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.
__________________________________




6/30/08

The Last Poet Standing

will be the stupidest
motherfucker but
happy in ignorance
with chill-bumps on
the arm and a brand
new moleskin filled
with incorrect spelling
because the truth isn't
really true if you tweak
it a little for Zyzzyva
just for the contributor's
copies to throw on the
bonfire that night all
instinct fails
WHY?

because Hank 3 saved country music
because Oklahoma is not OK
because Opstedal saved Nortena surf poesy
because Milwaukee's Best is the worst
because Jesus saved Blue Chip Stamps
because no check is in the mail so I'll come in your mouth
because I saved this last dance for you
because Elvis was never ever the king
because you didn't save that stinking snatch for me
because nothing could ever be the same again
because you can't save me from drowning in a sea of liquor
because I don't remember reading I Remember
because I won't save anything except the bones
because Will Smith is not really an actor
because not even God would save this country now
because who really gives a fuck if you're going to die anyway
because you didn't save the instructions to your defibrillator
because Robert M. Petersen wrote: "many-peopled desolations"
because why save anything now
because no one ever told me there was a war going on
because I never have saved the best for last
ggggggggggggggggg
ggggggggggggggggg
ggggggggggggggggg
starving the world to feed our cars
ggggggggggggggggg
ggggggggggggggggg
ggggggggggggggggg

6/29/08

Blood Alcohol

the thread of these
drunken cities
towns where the
dream is over
and another has
just begun in
the brotherhood
of the insane
in a handful of
change under
an oblique sun
down the tracks
of chromium where
my grandfather's
brains are splattered
dreaming of lost
Chicago because
the suburbs are
crumbling next to
the yellow dandelion
with our hearts in
a boxcar while I
shatter this empty
bottle against the sky

6/26/08



FORMER
MARINE
BRYAN
CASLER
RECOUNTED
HOW
FELLOW
MARINES
URINATED
AND
DEFECATED
INTO
FOOD
AND
GAVE
IT
TO
IRAQI
CHILDREN


6/25/08

WORDS WILL COME

I could watch you hurt yourself with the prism of

lost years that illuminates this orthopedic shadow.
during yourduring your
lifetimelifetime
you will waityou will wait
in linein line
a total of twoa total of two
to three yearsto three years


6/24/08

SUN UP SUN DOWN

don't think about it too
much that is how you
fuck up because the long
crawl of time requires no
explanation when you're
born to lose falling off a
mountain indefinitely like
anyone will ever figure it
out we'll be here awhile
with an index finger raking
up and down oscillating lips

6/23/08

Shit, Piss, Fuck, Cunt, Cocksucker, Motherfucker, and Tits

for George


The seven words you should
never use in a poem.

6/21/08




And we held each other.



6/20/08

Dogs From Hell

so I got this job driving the
tour bus past 5124 De Longpre Ave.
and I'd put this joke shop fake
rubber puke on the floor and these
lames from Beverly Hills would
flat love it and tip me big time
because it made them want to go
write poetry at least for 15 minutes
until it was time to do somebody else

6/19/08

DON'T YOU WORRY 'BOUT A THING

suppose you had a real life
with the pussy
and god

because you ain't

Chasin' the Trane you
don't even read Jack
Micheline asshole

and he was my friend

so if you ask me who
is the greatest poet

that depends on how
drunk I am and how
the bitch reacts to
being a bitch

when she tells me
I'm a bitch
but

that ain't true
because to love
everybody you must
hate yourself

so imagine
Jack Kerouac bleeding
all over your

notebook when your
inner voice says you don't
even care

and that is so true
I'M



the
Soviets
controlled
language
through
"political
correctness"
-----------------------
th
Sovi
contr
lan
th
"po
corre
-----------------------
I am standing here.

