Before Obama ever was President-elect, he was just a simple teacher in an inner-city school. The day he first got hired, after spending eighty dollars on detox drinks and self-piss-tests to make sure he’d pass the screening, he scoped out the scene. He tried to be incognito, but it didn’t work; the pearl necklace he wore that day called him out; he was a separate class than the students. The students saw Obama walk above their heads. But despite this setback, of not being able to blend in, Obama did not allow himself to miss an opportunity. “We need change,” he told himself that day, floating above the crowd. He took mental pictures of the students, and went home to make a plan. The next morning, Obama arrived, dropped off by a two-story limo that had illegally tinted windows. The door of it was opened, and Obama back-flipped out, landing with a bounce he set up with his knees. He turned around and opened his lips the way Mick Jagger does when he’s done too much coke (the way Obama thinks it’s permanently stuck because of too much of it), and gave full-view to his new platinum grills. The students, children of ethnic groups—poor, poor, poor—could finally see him for what he was: one of them. Obama had their respect. He swaggered down the halls, through metal detectors (letting them ring annoying songs, but allowed to continue because he was faculty), through gang beat-downs, through aggressive and sexual stares. Obama stood in front of the board and wrote, “OBAMA!” and turned around, bent at his knees and leaned back. He said, “I fucking listen to hip-hop! I’m fucking street! My life’s laughable but I’m fucking doing what I want! I’m fucking the shit! I’m a piece of shit! When you’ve been through what I’ve been through, when you’ve been fucked by life though all the consequences are your own breeding, and you’re still being a piece of shit, then I’ll respect you.”
*DISCLAIMER*
Andy Riverbed does not support the formation of suburban ska-punk bands. When questioned as to why he would represent himself with such crap on his blog, he answered, “It exists. It must be documented. Shitty-suburban-ska-punk-bands are an anthropological enigma that must be looked into to prevent in the future. Ska-punk sucks!”
Circus Circus played their second show without, Rilly, their drummer on December 13 along with LARF, TBH, Amish Electric Chair, and the Roaring Twenties. Props to AEC, the RTs, Greg, Matt, Spence, Brian, Brett (for showing up), and anyone else that my mind might have slipped, for representing and staying to watch Circus Circus. Fuck little kids that got to be home by 12 AM.
Circus Circus
The Roaring Twenties
Amish Electric Chair
LARF
TBH
ART BENEFIT
The Wayward Council will be participating in the University of Florida’s January ’09 Art Walk. Last year’s at the Wayward was a success; artists from all over the country donated pieces. If interested in donating art to be sold at a gallery-type-thingy at Wayward, followed by a band show, feel free.
Check out the flyer here.
If you need details such as a contact address, send an email to andy.riverbed@yahoo.com
Zachary C. Bush is getting shit done.
Zachary C. Bush, a good poet-friend of mine, has a collection of his available through Lulu press. You can check that out here. He is a great poet who really likes to push shit. He also has two other books coming out next year from some pretty cool publishers.
They are:
1) AT SWAN DECAPITATION (Vox Press: Spring/Fall ’09)
--concrete/graphic/language-experimental poetry
2) ANGLES OF DISORER (BlazeVOX books: Summer ’09)
--surrealist/fabulist/futurist odd blend of prose poetry
ZCB also founded a new lit journal named KORA, check it out here.
Not everyone hates Andy Riverbed.
People are appreciating the social work that the Riverbed partakes in. Check the praise here.
There's also another interview with the Riverbed at What to Wear During an Orange Alert? Check that out here.
Don't forget you can pre-order the debut Andy Riverbed collection throughout the month of December here.
New Translations
Knowing his Country had a Weak Legal System
Some half-wit
Asian
dude tried to save face
once
so he murdered
his girlfriend
cause she accepted
his
ding-a-ling
wouldn't work right.
- Ra Gabriel
Sabiendo que su país tenia una mierda de sistema legal
Un asiático
medio
moron trato de dar cara
una vez
asique mató
su novía
porque ella aceptó
que su
bichito
no funcionaba.
- Translated from English by Andy Riverbed
Easier Than Betty Crocker's Chocolate Cake
my fingers smell like pussy (mine)
my husband is in bed (snoring)
life has become a painting by an
auto mechanic who inherited his mama's trailer
and can't keep a woman
cause he listens to Mahler instead of George Strait
and he'd rather eat garlic mashed potatoes than pussy
the painting is of a duck
the duck looks puzzled
and out of place
in the IHOP parking lot
- Misti Rainwater
Mas facíl que un bizcocho de chocolate Betty Crocker
mis dedos huelen a chocha (la mía)
mi esposo esta en la cama (roncando)
la vida se ha vuelto una pintura por un
mecaníco quien heredó el tráiler de su maí
y no puede quedarse con una mujer
porque escucha a Mahler envede de a George Strait
y prefiere comer papas majadas con ajo envede de chocha
la obra es de un pato
el pato se ve confundido
y fuera de lugar
en el estacionamineto de IHOP
- Translated from English by Andy Riverbed
1 comment:
This is a nice duet of poems: broken cocks and fingers smelling of pussy. Good stuff.
Also, a painting of a duck is always welcome. Ducks, the cliche symbol of fidelity are actually the players of the fowl. Each spring they get their mate on with new drakes who only stays until the babies are hatched. Wonder why he walked from the nest to an IHOP? Maybe it's like the pick-up club of the duck?
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