"the day 'oxycontin' was introduced to my vocabulary."
it started out as a cure. maybe not a cure but a workaround, a band-aid, a relief, a coping mechanism.
"take one of these every 8-12 hours," said the vietnamese doctor in the white jacket.
"sure doc. no problem," I replied.
the day was hot. time is always hot in Orange County. the sun penetrates, smothers, suffocates a person. the sun never dies. despite sorrow, death, emptiness, worthlessness, any horrible emotion or event a person can endure, the sun suffers through, slowing everything down, illuminating frailties. a desperate type of glow.
agony becomes the day.
i left little saigon with prescription in hand not knowing in a few hours my chemical makeup would change forever.
- jereme dean
Madore
PH Madore has a chapbook, YOUR, coming out from Publishing Genius Press soon. Check him out HERE.
Online Radio Speech
I was invited by Newamba Flamingo to read and talk shit on his BlogTalkRadio Check that out HERE.
Comprehensive Review of “Russia” by the Mystery Books
David Fishkind wrote a review of the Mystery Book’s “Russia.” Check that out HERE.
ZCB Full-Length
Zachary C. Bush has his first full-length collection has been released. Check that out HERE.
I like Bush’s stuff a lot. So much that I've even done a "cover" of him. You check that out in this video:
CircoCirco Shows
the junkward w/ sexy crimes(richmond), ex-boogeymen, honest arrow, cop shades aug 15
wayward council w/ didimao (san francisco), magic and the johnsons (orlando), diamonds guns gold aug 22
the kickstand w/ tubers, alligator sept 12
trash bash at the kickstand oct 3
New Translations!
***UPDATE***
After being accessed by David Leavitt on the legalities of publishing translations of deceased authors without permission, and out of fear of legal retributions, I have decided to temporarily (hopefully) delete all translations of José María Lima's work on the Instruction Manual until I have official permission to do so.
Sorry for the inconvenience.
- AR 4/26/10
dennis 36 años
la primera cosa que noté
sobre el hombre
que vino a arreglar mi
trituradora de basura
fue la etiqueta con su nombre:
dennis 36 años.
sin decir una palabra
se desplazó hacía mi cocina
con un cubo blanco de cinco galones
haciéndole de caja de herramientas
agarrado en su mano izquierda.
del cubo
sacó una toalla vieja
y la puso sobre el piso
debajo del lavamano
y se arrodilló.
estoy fascinado
y horrorizado
por el tipo de persona
quien trabaja 36 años
en el mismo empleo.
personalmente
nunca he durado
más de un año y medio
en cualquiera.
sentado en la esquina de la cama
en mi apartamentito
pretendí leer
una colección de cuentos cortos
por chekhov
pero lo que hice fue observarlo trabajar
quisiendo saber
qué clase de pensamientos
corrían por su mente
diariamente.
como sherwood anderson
estoy intrigado por lo
grotesco
pero si prestas
atención a esta vida
sabrás que esas preguntas
no se hacen abiertamente
al tipo de persona
que ha trabajado 36 años
en el mismo empleo.
escuché su llave inglesa
caer al piso.
murciélago del infierno,
dijo
y siguió trabajando.
par de minutos luego
puso la toalla
en el cubo
y se paró.
aguantará presión,
dijo
y me pasó por el lado
y salió.
esa noche
estaba borracho
bebiendo crown and seven
haciéndome el payaso
para mi primer
amiga con privilegios en diez años
y me di un golpe en el dedito del pie
contra el pilar de la cama.
murciélago del infierno,
dije
cojeando del dolor.
qué acabas de decir?
llamó ella desde la cama
donde estaba sentada con las piernas cruzadas
y sus trenzas
pintándose
las uñas de negro.
murciélago del infierno
no son mis palabras
me las robé
de dennis 36 años,
dije
mirando hacia abajo
para asegurame
que no haya esquilado
el dedo de mi pie.
ah?
olvídate,
dije
y me le trepé a la cama correctamente
y coloqué el esmalte sobre la mesita de noche
y le descarge
toda mi presíon encima.
- Translated from English by Andy Riverbed with proofs by Marina Reyes Franco
dennis 36 years
first thing i noticed
about the man
who came to fix my
garbage disposal
was his name tag:
dennis 36 years.
without saying a word
he made his way to my kitchen
white five-gallon bucket
in his left hand
serving as a tool-box.
he pulled an old blanket
out of the bucket
spread it on the floor
beneath the sink
and crouched down.
i'm fascinated
and appalled
by the kind of people
who work 36 years
at the same job.
personally
i've never lasted
more than a year and a half
at any turn.
sitting on the edge of the bed
in my efficiency apt
i pretended to read
a book of short stories
by chekhov
but i watched him work
wanting to know
what kind of thoughts
ran through his mind
on a daily basis.
like sherwood anderson
i’m intrigued by the
grotesques
but if you pay
any kind of attention in this life
you know you don’t
ask those kinds of questions outright
to the type of people
who work 36 years
at the same job.
i heard his wrench
drop to the floor.
bat-full of hell,
he said
and kept working.
a few minutes later
he put the towel
in the bucket
and stood up.
she'll take the full load,
he said
and walked past me
and let himself out.
that night
i was sideways
on crown and seven
playing the clown
for my first
fuck-buddy in ten years
and i stubbed my little toe
on her bedpost.
bat-full of hell,
i said
limping it off.
what'd you just say?
she called from the bed
where she sat cross-legged
in pigtails
painting her
fingernails black.
bat-full of hell
it's not my line
i stole it
from dennis 36 years,
i said
looking down there
to make sure
i hadn’t sheared off
the toe.
wha?
never mind,
i said
and got up there properly
and set the polish on the bed-stand
and gave her
the full load.
- Justin Hyde
Maniquís que sudan tinta negra y nunca se divierten
Cazo mariposas con un arco miniatura hecho de ramitas y flechas elaboradas de las arrugas de tu cara, que representan todos los ceños fruncidos que has hecho en tu vida.
Quisiera ser la imagen que creaste de mí porque así me amarías y nunca me dejarías ir.
Estoy en una casa de retirados y estoy durmiendo debajo de la cama de un viejo que no sabe quién es y piensa que su familia ha desparecido.
Le sigo diciendo, “Tic, toc, tic, toc, nadie te quiere y no te aguantaré la mano cuando te mueras.”
Si pones un Twizzler dentro de tu oido parece como si tu oido estuviese vomitando sangre.
Si algun día tengo hijos, será un grave error y le pediré perdón al mayor número de personas que quiera escucharme.
Acuéstate. Es hora de caminar sobre ti y decir que eres un puente que ya no necesitaré.
Amo a todos los que lean esto.
