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
Showing posts with label tour. Show all posts
Showing posts with label tour. Show all posts
Monday, June 22, 2009
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
How to Travel
I love a girl but she’s far away. She loves to travel. She’s never there for me. I cannot call her. I always doubt that she’ll pick up my call. When I text her, she never responds in less than an hour. This I am sure of because I can’t help from checking the time, every minute, then going into my cell phone’s message options and verifying at which moment I had last messaged her, while I wait for her to respond. I have to force myself to ignore her phone calls when she does call me, to wait at least twenty minutes before I respond to her, to even out the scales between us. But it’s too late. She knows that I love her. And she loves to travel. Right now she’s in Mexico smoking cheap weed with poor children and hoods,
teaching them English so that they can progress. Last week she was in L.A. snorting cocaine with the elite fashionistas in a five-story mansion glittered with gold. Next
week she will fly to Beijing to play soccer with neoimperialists on a field covered by Chinese rocks, to then help them organize their plan to save the world. Currently I am strapped to a machine that is plugging into my soul. It is removing blood from my system. I have a thick needle stuck into my mainline. I sit on a reclined leather chair and read Tennessee Williams on row with other poor people reclined in leather chairs. Whites, blacks, students—poor. Each chair, to its side, has a machine. The machine removes our blood and mixes it with an anticoagulant which separates the white blood cells, our energy source, from the red blood cells. The machine keeps our energy and deposits it, now called plasma, into a plastic vesicle. Our plasma will be sold to science studies and the Army. To save lives, we’re told. I will receive twenty-five dollars. Next time I come I will get twenty dollars. If I donate eight times in a month I will get thirty dollars on the eighth donation. The machine returns our red blood cells to our bodies. When the process is done with me I am another person. I become cold and indifferent. I am an asshole. I have no soul. It’s been depleted. I will eat a burger along with five beers in an attempt to regain my soul. I might receive a message from the girl I love. I will ask her what time it is wherever she might be. She will eventually answer and the time will be very different. Just like her and me. Maybe when she returns she will allow me to have her. But it won’t be real. I have heard that racism is dead in America. That is bullshit. But if it were true—we still have class. Color was an excuse. Class difference shall always exist. Poverty is a race. To be born wealthy is a race. Complacency is a race. I will always be there for the girl I love, but she will never be mine because I am poor and she loves to travel.
Who is Rey Emmanuel Andujar?
Andujar is the Dominican acting on stage. “Una pequeña ceremonia” from Andujar’s debut short fiction collection Amorcidio has been translated into English by the Riverbed and has been published at the Jargon. Check that out HERE.
The Riverbed has been translating Andujar’s debut collection and it will be published in December as Amoricide. Look out for that.
Also on the Jargon, a new Riverbed poem, “Censorship (for the sake of foreign opinion) is a disgrace” has been published. Check that out HERE.
***UPDATE NUMERO DOS***
The Riverbed has a piece of flash fiction called "Hector Valdez" published in the second issue of LitChaos Print. It's about illegal immigrants fucking trannies. Check that out HERE.
PLUS!!!
Damaged, the debut Andy Riverbed collection is on sale for seven dollars. Check that out HERE.
Cootie Shot
Cootie Shot’s debut EP is available to download HERE.
Listen to the songs
"Blue Tooths"
and a cover of La Cara Oculta’s "Pizzeria Fatal."
Dennis Mahagin’s Ebook
Available to buy HERE.
Cofre
The Riverbed’s poet-homeboy, Alfredo “Cofre” Perezjurado has a blog now. Check that out HERE.
The Riverbed and Cofre once worked at el Nuyorican café in Old San Juan together. They once worked on a screenplay about Reaggaeton and its rise into the mainstream. They once smoked lots of weed and snorted cocaine and read poetry together. Those were good days then on the island, their home. Now they are both displaced. They are the same but in different points on this Earth.
Magdalen Powers
The Riverbed’s first writing teacher at UF, Miss Magdalen Powers, who also happens to be the author of the story collection, The Heart is also a Furnace, put out by Future Tense Books, has a show playing in a band with an ex-member of the MC5. Check that out if you’re in Oregon or something.
Also out from Future Tense Books is Chelsea Martin’s Everything was Okay until Whatever. Check that out HERE.
