck the shit and cum off
our pricks. Capped the asshole. If you plan to camp
in this area, the vicinity of the patrol cabin makes
ideal spot.



Yet all too many Americans have neglected this vital
part of their education.

What point would there be in going if he had all
the answers?

For some it might be frightening, especially at night.



DIFFICULT ROUTE FUNHOUSE THEME


Invisible Car
Adrenaline Mode
Full Weapon Aiming While Driving)


I am a veteran, so say thank you.




in a mandorla of light





10/18/07

DANCING WITH THE STARS

exception to the broken rule
on any sidewalk
knock on any door
I didn't know you were drunk
until I seen you sober
the Virgin of Guadalupe
on your pay-for-view
motel box covered in
Burger King wrappers
you should have been
aborted on New Year's day
nobody on call but
the addicted janitor
asleep at the wheel
playing it for laughs
with time running out
it's another disaster for
the working poor
under neon light
a street with no name
is just another dead end
in this greatest country






"Oh yeah, suck my cock, Paula, it feels so good," Frank breathed.









10/17/07

BLOW FOR CANINES

skies filled with

letters than flames

like skies filled
w/letters

, flames

(I like the skies filled

with letters.

Then flames.

TELL A GREEN MAN

copycat hate crimes

"anonymous noose"

10/16/07

The Game

He ran out into the arena and knelt down on the sand with the cape swirled out in front of him. I told him, yes, I was pushing junk, and he bought ten caps. Even in Egypt he refused to appear in public without this superfluous outer garment, and, though the African sun had turned the threadbare cape almost as yellow as the desert sands, he was not to be separated from it until he had picked up another in some charitable institution of the city. The light illumined and horribly distorted his face, so that his eyes looked like coals of fire and his mouth stretched joylessly back upon the gums. There were hundreds like him, beachcombers, castaways, drunks and gentlemen, gentlemen drunks who never go back-old-timers, landlopers, birds of passage, bums and remittance men, sons of parsons, dodging the police, peddling drugs on the waterfronts-lazy fellers boozing in the sun. Together we skirted the ragged confines of the festival in the half-darkness of the hot night, and at last the Magzub came to a long broken wall of earth-bricks which had once demarcated gardens now abandoned and houses now derelict. "Good, good. Come on in. I've seen you driving your car. You must have an interesting job." Ventriloquism. His hand was now golden in dashboard light, reaching for a pint of Old Crow, amber as pine pitch. The sun came up slowly over the bare mountain ridges. The country was flat and desertlike. There was not a tree as far as we could see. It looked like west Texas. I was prepared to sit politely while he skidded us off the highway and we rolled and smacked at seventy miles an hour through the cactus and desert clay. "Lock the windows," he said, engrossed in pressing the button which raised the canvas top. His kit dropped onto the Chevy's floor, spider wise his lisp lost twice now his hand touching the mannikin's thigh, "I love the human race." I felt a kind of diffidence in him, as though he had done wrong, though unwittingly, and were ashamed. "I'll be back by suppertime." It is nightfall in the small town and the air cools a little as you sit in the back seat of the Chevy with its dusty stink of upholstery that scratches your bare legs: when one takes a hand one must play the game....




Comprised of lines from the work of Barnaby Conrad, William Burroughs, Harry A. Franck, James Baldwin, Dylan Thomas, Lawrence Durrell, Peter Benchley, Robert Roripaugh, Ernie Pyle, Norman Mailer, F. A. Nettelbeck, W. Somerset Maugham, Flora Durham, and Joseph Conrad.

10/14/07

AFTER FUCKING

in this bed

our two
selves merge

into a whorl
of skin

above the
inculcating

desert of
deep sleep

we become
our own

nameless
child

a vegetable
of typecast

flesh

lost in the
heat of our

own separate
convictions

we can assume

there will
at least

be love

10/12/07

RAFFLE TO BENEFIT MR. F. A. NETTELBECK

Old poets waiting on death throwing up at the sun.
-Alta Ifland


movie as poem as life as poem as your death face poem
I have removed the doors and I stand with you as these
tickets are only a dollar each or six for five and being a
real poet in America is slow suicide but you know that
right you read the books you grow or perish you turn the
pages or you turn a cold eye someone watching today yes
can inspire others the negative others the ones beaten
backs against the sun fingering that imaginary trigger as
poem yet who sincerely admire beauty as poem as being
sad as poem as your chances in the prison without bars
as poem as good as that poem really is you do not
need to be present to win

10/11/07










_____________________________________
CHEMO IN MY KIMONO










10/10/07

DRY DREAM

awake
and now where to place
this tongue

obedient

coming out of the dry
dream

of sun bleached skulls
from all those
bad lovers

arranged in an
articulate mosaic
resembling romantic
history

a festering postcard
of lost flesh

or this last kiss
I now give to you

as unnatural as your
mouth

RANDY PUT THE KNIFE BACK DOWN ON THE HOOD OF THE CAR

He sniffed his
fingers.

