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.
__________________________________




1/30/10

GUN SHY

pubic bones,



trance music

radio

1/27/10

Fossils Show

(the infrastructure
of tomorrow

LAST DRINK

another

1/26/10






NEXT
WE
ARE
GOING
TO
MEET
SOME
PEOPLE
IN
HAITI
WHO
HAVE
NO
REASON
TO
HOPE




1/24/10

All The Things You Are

one of the
most abundant
and richest
of world
commodities
is cum
that more
likely than not
turns into
some poor
motherfucker
staring at
a wall
aggravated at
having to go
out to the
department
of human
services
in age-old rain

1/21/10

She Only Took This Many Pills
xxxxxxxxxxx
________________________

1/18/10

Last Hope

April of '68 I was 17 working
at a Shell station on Florence
in Inglewood when King Jr.
got killed by the same U.S.
government Obama now
works for so I quess change
does come sing hallelujah
but I can remember the
bell ringing going to get this
guy some gas in that stupid
company uniform and out of
the car comes this 6' 5" black
motherfucker who throws
me up against the pumps then
punches me screaming it's
over for you white fuckers
that was your last hope
and he gets back in his ride
and takes off and I'm holding
my bloody nose bewildered
because I hadn't yet heard the
news and what the fuck was
that all about anyway but now I
know and believe it or not I still
think they should have given
the day to Eldridge or Huey

1/17/10

TELEVISED STENCH

beating newsmeat
to catastrophe porno

"impact your world"

1/15/10

"When You're Out Of Schlitz..."

for Chris Byck

long as I can remember
my old man was always
sipping on a quart room
temperature set on some
kitchen table end table
coffee table picnic table so
when he died of an aneurism
at the Hotel Royal in Santa
Cruz a couple weeks after
that earthquake with the
same warm quart of Schlitz
in hand he just took a pull
from it was cool that the
inmate he was partying
with had capped it off half
empty before the meat
wagon came to give to me
later with all of his other
shit which I then brought
back to Oregon where about
nine months after that a
partner talked me into
opening to drink up as
tribute but we almost puked
so went back to the 16 oz.
bottles of Rainier that
weren't much better though
at least they were cold

1/12/10

Furtherance

the tiny red and blue capillaries
inside my face all blown out from
alcohol unfolding up to my eyeballs
like a service station roadmap they
used to give out as a courtesy to
those people who never got lost





This page intentionally left blank.







1/10/10

SHAPE SHIFTER IN A FUNHOUSE MIRROR

they begrudgingly inform
me it took awhile
but you finally
succumbed to the brain
tumor

turned your head to a
different wall no one
else could see and
became one of your dolls

motherfucker I loved
you so

all these years & I
still have that xerox'ed
copy of our entwined
hands & drivers
licenses we made
at the Safeway machine
on the way to the clinic
after coming back from
pawning my saxophone
for the abortion money

the asshole made me play
it for him because he
thought it was stolen

I remember squawking
out some slow groove
& that was it

your precious face

our child would be in
his/her mid-twenties
by now

I had to stop for proof

1/9/10

REQUIESCAT FOR A SOUL MAN

One day we took the city
bus from Santa Cruz,
up the coast to Davenport.

We brought along a gallon
of red wine.

Jack knew some woman who
lived on a cliff
overlooking the ocean.

She made these life-size
porcelain pig heads.

She let us in her studio
and there were all these
tables with pig heads
on them.

Ferlinghetti was there.

I was getting pretty
buzzed.

Jack was giving Ferlinghetti
shit for not publishing him.

At some point, Ferlinghetti
left.

Jack would always tell the
story about pissing on the
shoe of the publisher of
Grove Press at some ritzy
party in N. Y. C.,
back when Jack was still
young and good looking.

That's why Grove Press
never would publish
him, he'd say.

We went outside to go piss
off of the cliff.

I told Jack, piss on my
shoe, asshole, that way
I can say Jack Micheline
pissed on my shoe.

I started backing him up
towards the edge of
the cliff.

He pushed me away,
making that wry face
of his.

I kept it up.

"O. K., you fucking
prick...", he said.

Jack Micheline
pissed on my shoe.

1/4/10

The Deal

late 60's there in Venice on
the strand at Steve Richmond's
bookstore and candle shop I picked
up a free copy of Bukowski's broadside
The Genius Of The Crowd printed by
mimeograph on a legal-size piece of
white paper stinking of incense which I
had to sell over 20 years later to a book
dealer in Berkeley who probably sold it
to some cult asshole who would never
understand that sunny summer day
when it sealed the deal folded up
in my faded rear pants pocket

1/2/10

Bitch Slap

I wouldn't
fuck
her with
your dick
he
told me
not
realizing
I already
fucked
her
with his