Circus Circus, Andy Riverbed, Mystery Books Tour
Circus Circus, Andy Riverbed, and the Mystery Books will be playing shows in Orlando and in Puerto Rico for the last weeks of June.
The first Circus Circus show will be in a free art exhibit where the major young Puerto Rican artists will be painting in groups divided by themes. There will be more than 15 bands playing that day. Check out details HERE.
The other shows will be on June 26th as Mystery Books and Andy Riverbed along with DJ Spik Jagger at a TBA location, June 27th as Circus Circus along with Antisociales at a TBA location, and on June 28th as Mystery Books and Andy Riverbed at Libreria Isla en Rio Piedras along with Rey Emmanuel Andujar.
***UPDATE NUMERO UNO***
CIRCUSCIRCUS' "The Don't Sleep on Your Moon EP" is ready. Check that out HERE.
Radiation Newsletter
Is still looking for submissions. Check that out HERE.
Sincerely, it’s an awesome publication and Matty puts a lot of himself into it. It’s your opportunity to decide its content.
Newamba Flamingo
Is kind of weird, but also kind of cool.
New Translations!
Te voy a patear la cara y luego te la besare
Te patearé la cara y luego le daré besos.
He practicado mis patadas aéreas todos los días.
Por lo menos tres o cuatro veces al día las he practicado.
Eso significa que he practicado mis patadas aéreas con mas frecuencia que cualquier otro humano.
Eso significa que cuando te de esa patada a la cara te darás cuenta de lo poderoso que soy.
Eso significa que esa patada tendrá mas impacto que si otro te hubiese pateado la cara.
Luego de patearte la cara, te la besaré.
Habrán muchísimos besos—
tantos que me odiarás por no darte espacio y estarás vagamente espantada.
Pensarás que soy un psicópata.
Y yo no sentiré nada, ninguna emoción, cuando te bese la cara.
Será algo que estoy haciendo por hacerlo, nada más.
Te besaré la cara en repeticiones,
majormente por la área de tus chachetes,
pero aveces en la puntilla de tu nariz y aveces en tu frente.
Y a veces mi boca estará abierta.
A veces mis dientes delanteros tocarán tu piel por accidente.
Y te prometo abrir mis ojos para asegurarte que si eso pasa,
cuando sientas el toque de dientes contra tu piel, y luego abres tus ojos, mis ojos estarán abiertos.
Pero no detendré mis besos a tu cara.
Tus ruegos de que renuncie serán ignorados.
Al día siguiente despertarás con tu cara contra la almohada, tu cara que ha sido pateada y violentamente besada.
Te va a doler la cara.
La tocarás y vas a sentir lo mucho que duele.
Estoy practicando mis patadas aéreas; mis besos ya son de alta calidad.
Te dare uno de lo primero y muchos de lo segundo.
Tú me significas nada y me eres nadie.
Eres una migaja en mi ombligo.
- Translated from English by Andy Riverbed with proofing done by Marina Reyes Franco
I am going to jump-kick your face and the kiss it
I am going to jump-kick your face and then kiss it.
I have been practicing my jump-kicks every day
I have been practicing my jump-kicks at least three or four times a day.
That means I have performed more jump-kicks than the average human.
That means when I jump-kick your face you will notice my power.
That means when I jump-kick your face, it will mean more than if someone else did it.
After I jump kick your face I will kiss it.
There will be many kisses—
an amount that will eventually become annoying and vaguely frightening to you.
They will seem mad.
And I won't even feel emotion while I'm kissing your face.
It will just be something I am doing.
I will kiss your face repeatedly,
mainly in the cheek area,
but sometimes on the nose and sometimes on the forehead.
And sometimes my mouth will be open.
Sometimes my front teeth will touch your skin but it will be accidental.
And I promise to open my eyes to assure you if that happens,
when you feel teeth and then open your eyes, mine will already be open.
But I will not stop kissing your face.
The pleas to stop will not be obeyed.
The next day you will wake up with your face against the pillow, your jump-kicked and violently kissed face.
It will hurt.
You will touch it and feel how it hurts.
I am practicing my jump-kicks; my kisses are already pretty good.
You will get one of the former and many of the latter.
You mean nothing and you are nobody.
You are a crumb in my bellybutton.