- Translated from English by Andy Riverbed with proofs by Marina Reyes Franco
Mannequins that sweat black ink and never have any fun
I hunt butterflies with a miniature bow made of twigs and arrows fashioned from the creases in your face that represent every frown you've ever made.
I wish I were your made-up image of myself because then you'd love me and never let me go.
I am in a retirement home and am sleeping underneath the bed of an old man who doesn't know who he is anymore and who thinks his family has disappeared.
I keep saying "Tick tock tick tock, nobody loves you and I won't hold your hand when you die."
If you put a Twizzler in your ear it looks like your ear is vomiting blood.
If I ever have kids it will be a mistake and I will apologize to the largest number of people willing to listen.
Lie down. It is time for me to walk over you and call you a bridge I no longer need.
I love everyone who reads this.
- Sam Pink
Showing posts with label The Mystery Books. Show all posts
Showing posts with label The Mystery Books. Show all posts
Monday, August 10, 2009
Monday, June 22, 2009
How to Create a Reputation
And the child had woken up to the sound of his father. His father was up and moving, high-paced, and electrified. He was energized and moving things around the house. The wife, the child’s mother, was asleep, and they had a dog who barked as the father left. The child was playing with his ferret. His father told him to take care of the thing. So the child would play with it. What else was there to do with a ferret but to play with it? The child wondered why the ferret only wanted to run away from him. He would hold it by its long lower waist and pet it gently. He did not want to hurt his cute ferret. He’d rub it under its neck and then the ferret would close its eyes and move its feet in a seesaw-like motion. The ferret felt good in his hands. The child believed that the ferret had feelings. That the ferret got angry with him sometimes. He believed that the ferret felt lonely when the child was in school learning or something, or phone-calling his father in hopes of being with him. That the ferret, in brainwaves, would direct these feelings of loneliness to strike the child in his lower chest. And that’s why the child would feel sad. The child felt sad because his pet ferret was projecting its suffering onto him.
The father arrived and was no longer electrified. He was no longer focused as he was before. He no longer cared about getting shit done. The day had pretty-much ended for the father. The father had no idea what he would do if he were to do anything at all. Maybe attend the cinema? On the way home he did sing a song on the street. He had to ride the bus home because he had lent his car to drug dealers in exchange for some dope. Those drug-dealers would then leave the car in a depressing parking lot by Luquillo beach. He’d tell his family that the car had been broken into and stolen when he had parked it to run some errands in Santurce. “You know how bad of a neighborhood that is,” he’d say. It was true; they lived in a city in a Hispanic nation. It could be called hell if one believed in those places. Many Hispanics do. The father called and filed a stolen car report.
But on the way home, he had danced sounding some Hector Lavoe tunes inside his head. He sang along with Ricky Ruiz, who was standing in front of him waiting for the same bus that he was waiting for.
The child’s mother told the child everyday, “We are all connected.” The father had to call for a ride to work the next day. He felt weak and dehydrated. His face was pale and kind of sickly-yellow. He had trouble keeping his eyes open. The child, before his father had run out the door, lifted up his toy-car. He believed the toy car to be his father’s car. That when he played with the car, his father was protected and no harm could reach him. He told his father, “Daddy, you can use my car. I’ll make sure you get to work safely. No one will touch you, I promise.”
The father felt touched but had no time to signal sentimentality. He barely smiled and touched the child’s head as if he were petting a dog that had finally learned to not shit inside. He walked out the door and the wind closed it with a bang, and the father was gone. The ferret was asleep.
The Riverbed has a hater
His name is Mather Schneider. He is an okay poet. It took a long time for the Riverbed to find his poems. Actually, if it hadn't been for Madore posting Mather's last name on the blogpost in which Madore published the Riverbed's latest story, the Riverbed would have never known who Mather really was. Who Mather really was, was what inspired the Riverbed's lastest story titled "Mather as Ed the Schizophrenic Synth-Player of a Punk Rock Band." The Riverbed attempted to create an identity for this person who he did not know but who kept on for some reason going after the Riverbed. The Riverbed, being a good Puerto Rican, was not about to allow some person to fuck with him, so he fucked back.
What was it that caused this Mather to go after the Riverbed? Was it the fact that when he tried to get published in the Jargon, the ex-home of Mather's favorite poet, Justin Hyde, he was told he must email the Riverbed and get a recommendation? There's proof of that HERE. The Riverbed finds this funny because he had nothing to so with the submission policy, and in end didn't really get to do much as editor of the Jargon. He's just around doing his thing.
HERE's a post where DiGangi was promoing the Riverbed's eBook upcoming on EveryDayYeah, and Mather compares the Riverbed to Burroughs and Selby Jr., which it seems is supposed to be an insult, but is something the Riverbed would call an ego-boost. The Riverbed sings him a song.
HERE's a post in which Mather coined the subtitle for the Riverbed's eBook on EveryDayYeah if the story every gets published again in print or something. "Afternoon Drinking is Okay, a Journal that Should have Washed Out to Sea."
HERE's a post in which Matt DiGangi blogs about his laptop getting fucked up and that the Jargon would be going on hiatus for some time. Here Mather takes the opportunity to critique the Riverbed's poem, "Tasted like peanut-butter and guava-jelly." He also complains about being labeled as a "Hater." The Riverbed explains to him that the term "hater" is used in the same way that Hispanics refer to their home-boys as "cabrón."
HERE's a post in which DiGangi had posted up a list of the best Jargon stories of the year and Mather critiques that they are too showy and lack emotions. The Riverbed posted a flash-piece he had written recently about a girl he met when he was down in Miami. The Riverbed quotes Rick Ross.
HERE's a funny post of Mather being hateful in general. In this one Maya Angelou makes an appearance. More hate: HERE as well.
It got so bad that DiGangi censored the man for a while. Check that post out HERE. Maybe that's why he references the Jargon as being "socialist," but to tell you the truth, the Riverbed hates capitalism.
So the Riverbed decided that he wanted a face for this man, this Mather, and emailed DiGangi to invite Mather to read the manuscript of the Riverbed's second collection, We act angry and apathetic because there's too much noise. Check out the initial move HERE.
It seems from reading Mather's posts that he feels that the Riverbed expected to cause Mather to begin liking the Riverbed's writing. The Riverbed had no interest in that. All he knew was that Mather would take this chance to blow a bunch of hot air. And that's what Mather did. He gave the Riverbed material. Then the Riverbed wrote a story about a local schizophrenic who got his ass whooped downtown and named him Mather and had him seeing a young poet who he blows hot air on throughout the piece. The Riverbed wrote the story and tried very hard to get it published quickly because, well, he wanted to fuck with Mather. So Madore published it, and the Riverbed was going to promo it at some point (would've been now, actually), but he guesses that Mather had one of those programs that informs one if someone posts anything with one's name online, because the Mather found out pretty quickly about the story being published. So on THIS post having nothing to do with the Riverbed, Mather informs of his awareness of the Riverbed' story using his opinion of the Riverbed's manuscript.
