"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. __________________________________
it's as black as the white side of midnight if you believe her story of the blood seconds inside the no reply broke down and trembling in the Valley of Fire with no services for the next well I mean who counts the miles when you're out of luck waking up with lips pressed against the disrupted upholstery that's crumbling like Coleman lantern mantles to the touch of your one last match
this week I got the phone call from two old brothers one calling from a Tijuana hospital where he just had triple bypass surgery to save a hundred thousand dollars because the weed business is not covered by Medicare and my other soul partner in Spokane who got five stents and was feeling fine except for the fact that his fucked up liver will kill him before his heart does so he's still drinking the wine and writing the shit but what more could you expect when you're the last of your kind living amongst the incompetent others in the light they waste
a week ago in Portland I performed with the Be Blank Consort these sound poems that everyone read off of scripts and Bennett had me do this one where I barked like a dog for about 5 minutes which was indicated by all these drawings of little bones but as the rest of them read the text it put it all into perspective these last 40 years of fucking with the poems ended in this one quick yap