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.
__________________________________




4/5/10

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