Since the cat was out of the bag, DiGangi posted about the story with his link HERE.
And to answer the anonymous question, "What has Mather done?" The Riverbed can only say, You fuck with me, I'll fuck with you. Give me a kiss and I'll love you too.
Check out the story "Mather as Ed the Schizophrenic Synth-Player of a Punk Rock Band" HERE.
On better and brighter news
The Riverbed, Mystery Books, and CircoCirco will be playing shows in Puerto Rico.
The shows are as follows:
June 25th en Nuestro Son w/ Dj A.D.D, Los Niños Estelares, Seven Feeling, JesusChrist-Scientist, Carie, Circus Circus, Ron Calavera, Campo-Formio, ahd, Gio y Los Policias, Los Vijilantes, Las Ardillas, Dj Eleven & Darkside, Fango Pelusa, Kartago in that following order.
There will be lots of art by the most badass artists on the island right now. Represent.
June 26th at S.O.S. Burger Bar, Cataño (Frente a la lancha) w/ Antisociales and TBA
June 27th TBA
At 5PM on June 28th the Mystery Books and Andy Riverbed will be reading, along with Coleco and other invited guests at Libraria Isla http://libreriaisla.com/mm5/merchant.mvc in Rio Piedras.
There will be merchandise
And what is available is:
CircoCirco CD - "Don't Sleep on Your Moon" - $3
Contains six songs and Jonpol from La Cara Oculta, and singer from the infamous Napolnariz had this to say about the record: "If the Germs was a crazy synth-punk band, this is what it would sound like."
The Mystery Books CD - "Russia" - $3
Contains songs that have been blogged about by Tao Lin and P.H. Madore. Check out this interview at Orange Alert HERE.
Mystery Books / Andy Riverbed Split Cassette - "Sleep Forever / Live - $3
Mystery Books' latest recording along with the Riverbed doing spoken word with the Mystery Books as his backing band. He reads new material and translated works of Sam Pink and Alfredo "Cofre" Perezjurado.
Mystery Books Shirt - "Sleep Forever" - $7
Andy Riverbed Shirt - "Mr. Riverbed as Fatboy McPopcorn" - $7
This drawing was done by Rilly Fink, lead singer and songwriter of the Mystery Books.
Andy Riverbed Book - Damaged - $10
Debut Andy Riverbed collection. He only has two copies of these but will get some more soon.
La Cara Oculta / Scum of the Earth 7' - "Chuck Berry / Big Daddy Kane" - $4
La Cara Oculta 7' - "S/T" - $4
If anyone who is not going to be in Puerto Rico is interested in any of this merchandise, send necessary money and a list of which items you want to:
Andy Riverbed
1216 SW 2nd Ave. Apt. 127
Gainesville, FL, 32601
The Riverbed will send whatever was ordered immediately, or at least, as soon as possible, once he arrives back to Gainesville.
For any details or just someone to connect to, email the Riverbed at andy.riverbed@yahoo.com
The father arrived and was no longer electrified. He was no longer focused as he was before. He no longer cared about getting shit done. The day had pretty-much ended for the father. The father had no idea what he would do if he were to do anything at all. Maybe attend the cinema? On the way home he did sing a song on the street. He had to ride the bus home because he had lent his car to drug dealers in exchange for some dope. Those drug-dealers would then leave the car in a depressing parking lot by Luquillo beach. He’d tell his family that the car had been broken into and stolen when he had parked it to run some errands in Santurce. “You know how bad of a neighborhood that is,” he’d say. It was true; they lived in a city in a Hispanic nation. It could be called hell if one believed in those places. Many Hispanics do. The father called and filed a stolen car report.
But on the way home, he had danced sounding some Hector Lavoe tunes inside his head. He sang along with Ricky Ruiz, who was standing in front of him waiting for the same bus that he was waiting for.
The child’s mother told the child everyday, “We are all connected.” The father had to call for a ride to work the next day. He felt weak and dehydrated. His face was pale and kind of sickly-yellow. He had trouble keeping his eyes open. The child, before his father had run out the door, lifted up his toy-car. He believed the toy car to be his father’s car. That when he played with the car, his father was protected and no harm could reach him. He told his father, “Daddy, you can use my car. I’ll make sure you get to work safely. No one will touch you, I promise.”
The father felt touched but had no time to signal sentimentality. He barely smiled and touched the child’s head as if he were petting a dog that had finally learned to not shit inside. He walked out the door and the wind closed it with a bang, and the father was gone. The ferret was asleep.
The Riverbed has a hater
His name is Mather Schneider. He is an okay poet. It took a long time for the Riverbed to find his poems. Actually, if it hadn't been for Madore posting Mather's last name on the blogpost in which Madore published the Riverbed's latest story, the Riverbed would have never known who Mather really was. Who Mather really was, was what inspired the Riverbed's lastest story titled "Mather as Ed the Schizophrenic Synth-Player of a Punk Rock Band." The Riverbed attempted to create an identity for this person who he did not know but who kept on for some reason going after the Riverbed. The Riverbed, being a good Puerto Rican, was not about to allow some person to fuck with him, so he fucked back.
What was it that caused this Mather to go after the Riverbed? Was it the fact that when he tried to get published in the Jargon, the ex-home of Mather's favorite poet, Justin Hyde, he was told he must email the Riverbed and get a recommendation? There's proof of that HERE. The Riverbed finds this funny because he had nothing to so with the submission policy, and in end didn't really get to do much as editor of the Jargon. He's just around doing his thing.
HERE's a post where DiGangi was promoing the Riverbed's eBook upcoming on EveryDayYeah, and Mather compares the Riverbed to Burroughs and Selby Jr., which it seems is supposed to be an insult, but is something the Riverbed would call an ego-boost. The Riverbed sings him a song.
HERE's a post in which Mather coined the subtitle for the Riverbed's eBook on EveryDayYeah if the story every gets published again in print or something. "Afternoon Drinking is Okay, a Journal that Should have Washed Out to Sea."
HERE's a post in which Matt DiGangi blogs about his laptop getting fucked up and that the Jargon would be going on hiatus for some time. Here Mather takes the opportunity to critique the Riverbed's poem, "Tasted like peanut-butter and guava-jelly." He also complains about being labeled as a "Hater." The Riverbed explains to him that the term "hater" is used in the same way that Hispanics refer to their home-boys as "cabrón."
HERE's a post in which DiGangi had posted up a list of the best Jargon stories of the year and Mather critiques that they are too showy and lack emotions. The Riverbed posted a flash-piece he had written recently about a girl he met when he was down in Miami. The Riverbed quotes Rick Ross.
