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.
__________________________________




1/9/10

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.
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