- Sam Pink
el hombre de holanda
me llama por teléfono:
dice que quiere que le autografíe
todas las revistas literarias
en que he aparecido
y se las mande
por correo.
voy a comenzar
un archivo
de tus trabajos
dice
mientras estoy aqui sentado
en la oscuridad
y una cucaracha
se pasea para arriba
y para abajo
por mi pie descalzo.
de chamaquito
nunca quise
ser famoso:
solo quería
ser aceptado
quizás amado:
nada de eso
ocurrió.
el hombre de holanda
también dice
que quiere publicar
una colección
de mi poesía
en carpeta dura
lo cual debería
acariciar
mi ego
o por lo menos
elicitar alguna
emoción
(he leído
relatos recientes
de poetas llorando
al recibir
esta clase de noticia)
pero mis huesos
estan llenos de
humo azul:
en mis sueños
se me caen los dientes
en lo que
un perro chapotea
hacia delaware:
y este hombre de holanda
dice que
quiere
archivar mis trabajos.
la cucaracha
se pasea para arriba
y para abajo
por mi pie descalzo.
comienzo a
reirme
descontroladamente.
- Translated from English by Andy Riverbed and Marina Reyes Franco
the man from holland
calls me on the phone:
says he wants me to autograph
all literary magazines
i've appeared in
and mail them
to him.
i'm going to start
an archive
of your work,
he says
as i sit here
in the dark
and a cockroach
hikes up
and over
my bare foot.
as a kid
i never wanted
to be famous:
all i wanted
was to be accepted
maybe loved:
neither of which
panned out.
the man from holland
also says
he wants to publish
a full length
hardcover book
of my poetry
which should
stroke
my ego
or elicit
some
emotion
(i've read
recent accounts
of poets weeping
upon receipt
of such news)
but my bones
are full of
blue smoke:
in my dreams
all my teeth fall out
as i
dog paddle
to delaware:
and this man from holland
says he
wants to
archive my work.
the cockroach
hikes back
and over
my bare foot.
i start
laughing
uncontrollably.
- Justin Hyde
teaching them English so that they can progress. Last week she was in L.A. snorting cocaine with the elite fashionistas in a five-story mansion glittered with gold. Next
week she will fly to Beijing to play soccer with neoimperialists on a field covered by Chinese rocks, to then help them organize their plan to save the world. Currently I am strapped to a machine that is plugging into my soul. It is removing blood from my system. I have a thick needle stuck into my mainline. I sit on a reclined leather chair and read Tennessee Williams on row with other poor people reclined in leather chairs. Whites, blacks, students—poor. Each chair, to its side, has a machine. The machine removes our blood and mixes it with an anticoagulant which separates the white blood cells, our energy source, from the red blood cells. The machine keeps our energy and deposits it, now called plasma, into a plastic vesicle. Our plasma will be sold to science studies and the Army. To save lives, we’re told. I will receive twenty-five dollars. Next time I come I will get twenty dollars. If I donate eight times in a month I will get thirty dollars on the eighth donation. The machine returns our red blood cells to our bodies. When the process is done with me I am another person. I become cold and indifferent. I am an asshole. I have no soul. It’s been depleted. I will eat a burger along with five beers in an attempt to regain my soul. I might receive a message from the girl I love. I will ask her what time it is wherever she might be. She will eventually answer and the time will be very different. Just like her and me. Maybe when she returns she will allow me to have her. But it won’t be real. I have heard that racism is dead in America. That is bullshit. But if it were true—we still have class. Color was an excuse. Class difference shall always exist. Poverty is a race. To be born wealthy is a race. Complacency is a race. I will always be there for the girl I love, but she will never be mine because I am poor and she loves to travel.
Who is Rey Emmanuel Andujar?
Andujar is the Dominican acting on stage. “Una pequeña ceremonia” from Andujar’s debut short fiction collection Amorcidio has been translated into English by the Riverbed and has been published at the Jargon. Check that out HERE.
The Riverbed has been translating Andujar’s debut collection and it will be published in December as Amoricide. Look out for that.
Also on the Jargon, a new Riverbed poem, “Censorship (for the sake of foreign opinion) is a disgrace” has been published. Check that out HERE.
***UPDATE NUMERO DOS***
The Riverbed has a piece of flash fiction called "Hector Valdez" published in the second issue of LitChaos Print. It's about illegal immigrants fucking trannies. Check that out HERE.
PLUS!!!