HERE's a funny post of Mather being hateful in general. In this one Maya Angelou makes an appearance. More hate: HERE as well.
It got so bad that DiGangi censored the man for a while. Check that post out HERE. Maybe that's why he references the Jargon as being "socialist," but to tell you the truth, the Riverbed hates capitalism.
So the Riverbed decided that he wanted a face for this man, this Mather, and emailed DiGangi to invite Mather to read the manuscript of the Riverbed's second collection, We act angry and apathetic because there's too much noise. Check out the initial move HERE.
It seems from reading Mather's posts that he feels that the Riverbed expected to cause Mather to begin liking the Riverbed's writing. The Riverbed had no interest in that. All he knew was that Mather would take this chance to blow a bunch of hot air. And that's what Mather did. He gave the Riverbed material. Then the Riverbed wrote a story about a local schizophrenic who got his ass whooped downtown and named him Mather and had him seeing a young poet who he blows hot air on throughout the piece. The Riverbed wrote the story and tried very hard to get it published quickly because, well, he wanted to fuck with Mather. So Madore published it, and the Riverbed was going to promo it at some point (would've been now, actually), but he guesses that Mather had one of those programs that informs one if someone posts anything with one's name online, because the Mather found out pretty quickly about the story being published. So on THIS post having nothing to do with the Riverbed, Mather informs of his awareness of the Riverbed' story using his opinion of the Riverbed's manuscript.
Since the cat was out of the bag, DiGangi posted about the story with his link HERE.
And to answer the anonymous question, "What has Mather done?" The Riverbed can only say, You fuck with me, I'll fuck with you. Give me a kiss and I'll love you too.
Check out the story "Mather as Ed the Schizophrenic Synth-Player of a Punk Rock Band" HERE.
On better and brighter news
The Riverbed, Mystery Books, and CircoCirco will be playing shows in Puerto Rico.
The shows are as follows:
June 25th en Nuestro Son w/ Dj A.D.D, Los Niños Estelares, Seven Feeling, JesusChrist-Scientist, Carie, Circus Circus, Ron Calavera, Campo-Formio, ahd, Gio y Los Policias, Los Vijilantes, Las Ardillas, Dj Eleven & Darkside, Fango Pelusa, Kartago in that following order.
There will be lots of art by the most badass artists on the island right now. Represent.
June 26th at S.O.S. Burger Bar, Cataño (Frente a la lancha) w/ Antisociales and TBA
June 27th TBA
At 5PM on June 28th the Mystery Books and Andy Riverbed will be reading, along with Coleco and other invited guests at Libraria Isla http://libreriaisla.com/mm5/merchant.mvc in Rio Piedras.
There will be merchandise
And what is available is:
CircoCirco CD - "Don't Sleep on Your Moon" - $3
Contains six songs and Jonpol from La Cara Oculta, and singer from the infamous Napolnariz had this to say about the record: "If the Germs was a crazy synth-punk band, this is what it would sound like."
The Mystery Books CD - "Russia" - $3
Contains songs that have been blogged about by Tao Lin and P.H. Madore. Check out this interview at Orange Alert HERE.
Mystery Books / Andy Riverbed Split Cassette - "Sleep Forever / Live - $3
Mystery Books' latest recording along with the Riverbed doing spoken word with the Mystery Books as his backing band. He reads new material and translated works of Sam Pink and Alfredo "Cofre" Perezjurado.
Mystery Books Shirt - "Sleep Forever" - $7
Andy Riverbed Shirt - "Mr. Riverbed as Fatboy McPopcorn" - $7
This drawing was done by Rilly Fink, lead singer and songwriter of the Mystery Books.
Andy Riverbed Book - Damaged - $10
Debut Andy Riverbed collection. He only has two copies of these but will get some more soon.
La Cara Oculta / Scum of the Earth 7' - "Chuck Berry / Big Daddy Kane" - $4
La Cara Oculta 7' - "S/T" - $4
If anyone who is not going to be in Puerto Rico is interested in any of this merchandise, send necessary money and a list of which items you want to:
Andy Riverbed
1216 SW 2nd Ave. Apt. 127
Gainesville, FL, 32601
The Riverbed will send whatever was ordered immediately, or at least, as soon as possible, once he arrives back to Gainesville.
For any details or just someone to connect to, email the Riverbed at andy.riverbed@yahoo.com
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
How to Silk-Screen
Take a hammer and smash your television; pull the plug and walk to the front of your TV and place it in front of the TV. Kick-in any glass that remains. Push the box over; stand on it. Jump onto the lamp and swing in circles shouting your favorite punk rock song. Let go and land on your feet; rip your mother's silk curtains and throw them over the TV. Take a picture and upload it onto your blog.
*UPDATE!*
The Riverbed gets compared to Burroughs and Selby Jr. HERE.
The Riverbed has a new story; it can be previewed HERE.
What to Wear During an Orange Alert? has moved its url. Check out its new space HERE.
Raili did a drawing of the Riverbed as Popcorn.
Mr. Riverbed as Fatboy McPopcorn
Wall-attack #3 is ready and will be hitting Florida soon.
*ATTENTION* The Culprits aren't the only ones attacking the walls!
Limited edition versions of one of Wall-attack #3, with poems by my homeboy Cofre, will be available to those who email their mailing address to andy.riverbed (at) yahoo.com.
Limited Edition Wall-Attack #3 Poster
Musíca
The Mystery Books - Utterly Confused
Nicole Miglis
Some Guy who's Sad because his Band Broke-up and it's Cold Outside
The Jazz Ensemble
New Translations!
las horas del sol te destruíran
me desperté a las una de la tarde
y aquí se oscurese a las cinco.
tengo cuatro horas pa eliminar de mi vida;
si no, las horas del día me derrotaran.
caminó por las calles por un rato
solo y desesperado.
aquí no hay nada mas para mi,
lo sé pero trato negarlo;
¡no hay nada!
ya no puedo ignorarlo.
¡esta idea me sofoca
y es insoportable!
es mi compañero indeseable que nunca sale de la casa y los otros días, sin razón
me trato de asesinar,
y lo ha hecho
otras innumerables veces.
quiero que tenga una forma física,
esta idea, para deshacerme del.
¿como pueden llenar todas estas horas
y que hacen con sus vidas
por
to
estos
años?
no me siento fuerte de muchas cosas,
pero las horas del sol te alcanzaran
y al final te destruíran.
- Translated from English by Andy Riverbed
the day hours will eventually destroy you
i woke up today at one in the afternoon
and it gets dark at five.
i have four hours to eliminate from my life;
otherwise, the daylight would defeat me.
i walk around outside for awhile
feeling really desperate and alone.
there is nothing left here for me.
i know this but i try to avoid it.
there is nothing!
i can no longer ignore it.
that thought is suffocating
and unbearable!
it is an unwanted roommate that never leaves the house and then tries to murder you,
suddenly,
one day for no reason,
and then countless times after that.
i want it to have a physical form,
so that i can make it go away.
how do people fill up all of these hours,
and what do people do with themselves
for
all
of
these
years?
i don't feel strongly about many things in life,
but the day hours will eventually catch up with you,
and ultimately destroy you.
