"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..."
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."
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
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. __________________________________
on the streets of Miami this large marshmallow crucifix shadows an imploding hollow chocolate Jesus looking junky before the fade-out into a commercial about how Survivor: America will be the greatest show ever
the cosmological butthole cosigned for my vow of poverty but I was drinking back then and now I'm running for president so won't you please help me I promise the change won't come until we're given adequate food and fuel equality of the sexes and kiosks for abundant fucking in the streets and that won't ever happen so keep your somber donations I withdraw from seeking the candidacy now go get me a beer
you are in the soft parade with a short on the rims up against the curb when the Heublein bottles start falling like rain out your opened door at an officer's feet who now wears the 13 colored St. Christophers on a tarnished chain because Pandora's Box has been closed forever your Pendleton has faded and the 4-track is playing Going Home for the very last time
I remember 1959 walking down Pier Avenue in Hermosa Beach hand in hand with my mother passing a coffee house with this huge sign that said The Insomniac on it in jagged letters with abstract art on the sidewalk and how mesmeric all these people sitting out front were but then I can also remember much later almost ten years just one block up the same street I was there in the Either/Or Bookstore and lost it high on the poems that were all inside these what are nowadays quite rare and expensive small press collectibles but at that time just publications I held in my hands as the purest of light