Damaged, the debut Andy Riverbed collection is on sale for seven dollars. Check that out HERE.
Cootie Shot
Cootie Shot’s debut EP is available to download HERE.
Listen to the songs
"Blue Tooths"
and a cover of La Cara Oculta’s "Pizzeria Fatal."
Dennis Mahagin’s Ebook
Available to buy HERE.
Cofre
The Riverbed’s poet-homeboy, Alfredo “Cofre” Perezjurado has a blog now. Check that out HERE.
The Riverbed and Cofre once worked at el Nuyorican café in Old San Juan together. They once worked on a screenplay about Reaggaeton and its rise into the mainstream. They once smoked lots of weed and snorted cocaine and read poetry together. Those were good days then on the island, their home. Now they are both displaced. They are the same but in different points on this Earth.
Magdalen Powers
The Riverbed’s first writing teacher at UF, Miss Magdalen Powers, who also happens to be the author of the story collection, The Heart is also a Furnace, put out by Future Tense Books, has a show playing in a band with an ex-member of the MC5. Check that out if you’re in Oregon or something.
Also out from Future Tense Books is Chelsea Martin’s Everything was Okay until Whatever. Check that out HERE.
Circus Circus, Andy Riverbed, Mystery Books Tour
Circus Circus, Andy Riverbed, and the Mystery Books will be playing shows in Orlando and in Puerto Rico for the last weeks of June.
The first Circus Circus show will be in a free art exhibit where the major young Puerto Rican artists will be painting in groups divided by themes. There will be more than 15 bands playing that day. Check out details HERE.
The other shows will be on June 26th as Mystery Books and Andy Riverbed along with DJ Spik Jagger at a TBA location, June 27th as Circus Circus along with Antisociales at a TBA location, and on June 28th as Mystery Books and Andy Riverbed at Libreria Isla en Rio Piedras along with Rey Emmanuel Andujar.
***UPDATE NUMERO UNO***
CIRCUSCIRCUS' "The Don't Sleep on Your Moon EP" is ready. Check that out HERE.
Radiation Newsletter
Is still looking for submissions. Check that out HERE.
Sincerely, it’s an awesome publication and Matty puts a lot of himself into it. It’s your opportunity to decide its content.
Newamba Flamingo
Is kind of weird, but also kind of cool.
New Translations!
Te voy a patear la cara y luego te la besare
Te patearé la cara y luego le daré besos.
He practicado mis patadas aéreas todos los días.
Por lo menos tres o cuatro veces al día las he practicado.
Eso significa que he practicado mis patadas aéreas con mas frecuencia que cualquier otro humano.
Eso significa que cuando te de esa patada a la cara te darás cuenta de lo poderoso que soy.
Eso significa que esa patada tendrá mas impacto que si otro te hubiese pateado la cara.
Luego de patearte la cara, te la besaré.
Habrán muchísimos besos—
tantos que me odiarás por no darte espacio y estarás vagamente espantada.
Pensarás que soy un psicópata.
Y yo no sentiré nada, ninguna emoción, cuando te bese la cara.
Será algo que estoy haciendo por hacerlo, nada más.
Te besaré la cara en repeticiones,
majormente por la área de tus chachetes,
pero aveces en la puntilla de tu nariz y aveces en tu frente.
Y a veces mi boca estará abierta.
A veces mis dientes delanteros tocarán tu piel por accidente.
Y te prometo abrir mis ojos para asegurarte que si eso pasa,
cuando sientas el toque de dientes contra tu piel, y luego abres tus ojos, mis ojos estarán abiertos.
Pero no detendré mis besos a tu cara.
Tus ruegos de que renuncie serán ignorados.
Al día siguiente despertarás con tu cara contra la almohada, tu cara que ha sido pateada y violentamente besada.
Te va a doler la cara.
La tocarás y vas a sentir lo mucho que duele.
Estoy practicando mis patadas aéreas; mis besos ya son de alta calidad.
Te dare uno de lo primero y muchos de lo segundo.
Tú me significas nada y me eres nadie.
Eres una migaja en mi ombligo.
- Translated from English by Andy Riverbed with proofing done by Marina Reyes Franco
I am going to jump-kick your face and the kiss it
I am going to jump-kick your face and then kiss it.
I have been practicing my jump-kicks every day
I have been practicing my jump-kicks at least three or four times a day.