- Raili FInk
*UPDATE!*
The Riverbed gets compared to Burroughs and Selby Jr. HERE.
The Riverbed has a new story; it can be previewed HERE.
What to Wear During an Orange Alert? has moved its url. Check out its new space HERE.
Raili did a drawing of the Riverbed as Popcorn.
Mr. Riverbed as Fatboy McPopcorn
Wall-attack #3 is ready and will be hitting Florida soon.
*ATTENTION* The Culprits aren't the only ones attacking the walls!
Limited edition versions of one of Wall-attack #3, with poems by my homeboy Cofre, will be available to those who email their mailing address to andy.riverbed (at) yahoo.com.
Limited Edition Wall-Attack #3 Poster
Musíca
The Mystery Books - Utterly Confused
Nicole Miglis
Some Guy who's Sad because his Band Broke-up and it's Cold Outside
The Jazz Ensemble
New Translations!
las horas del sol te destruíran
me desperté a las una de la tarde
y aquí se oscurese a las cinco.
tengo cuatro horas pa eliminar de mi vida;
si no, las horas del día me derrotaran.
caminó por las calles por un rato
solo y desesperado.
aquí no hay nada mas para mi,
lo sé pero trato negarlo;
¡no hay nada!
ya no puedo ignorarlo.
¡esta idea me sofoca
y es insoportable!
es mi compañero indeseable que nunca sale de la casa y los otros días, sin razón
me trato de asesinar,
y lo ha hecho
otras innumerables veces.
quiero que tenga una forma física,
esta idea, para deshacerme del.
¿como pueden llenar todas estas horas
y que hacen con sus vidas
por
to
estos
años?
no me siento fuerte de muchas cosas,
pero las horas del sol te alcanzaran
y al final te destruíran.
- Translated from English by Andy Riverbed
the day hours will eventually destroy you
i woke up today at one in the afternoon
and it gets dark at five.
i have four hours to eliminate from my life;
otherwise, the daylight would defeat me.
i walk around outside for awhile
feeling really desperate and alone.
there is nothing left here for me.
i know this but i try to avoid it.
there is nothing!
i can no longer ignore it.
that thought is suffocating
and unbearable!
it is an unwanted roommate that never leaves the house and then tries to murder you,
suddenly,
one day for no reason,
and then countless times after that.
i want it to have a physical form,
so that i can make it go away.
how do people fill up all of these hours,
and what do people do with themselves
for
all
of
these
years?
i don't feel strongly about many things in life,
but the day hours will eventually catch up with you,
and ultimately destroy you.
- Raili FInk
Friday, January 16, 2009
How to Save your Country
Disobey.
Robert Downy Jr. made an appearance in claymation media-form.
Circus Circus played the Wayward with their drummer Rilly, Moral Sects, The Genuine Imitations, and The Riverwinds.
Circus Circus
Moral Sects
The Genuine Imitations
The Riverwinds
New Translations!
me sorprendo a mi mismo sentado en mi cuarto
tarde en la noche me siento en mi cama solo
typiando oraciones en gmail chat
me sonrío en lo que me veo las piernas o algo así
limpío mi piso con papel de culo mojado
me gusta vivir en un entorno limpío
a veces pienso en los demas
y pienso que el enfoque principal de mi vida podría ser otra cosa
pero luego no se me occuren otras cosas
- Translated from English by Andy Riverbed & Alfredo "Cofre" Perezjurado
i sit in my room feeling really amused at myself
late at night i sit alone on my bed
typing sentences into gmail chat
i grin while looking at my legs or something
i clean my floor with wet toilet paper
i like to live in a clean environment
sometimes i think about people
and i think that my main focus in life might be on something else
but then i can't really think of other things
- Tao Lin
big macs
abro la kombucha está
y me supó a big mac
nunca me había occurido una jodienda así
pense en como me sentía
pienso que me sentía como mierda
- Translated from English by Andy Riverbed & Alfredo "Cofre" Perezjurado
big macs
i opened my kombucha
it tasted like big macs
that hasn't happened before
i thought about how i felt
i think i felt really bad
- Tao Lin
sin rumbo
caminé debajo lluvia
en ruta a la biblioteca.
imaginé que el aire era agua y la lluvia era bulbujas
y estaba en algún lugar debajo del oceano atlantíco
y los carros eran almejas flotantes
y la gente eran calamares pequeños.
me reí de una persona corriendo una bici:
un calamar en una bici.
alguien debería hacer eso en un comíc.
y luego pensé en ella.
lo mas probable que se siente insegura,
o a lo mejor no entiende porque me río.
uno no ve cosas así todo los días.
¿como le podría explicar mis procesos mentales
y como podría saber que estaba pensando ella?
a lo mejor debería hacerme el loco o que estoy endrogao o algo así.
es divertido hacerme de cosas así.
cuando tenía catorce años,
mi amiga se hizo la muerta,
acostada con sus brazos inánimadas en el aire
en una carreta roja.
yo la empujaba por las calles del suburbío
actuando como si estuviese abiertamente matando gente
y transportandolos por el día.
no me importaba si la gente aprobaban de mi comportamiento destructivo.
es difícil explicar porque eso me daba gracía,
especialmente ahora,
cuando los edifcíos que paso son arrecifes de coral gigantes.
- Translated from English by Andy Riverbed
aimless
i walked through the rain
on my way to the library.
i imagined the air was water and the rain was bubbles
and i was somewhere under the atlantic ocean
and the cars were floating clams
and the people were small squids.
i laughed out loud at a lady riding a bicycle:
a squid on a bicycle.
someone should make that into a comic.
and then i thought about her.
she probably feels insecure,
or maybe she doesn't understand why i'm laughing.
it's not everyday that you see these things.
how could i explain my thought process to her,
and how could i possibly know what she was thinking?
maybe i should pretend i'm crazy and on drugs or something.
it's fun to pretend like that.
when i was fourteen,
my friend pretended she was dead,
lying down
with her arms lifeless in the air,
in a red wagon
while i pushed her through suburban streets
acting like i was openly murdering people
and moving them around in the daylight.
i didn't care if people would approve of my unusually destructive behavior.
it is hard to explain why that was funny to me,
and especially now,
when the buildings i walk by are giant coral reefs.
- Rilly Fink
*Important News*
By the way, Andy Riverbed will be reading at Wayward's Open Mic this upcoming Sunday the 18th. Anybody else in the area of Gainesville that wants to fuck shit up at the open mic, feel free to show up.