6/18/08

American Postcard

when the ghost train whines across
hollow eyes when ciccadas speak
Texarkana sentences when the hands
of a waitress unbutton his grease stained
jeans in the back of no memory when
the radio plays a hobo song inside a locker
at the Greyhound station at noon when
the children find a brown body in the alley
next door to the Hotel Grim when the pink
meat of the watermelon splits obscenely
open when the one mosquito lights on a
cheerleader's smooth bare ass when you'll
turn to alcohol where the weathered
metal sign says Cool Inside

6/17/08

DARK
ggg
ggg
ggg gggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggg
hospital lights
jail house lights
let's crawl under
the comfortable
dark of a bridge

6/16/08

I'm Buying More Ammo With My Economic Stimulus Check

in memory of Tim Russert

it's your Wal-Mart nation where the fat
women sing inside their nacho cheese
colored skin before the undulating flat
screens as crisp as diet cola and as bright
as the spandex that covers those stretch
marked cheeks so you can sure bet this will
be a credit card purchase because this time
the revolution will be televised live on digital
tv and not to be outdone they must spare no
expense in being part of broadcast history

6/13/08

FATHER'S DAY

here is to my two dead
children the ones these
women had aborted
because they figured
out fucking a poet who
ain't worth a fuck and
poor ain't like making
$80.00 a night in tips at
The Red Onion because
your artist ass is sublime
in a stupid scanty uniform
to these jerk-off suits or
that your ex-husband has
set you up because you
already have kids with him
so you can now write your
weak poems while fucking
half The Catalyst every
friday night but women
decide who lives and dies
anyway especially when
they have you pinned riding
that half a foot of destiny
yet I do remember one made
me pawn my saxophone
on the way to the clinic while
the other was wearing this
huge pad over her cunt when
I brought her home and she
had me fuck her in the ass still
hot and nasty through the
tears because a poet is king
ON A LIGHTER NOTE




the iconic white borders





ponder a filmless future

6/12/08

PLATE JOB AT THE AS-IS

a stranger's borrowed words

6/10/08

FINAL WITNESS

Eternal life is a
prison when you're
the walking dead.

6/8/08

Bring Me The Head Of Fred Nettelbeck Sr.

Sam Peckinpah died
at Centinela Hospital
which was at the end
of a cul-de-sac and
right next to our house
when I was 14 and me
and my buddies would
go watch these beautiful
young mothers nurse
their babies when we
went peeping because
the whole joint was
as big as a motel and at
ground level so then we'd
also go through the trash
and find these used
rigs which were very
mysterious and creepy
with that feeling of disease
but we left them alone and
I remember once this one
guy pulled up completely
covered in blood from some
job site accident and they
wouldn't let him in and my
dad walked over so pissed
off kicking at the door until
the Inglewood cops came

6/7/08

I Hate Life

if you are too drunk to fuck you
also can't quite write the poem that
Bukowski would jack-off to or a real
poet like that vaginal pimple Mr./Ms.
___________ or whoever the fuck
would with their smooth faces and all
the facts straight when they crap them-
selves a little bit just to be published
because the whole world is almost dead
and it's a little more fucking that will
straighten us out so I will try to go deep
on the down stroke inside you holding
back shooting the good news that the tiny
pliable skeletons will only scramble the
eggs if I give up on all this shit and that
won't ever happen because I hate life

6/6/08




ggggggggggggggg
FUCK OIL WATER IS NEXT
ggggggggggggggg



6/5/08




becomes)



I took the gun_____him. (off, from)


_____________________________________
...hot very young girls used
autos ridden dirty dog style
elizabeth hurley nude bj's
wholesale...


GLOBAL MOURNING

The End of Oil




---------------------------------
SIGNIFYING DOMINION
---------------------------------


Be prepared,
Poetry is about
to die.





(durable goods or naturalism of death)


"I wish I was in the audience."





Mala Noche

antique flowers
are pressed
between the
covers of your
decaying books
while the lips of
ghosts strain
against the
albumen of
a nightmare

6/4/08

IDOL FOOD

a sun seeps into the ground



a maxi pad into her panties

6/3/08

BO DIDDLEY RESONANCE IMAGING

The trance-like ruckuses.

6/2/08

A Night In The Beat Museum

the outsider writers have no income and too
many chapbooks in boxes in closets of the air