How to know when it’s all over (or how to meditate)

"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

How to Gain Respect

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