And the Wayward is still looking for art donations to sell and benefit the store in the University of Florida's Art Walk which will occur January 30th. Don't think about it, just do it!
For details, email andy.riverbed (at) yahoo.com
The Mystery Books
Rilly of the Mystery Books was interviewed by Jason Jordan at What to Wear During an Orange Alert. Check that out HERE.
Other than that, buy my book, or something.
Robert Downy Jr. made an appearance in claymation media-form.
Circus Circus played the Wayward with their drummer Rilly, Moral Sects, The Genuine Imitations, and The Riverwinds.
Circus Circus
Moral Sects
The Genuine Imitations
The Riverwinds
New Translations!
me sorprendo a mi mismo sentado en mi cuarto
tarde en la noche me siento en mi cama solo
typiando oraciones en gmail chat
me sonrío en lo que me veo las piernas o algo así
limpío mi piso con papel de culo mojado
me gusta vivir en un entorno limpío
a veces pienso en los demas
y pienso que el enfoque principal de mi vida podría ser otra cosa
pero luego no se me occuren otras cosas
- Translated from English by Andy Riverbed & Alfredo "Cofre" Perezjurado
i sit in my room feeling really amused at myself
late at night i sit alone on my bed
typing sentences into gmail chat
i grin while looking at my legs or something
i clean my floor with wet toilet paper
i like to live in a clean environment
sometimes i think about people
and i think that my main focus in life might be on something else
but then i can't really think of other things
- Tao Lin
big macs
abro la kombucha está
y me supó a big mac
nunca me había occurido una jodienda así
pense en como me sentía
pienso que me sentía como mierda
- Translated from English by Andy Riverbed & Alfredo "Cofre" Perezjurado
big macs
i opened my kombucha
it tasted like big macs
that hasn't happened before
i thought about how i felt
i think i felt really bad
- Tao Lin
sin rumbo
caminé debajo lluvia
en ruta a la biblioteca.
imaginé que el aire era agua y la lluvia era bulbujas
y estaba en algún lugar debajo del oceano atlantíco
y los carros eran almejas flotantes
y la gente eran calamares pequeños.
me reí de una persona corriendo una bici:
un calamar en una bici.
alguien debería hacer eso en un comíc.
y luego pensé en ella.
lo mas probable que se siente insegura,
o a lo mejor no entiende porque me río.
uno no ve cosas así todo los días.
¿como le podría explicar mis procesos mentales
y como podría saber que estaba pensando ella?
a lo mejor debería hacerme el loco o que estoy endrogao o algo así.
es divertido hacerme de cosas así.
cuando tenía catorce años,
mi amiga se hizo la muerta,
acostada con sus brazos inánimadas en el aire
en una carreta roja.
yo la empujaba por las calles del suburbío
actuando como si estuviese abiertamente matando gente
y transportandolos por el día.
no me importaba si la gente aprobaban de mi comportamiento destructivo.
es difícil explicar porque eso me daba gracía,
especialmente ahora,
cuando los edifcíos que paso son arrecifes de coral gigantes.
- Translated from English by Andy Riverbed
aimless
i walked through the rain
on my way to the library.
i imagined the air was water and the rain was bubbles
and i was somewhere under the atlantic ocean
and the cars were floating clams
and the people were small squids.
i laughed out loud at a lady riding a bicycle:
a squid on a bicycle.
someone should make that into a comic.
and then i thought about her.
she probably feels insecure,
or maybe she doesn't understand why i'm laughing.
it's not everyday that you see these things.
how could i explain my thought process to her,
and how could i possibly know what she was thinking?
maybe i should pretend i'm crazy and on drugs or something.
it's fun to pretend like that.
when i was fourteen,
my friend pretended she was dead,
lying down
with her arms lifeless in the air,
in a red wagon
while i pushed her through suburban streets
acting like i was openly murdering people
and moving them around in the daylight.
i didn't care if people would approve of my unusually destructive behavior.
it is hard to explain why that was funny to me,
and especially now,
when the buildings i walk by are giant coral reefs.
- Rilly Fink
*Important News*
By the way, Andy Riverbed will be reading at Wayward's Open Mic this upcoming Sunday the 18th. Anybody else in the area of Gainesville that wants to fuck shit up at the open mic, feel free to show up.
And the Wayward is still looking for art donations to sell and benefit the store in the University of Florida's Art Walk which will occur January 30th. Don't think about it, just do it!
For details, email andy.riverbed (at) yahoo.com
The Mystery Books
Rilly of the Mystery Books was interviewed by Jason Jordan at What to Wear During an Orange Alert. Check that out HERE.
Other than that, buy my book, or something.
Monday, November 10, 2008
How to Strengthen a Relationship
Break up and maintain intimacies. Intimacies include fucking and IV drug use.
Between September 27 and 28 Matty and Reilly, whom form the Mystery Books and also part of La Cara Oculta (del rock n roll), played three shows in two different counties in the state of Florida. They played the Pizza Palace on the 27th, then Orlando (along with a reading by Andy Riverbed), then Gainesville as La Cara Oculta (also a reading by Andy Riverbed). By the time they had all gotten to Gainesville, nobody cared about footage, but the Gainesville show was fun as hell too.
The Mystery Books at the Pizza Palace
The Mystery Books in Orlando
Now that you are in love with The Mystery Books, you can download their new album, "Russia" here.
Last weekend was The Fest 7, and that kicked fucking ass. There was a reading. Tao Lin shouted "Obama!" at people. Andy Riverbed fell asleep in random public places.
Tao Lin at the Breakfast Buffet
Andy Riverbed reads translations at the Breakfast Buffet
Andy Riverbed reads new shit
To avoid confusion here are the poems read:
Jesus de chavito
mujer vende a díos en el
metro. gabanes embriagados
le dicen que este no es
el lugar para su jesus.
jesus esta en el tren,
ella dice. jesus es el
chófer. tipa, por lo menos di que
jesus esta en la vía,
piensa el poeta.
jesus es el deseo
para decirle que se lo empuje,
murmura el cínico—
en lo que ve porno en su ipod—
un borracho apestoso
se para:
“¡mis pantalones estan desgarrados
he roto mis zapatos!”
el cínico grita, “¡asique tu eres
jesus! ¡mujer, vete pal otro carro!
¡llevate este jesus apestoso contigo!”
10¢ Jesus
woman sells god on the
subway. tipsy suits
tell her this is not
the place for her jesus.
jesus is on this train,
she says. jesus is the
driver. at least say jesus
is in the tracks, lady,
thinks the poet.
jesus is the desire
to tell her to stuff it,
whispers the cynic—
while looking at porn on his ipod—
a smelly, ripped-pants, drunk
stands up:
“my pants are ripped
I’ve ripped my shoes!”
the cynic yells, “so you’re
jesus! woman, get to the next car!
take this stinky jesus with you!”
