"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. __________________________________
I would leave LA for instance in a NY minute and wake up in Chicago in a chair with a TV bolted to it playing an old black and white movie with some idiot telling his mother he is on top of the world and I mouthed that phrase on top of the world and it sounded pretty good until my quarters ran out and I heard the loudspeaker say they are loading at Gate 9 so I dropped the empty poorboy of American port and stood up to face them
it's always something but it never amounts to nothing if memory is your slave then sleep will harbor faces who count the modulation of bones a perfect tongue-tied sentence for in the morning when she'll fuck you again only if you pull out and shoot it on her stomach into neat little puddles of some of our luckiest
my favorite 4th of July was when me and my high school buddies went to go camp up on the Kern River out of Bakersfield and right before you hit those boulders and the "how many have died this year in the rapids" sign you'd pass that big arche on the left that said HAG'S PLACE and we shot it the finger and hit that joint for the 18 mile or so treacherous ride it took to get to this beautiful creek that ran into the river where we set up all our stuff and dropped some acid to get fueled for the big fireworks display at Lake Isabella that night where a couple hours and miles later at dusk and not quite peaking we witnessed some local high school football team blow themselves up lighting the shit off this barge in the middle of the lake killing half of them and all the screams got us out of there back to camp where we set up about a hundred candles all across the creek on all the rocks in the water and in that surreal light talked about what we'd do if we ever got drafted