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.
__________________________________




4/29/10






Amid several
of the thicker
streaks, four
gray whales
could be seen
swimming
in the oil.





4/24/10

Meaning Of Time

those who shall
never be forgotten
are forgotten now

4/21/10

AMERICA

you should try
and get here in
your smudged
newspaper
makeup with
amyl nitrate eyes
your dark skinned
myths dropping
into midway dirt
along with your
bikini panties
if you can read
the hobo signs
in those Simon
Rodia stilettos
you got hanging
out the boxcar
door while every
town that passes
by plays God's
little recorded
voice sounding
something like
that funhouse
laugh only the
Outsiders will
still remember

4/20/10

Breathing

Vader
Vadrbrth
Weez Baby
Normalbs
Breath
Lung
Crackle
Breathe Mask

4/18/10




The taxidermist smiles.




4/15/10

Ambulance On Hope Street

I'd soak my harps
in a glass of tears
but those 13 Hohners
and Lee Oskars in
that sweet black
case are in hock in
Klamath Falls, OR
and have been for
the last two and a
half years $18 every
other month like
giving blood because
I can't get them out
I'm constantly broke
and my soul partner
Greg Hall sent them
to me just one more
of his beautiful gifts
and he's dead as shit
so I can't just let them
go but I sure as fuck
can't play them now
either it's unconditional
love and very doubtful
that someday I will
ever survive on words

4/14/10

The Longest Bar In The World

should have been her
outstretched arms
with the Christmas
lights still on outside
in the trailer park
where it's 87 degrees
at midnight when a
faraway radio stuffed
full of enough real
poets could have told
you there never would
have been a last call in
those pretty blue long
gone Trailways eyes

4/11/10

Most Gods Never Learned To Kill

pulling the top rubbery
layer of your life off out
the emulsion tray your
existence now on the
backside of your dreams
seems pretty complacent
compared to sex and death
or your need to get drunk
and scream through the
streets at night when
religion works the best
with everyone afraid to
dance in forged flesh under
the hunter's moon only
to say goodbye again

4/10/10







TEAR GAS AND RUBBER BULLETS)






4/9/10







That was an incredibly
painful
sentence to write.






4/8/10

The Terror The Terror

Senor Blues lights his
shoes afire during the
last flight to nowhere
on lonesome Planet X'd
in that Nike commercial
for the big game no one
will ever see if the blessed
omnipresent Sky Marshal
has his way or your nurse
doesn't change the channel

4/5/10

Will

another thing I remember
is way back then the now
present Poet Laureate of
Santa Cruz had asked me
to house sit his pad there
in Bonny Doon right down
on the river not far from
that great bar The Lost
Weekend and I thought
why the fuck not and I fed
off his snob pity because
at the time I was living in
my car avoiding the pigs
on Capitola Rd. not able to
write any damn poems so
I went to meet the dude
and got the keys and he
showed me how to feed the
dogs the cats where to put
the shit out in the compost
pile where his typewriter
was and I kept nodding my
head fuck yeah man and
then he got to the part about
oh and don't bother
trying to find my dope
or my booze I hid all
that shit pretty good
you'll never find it and I
said fuck no man no I just
want to write so after he left
it took me about one day to
find his tequila his beer his
bourbon his wine his weed
his pretty righteous hash
and it was a glorious week
consuming every fucking
thing he had stashed away
listening continually to that
one sweet Rodney Crowell
song 'Til I Gain Control
Again on his system but all
good things do soon end so
hours before the time on the
date designated he'd get
home I neatly stacked up all
the empty liquor bottles on
the table left all the roaches
and his hash pipe in the
ashtray and took my leave
to go back living in a car
without even writing one
single shitting word

4/4/10



from: AMERICAN DIARY

so the morning of Oct. 21 after
twenty-six blood transfusions
Jean Louis Kerouac died in St.
Anthony's Hospital of hemorrhaging
esophageal varices a classic
drunkard's death on fucking
Dizzy Gillespie's birthday
and ain't that America


4/3/10





eone else.)


the missing, new, was found, the killer
scribed her actions to the edge of nearby
others in the trade "I knew that man with
light selves in the living Victim of the car
Ever since I met Maria de Lourdes the
corpse is is terrible." Then, loquialism
which, an rival, to this writer from of
some of the men of the indirect quo via
to cope with the (The latter phrase said,
"I fell for him this was my true Maria, be
strong enough brutal giggle. They had
called sited the missing blooded murder
persons at the stalled aluminum police
files, but no loosely translated, over
two years ago, killed," he said