-Ra Gabriel
Consumeristamor
¡Corre amor mío! ¡Corre, que te patentizo!
No dejes que te haga mercancía de mi poesía,
brincando de poema en poema cada vez que se me antoje consumir tinta en un papel…
¡Corre amor mío! ¡Corre, que te patentizan!
Aléjate de tu casa, de tal calle, de x urbanización;
no te encuentres al alcance de precios;
escóndete de los que contratan y adquieren derechos,
los que auspician y consumen,
y ahora de seguro te consumirán y te auspiciarán…
Tú, empaquetá, en la vitrina loca porque te saquen de la tienda.
¿A qué precio?
¡Yo, empaquetao en mi vitrina, sin poder comprarte!
Ambos destinados al combustible, a los vehículos,
a los anuncios,
a la propiedad privada y a la deuda.
¿A qué precio?
¡Corre amor mío, corre! Que nos patentizan…
Consumerist Love
Run my love! Run, because I want to patent you!
Don’t let me turn you into a commodity of my poetry,
jumping from poem to poem each time whim takes me to consume ink on page…
Run my love! Run, because they’ll patent you!
Leave your home, in that street, in x suburb;
don’t find yourself at the grasp of prices;
hide from those who’ll contract you and keep the rights,
who’ll sponsor and consume,
and now surely they’ll consume and sponsor you…
You packaged on display, crazy to be freed from this store.
At what price?
I’m packaged on display, unable to buy you!
We are destined to fuels, to vehicles,
to advertisements,
to private property, and to debt.
At what price?
Run my love, run! They want to patent us.
-Alfredo 'Cofre' Perezjurado
Gato, poema, y notas
no era gran cosa
las hojas de arce se estaban volviendo
un rojo almibarado y caían
a la cera
gente caminaba sus perros
en la cera
cargando sus bolsitas
carros paseaban
un avíon proyectaba su cuchillo atraves la gelatina
del cielo
gatos jugaban en
el patío
changos nidaban en
las muletas de arboles
viejos
no era gran cosa
hasta que las gomas se resbalaron
Notas: es una cosa increíble. Una reliquía de verdad. El padre, un hombre de aparencía gracioso de Londres, había tenido una esposa de Indonesia que siempre corria por to laos casi desnuda. Piel terrible. Ella se desaparecío un día. El dijo que no entendíamos como ella no podía bregar con los EEUU. Ya no importa. Ellos vivían en la casa al lado del mío, pero no tan grande. El mío es el mejor de la calle. Su esposa nueva volvío pa Texas despues del accidente. Ella era mona—mas de mi gusto que la Filipina—pelo corto, nariz pequeño, pecas, y dientes grandes. Me gustan dientes grandes y fuertes en una mujer—le da caracter. Su nombre era Kathy, con una ‘K.’ Me sentía mal por ella. Ella vino una noche pa darme algunas de sus cosas antes de que empaquetara y se largara. Me dejo el gato del nene. Ahora tengo tres, cual es una jodienda, pero no podía decir que no. Le quise preguntar que se quedara conmigo—que se mudara. Yo la sentía tan necesitada. Ella perdío todo que le importaba. Pero volvío a su hogar. Pa Texas. Lo increíble fue que encontraron el poema en la ruína. Me lo dío con el gato, Rusty. Dijo que lo publicara, asique aqui esta para que todos lo lean. Ese maldito accidente. Esas hojas resbalozas.
Cat, Poem, and Notes
it wasn’t much of anything
the maples were turning
syrupy red and falling
at the sidewalks.
people walked dogs
on the sidewalk
carrying their little bags
cars ambled past
a plane cast its knife across the jelly
in the sky
cats were playing in
the yard
crows brooded in
the crutches of old
trees
it wasn’t much of anything
till the tires slipped
Notes: it’s an amazing thing. A relic really. The dad, a funny looking man from London, he’d had an Indonesian wife, always running around half-dressed. Bad skin. She disappeared one day. He said we couldn’t understand how she couldn’t take the U.S. Not important now. They lived in the house next to mine, not quite as big. Mine’s the best on the street. His new wife moved back to Texas after the accident. She’s cute—much more my type than the Filipina wife—short hair, small nose, freckles, and big teeth. I like big, strong teeth in a woman—gives ‘em character. Kathy was her name, with a ‘K’. I felt really bad for her. She came over one night to give me some of her stuff before she packed up and left. She left the boy’s cat with me. Now I have three, which is a handful but I couldn’t say no. I wanted to ask her to stay, with me—move in. She seemed so needy. She lost everything that mattered. But she went back home. All the way to Texas. The amazing thing is they found the poem in the wreck. She gave it to me with the cat, Rusty. Said to publish it, so here it is for all of you to read. The damnedest thing that accident. Those slippery leaves.
-Ra Gabriel
And guess what? Andy Riverbed's debut collection is availble to preorder here. It only cost $13.95 if you preorder through Paypal. If you don't have a Paypal, hit up andy.riverbed@yahoo.com and something will be done.
There's an interview with Andy Riverbed mediated by his publisher, Ra Gabriel, in which Riverbed talks much shit. Check it out here.
Tell everyone you know.
Between September 27 and 28 Matty and Reilly, whom form the Mystery Books and also part of La Cara Oculta (del rock n roll), played three shows in two different counties in the state of Florida. They played the Pizza Palace on the 27th, then Orlando (along with a reading by Andy Riverbed), then Gainesville as La Cara Oculta (also a reading by Andy Riverbed). By the time they had all gotten to Gainesville, nobody cared about footage, but the Gainesville show was fun as hell too.
The Mystery Books at the Pizza Palace
The Mystery Books in Orlando
Now that you are in love with The Mystery Books, you can download their new album, "Russia" here.
Last weekend was The Fest 7, and that kicked fucking ass. There was a reading. Tao Lin shouted "Obama!" at people. Andy Riverbed fell asleep in random public places.
Tao Lin at the Breakfast Buffet
Andy Riverbed reads translations at the Breakfast Buffet
Andy Riverbed reads new shit
To avoid confusion here are the poems read:
Jesus de chavito
mujer vende a díos en el
metro. gabanes embriagados
le dicen que este no es
el lugar para su jesus.
jesus esta en el tren,
ella dice. jesus es el
chófer. tipa, por lo menos di que
jesus esta en la vía,
piensa el poeta.
jesus es el deseo
para decirle que se lo empuje,
murmura el cínico—
en lo que ve porno en su ipod—
un borracho apestoso
se para:
“¡mis pantalones estan desgarrados
he roto mis zapatos!”
el cínico grita, “¡asique tu eres
jesus! ¡mujer, vete pal otro carro!