He liked their
weird metal
smell after
touching the
blade.

10/9/07

girl.


game girl hairy asian girl black tall girl horny thai girl
japanese pretty girl very fat girl adult indian girl
white teen school girl fat girl in bikini black bad girl
horny girl next door japanese girl in panties fly girl
hairy black girl indian dream girl fat bottomed girl
hot college girl asian girl on girl horny russian girl
indian bar girl black street girl girl girl my girl
sad white girl girl smoking new girl in town

10/7/07

AMERIKA

to Jon Carroll

"the poor hate their TracFones
and force their agony
to dance"

10/6/07

Blurred Like Cold Windows

baby was
drinking from
the nozzle

10/5/07

Grape Vodka All Afternoon

I'm smoking a joint with the Zodiac Killer
the lame fuck you gotta call him
'Zode' and not make fun of
his stupid glasses Jesus

so me and the Zode have been
drinking grape vodka all
afternoon and we're pretty toasted

now when this fool dummies up
you gotta watch your ass the
weird fuck

so he ain't saying nothing
and I try to engage him in
some conversation

I tell him that Lake Berryessa thing
was pretty tasty a righteous
hood dude you looked pretty radical
and the prick looks at me

then he makes some jerks sideways and
pukes all over my decorative Wal-Mart
throw rug OW you son of a bitch
cipher this

and I pull my knife

10/4/07

A word is dead
When it is said,
Some say,
I say it just
Begins to live
That day.

-EMILY DICKINSON




I have a lot of friends. I have all kinds of children
yet I have no one to speak to

extinct statistic much grimmer than

old books




Listless disorder.




Linguists believe 3,400 to 6,120 languages

could become extinct by 2100, a statistic

much grimmer than the common estimate

of about one language death every two weeks.

-------------------------------------------------------------------

why not me pretending it doesn't hurt not a whisper

unintended




That languages die.
__________________________________
my skull is completely empty completely
taken from the why the lost why the
look my son smeared with smeared
numb headlines the artist's headlines
frown grimmer than estimated frown grimmer
my lost skull considered at risk at risk
from the lost book of cultural lost book
diversity father the why not me diversity




every cloud has a silver lining

he who hesitates is lost

happy families are all alike

two hearts that beat as one

ships that pass in the night



demolition woman?

can I be your man?


"now it's all as useless as repeating a dream"




REPREHEND




stumbling drunk past a box of old books
at the yard sale



why the Emily Dickinson frown grimmer




starting to rain.....







WORD IS DEAD

infected with the hope in the face
infected with the violence
infected with the every cloud
infected with the old ways
infected with the do not stray
infected with the no choice
infected with the two hearts
infected with the speak softly
infected with the showing a liking
infected with the light which shines
infected with the he who hesitates
infected with the no payment
infected with the happy families
infected with the unlawful manner
infected with the nameless unremembered
infected with the ships that pass
infected with the you who must
infected with the most unkindest
infected with the not returning
infected with the word is dead

10/3/07

The Perfume

I'm smoking a joint with Harry Crosby
the little fucking bon vivant
always whining

and we're waiting in front of this club
for Henry and June to pick us up
and they're always late always
sucking each other or somebody
off somewhere

so he starts going on about WAR!
WAR! WAR! fuck man I tell him
shut thee fuck up all you ever
did was drive an ambulance

you know the scene
oh yeah? oh yeah?

and the fool takes
off down the blvd.

now who do I spot coming
across the street but
Erik Satie and shit he's
always good
for some ecstasy

so we hook up just as
these fine little latinas
pass by

and I follow the perfume

10/1/07

I BLOW THROUGH THE CONCH OF THE TRICKSTER'S SKULL

I want my glassine wrists pumping
with what used to be the blood of
insects back when this was a country
of human beings as I blow through the
conch of the trickster's skull the neurons
that sprang from a finite dust containing
the faces of those who mimed before us