¡llevate este jesus apestoso contigo!”
10¢ Jesus
woman sells god on the
subway. tipsy suits
tell her this is not
the place for her jesus.
jesus is on this train,
she says. jesus is the
driver. at least say jesus
is in the tracks, lady,
thinks the poet.
jesus is the desire
to tell her to stuff it,
whispers the cynic—
while looking at porn on his ipod—
a smelly, ripped-pants, drunk
stands up:
“my pants are ripped
I’ve ripped my shoes!”
the cynic yells, “so you’re
jesus! woman, get to the next car!
take this stinky jesus with you!”
-Ra Gabriel
Consumeristamor
¡Corre amor mío! ¡Corre, que te patentizo!
No dejes que te haga mercancía de mi poesía,
brincando de poema en poema cada vez que se me antoje consumir tinta en un papel…
¡Corre amor mío! ¡Corre, que te patentizan!
Aléjate de tu casa, de tal calle, de x urbanización;
no te encuentres al alcance de precios;
escóndete de los que contratan y adquieren derechos,
los que auspician y consumen,
y ahora de seguro te consumirán y te auspiciarán…
Tú, empaquetá, en la vitrina loca porque te saquen de la tienda.
¿A qué precio?
¡Yo, empaquetao en mi vitrina, sin poder comprarte!
Ambos destinados al combustible, a los vehículos,
a los anuncios,
a la propiedad privada y a la deuda.
¿A qué precio?
¡Corre amor mío, corre! Que nos patentizan…
Consumerist Love
Run my love! Run, because I want to patent you!
Don’t let me turn you into a commodity of my poetry,
jumping from poem to poem each time whim takes me to consume ink on page…
Run my love! Run, because they’ll patent you!
Leave your home, in that street, in x suburb;
don’t find yourself at the grasp of prices;
hide from those who’ll contract you and keep the rights,
who’ll sponsor and consume,
and now surely they’ll consume and sponsor you…
You packaged on display, crazy to be freed from this store.
At what price?
I’m packaged on display, unable to buy you!
We are destined to fuels, to vehicles,
to advertisements,
to private property, and to debt.
At what price?
Run my love, run! They want to patent us.
-Alfredo 'Cofre' Perezjurado
Gato, poema, y notas
no era gran cosa
las hojas de arce se estaban volviendo
un rojo almibarado y caían
a la cera
gente caminaba sus perros
en la cera
cargando sus bolsitas
carros paseaban
un avíon proyectaba su cuchillo atraves la gelatina
del cielo
gatos jugaban en
el patío
changos nidaban en
las muletas de arboles
viejos
no era gran cosa
hasta que las gomas se resbalaron
Notas: es una cosa increíble. Una reliquía de verdad. El padre, un hombre de aparencía gracioso de Londres, había tenido una esposa de Indonesia que siempre corria por to laos casi desnuda. Piel terrible. Ella se desaparecío un día. El dijo que no entendíamos como ella no podía bregar con los EEUU. Ya no importa. Ellos vivían en la casa al lado del mío, pero no tan grande. El mío es el mejor de la calle. Su esposa nueva volvío pa Texas despues del accidente. Ella era mona—mas de mi gusto que la Filipina—pelo corto, nariz pequeño, pecas, y dientes grandes. Me gustan dientes grandes y fuertes en una mujer—le da caracter. Su nombre era Kathy, con una ‘K.’ Me sentía mal por ella. Ella vino una noche pa darme algunas de sus cosas antes de que empaquetara y se largara. Me dejo el gato del nene. Ahora tengo tres, cual es una jodienda, pero no podía decir que no. Le quise preguntar que se quedara conmigo—que se mudara. Yo la sentía tan necesitada. Ella perdío todo que le importaba. Pero volvío a su hogar. Pa Texas. Lo increíble fue que encontraron el poema en la ruína. Me lo dío con el gato, Rusty. Dijo que lo publicara, asique aqui esta para que todos lo lean. Ese maldito accidente. Esas hojas resbalozas.
Cat, Poem, and Notes
it wasn’t much of anything
the maples were turning
syrupy red and falling
at the sidewalks.
people walked dogs
on the sidewalk
carrying their little bags
cars ambled past
a plane cast its knife across the jelly
in the sky
cats were playing in
the yard
crows brooded in
the crutches of old
trees
it wasn’t much of anything
till the tires slipped
Notes: it’s an amazing thing. A relic really. The dad, a funny looking man from London, he’d had an Indonesian wife, always running around half-dressed. Bad skin. She disappeared one day. He said we couldn’t understand how she couldn’t take the U.S. Not important now. They lived in the house next to mine, not quite as big. Mine’s the best on the street. His new wife moved back to Texas after the accident. She’s cute—much more my type than the Filipina wife—short hair, small nose, freckles, and big teeth. I like big, strong teeth in a woman—gives ‘em character. Kathy was her name, with a ‘K’. I felt really bad for her. She came over one night to give me some of her stuff before she packed up and left. She left the boy’s cat with me. Now I have three, which is a handful but I couldn’t say no. I wanted to ask her to stay, with me—move in. She seemed so needy. She lost everything that mattered. But she went back home. All the way to Texas. The amazing thing is they found the poem in the wreck. She gave it to me with the cat, Rusty. Said to publish it, so here it is for all of you to read. The damnedest thing that accident. Those slippery leaves.
-Ra Gabriel
And guess what? Andy Riverbed's debut collection is availble to preorder here. It only cost $13.95 if you preorder through Paypal. If you don't have a Paypal, hit up andy.riverbed@yahoo.com and something will be done.
There's an interview with Andy Riverbed mediated by his publisher, Ra Gabriel, in which Riverbed talks much shit. Check it out here.
Tell everyone you know.
Monday, September 15, 2008
The Mystery Books
This is a new poem I wrote, and it might be used as a Mystery Books song soon.
Sorrow Speaks
In India
we used to lay
down in the shades
as we shared our melancholies;
we conversed
with our heads
on our laps,
maintaining eye contact.
Now we speak, but
don’t listen.
Our lips open
and close, but there’s too
much noise.
My eyes wander
and you walk
snoring loudly.
Sorrow Speaks
In India
we used to lay
down in the shades
as we shared our melancholies;
we conversed
with our heads
on our laps,
maintaining eye contact.
Now we speak, but
don’t listen.
Our lips open
and close, but there’s too
much noise.
My eyes wander
and you walk
snoring loudly.
Tuesday, July 8, 2008
ANDY RIVERBED READS
at the Wayward Council
Props to the Mystery Books.
Andy Riverbed will read again
at the Wayward Council on
July 24th.
Check him out!
Props to the Mystery Books.
Andy Riverbed will read again
at the Wayward Council on
July 24th.
Check him out!