That means I have performed more jump-kicks than the average human.
That means when I jump-kick your face you will notice my power.
That means when I jump-kick your face, it will mean more than if someone else did it.
After I jump kick your face I will kiss it.
There will be many kisses—
an amount that will eventually become annoying and vaguely frightening to you.
They will seem mad.
And I won't even feel emotion while I'm kissing your face.
It will just be something I am doing.
I will kiss your face repeatedly,
mainly in the cheek area,
but sometimes on the nose and sometimes on the forehead.
And sometimes my mouth will be open.
Sometimes my front teeth will touch your skin but it will be accidental.
And I promise to open my eyes to assure you if that happens,
when you feel teeth and then open your eyes, mine will already be open.
But I will not stop kissing your face.
The pleas to stop will not be obeyed.
The next day you will wake up with your face against the pillow, your jump-kicked and violently kissed face.
It will hurt.
You will touch it and feel how it hurts.
I am practicing my jump-kicks; my kisses are already pretty good.
You will get one of the former and many of the latter.
You mean nothing and you are nobody.
You are a crumb in my bellybutton.
- Sam Pink
el hombre de holanda
me llama por teléfono:
dice que quiere que le autografíe
todas las revistas literarias
en que he aparecido
y se las mande
por correo.
voy a comenzar
un archivo
de tus trabajos
dice
mientras estoy aqui sentado
en la oscuridad
y una cucaracha
se pasea para arriba
y para abajo
por mi pie descalzo.
de chamaquito
nunca quise
ser famoso:
solo quería
ser aceptado
quizás amado:
nada de eso
ocurrió.
el hombre de holanda
también dice
que quiere publicar
una colección
de mi poesía
en carpeta dura
lo cual debería
acariciar
mi ego
o por lo menos
elicitar alguna
emoción
(he leído
relatos recientes
de poetas llorando
al recibir
esta clase de noticia)
pero mis huesos
estan llenos de
humo azul:
en mis sueños
se me caen los dientes
en lo que
un perro chapotea
hacia delaware:
y este hombre de holanda
dice que
quiere
archivar mis trabajos.
la cucaracha
se pasea para arriba
y para abajo
por mi pie descalzo.
comienzo a
reirme
descontroladamente.
- Translated from English by Andy Riverbed and Marina Reyes Franco
the man from holland
calls me on the phone:
says he wants me to autograph
all literary magazines
i've appeared in
and mail them
to him.
i'm going to start
an archive
of your work,
he says
as i sit here
in the dark
and a cockroach
hikes up
and over
my bare foot.
as a kid
i never wanted
to be famous:
all i wanted
was to be accepted
maybe loved:
neither of which
panned out.
the man from holland
also says
he wants to publish
a full length
hardcover book
of my poetry
which should
stroke
my ego
or elicit
some
emotion
(i've read
recent accounts
of poets weeping
upon receipt
of such news)
but my bones
are full of
blue smoke:
in my dreams
all my teeth fall out
as i
dog paddle
to delaware:
and this man from holland
says he
wants to
archive my work.
the cockroach
hikes back
and over
my bare foot.
i start
laughing
uncontrollably.
- Justin Hyde
Thursday, April 30, 2009
Como enamorar a las chicas
Mi cara es desechable y
se aguanta con imánes.
Tengo una parecida a la tristeza.
Tengo una de un baquero rígido e imperturbable (cual
tiene un cígarro puesto entre sus labíos y esta sin afeitar hace tres días).
Tengo una hecha de hojas y ramitas cual uso cuando estoy escondido
por tu casa velandote en lo que te bañas.
Tengo una que hace ver como si me importara lo que me estubieses diciendo.
Y tengo una con espejos puestos como ojos que cuando estamos frente a frente,
tu me dices, “Tienes ojos bellísimos. Cuando me encuentro dentro
dellos me siento protegida.”
Pero detrás de cada una desas caras hay solo un cráneo sin expresión.
- Translated from English by Andy Riverbed
My face is held on by magnets.
I can take my face off.
I have one face that is my sad face.
I have one face that is my stern, imperturbable face (that
one has some stubble and a cigar pinched between the lips).
I have one face that has leaves and twigs glued to it so I can hide
out in front of your house and watch you shower.
I have one face that looks intrigued about what you’re saying.
And I have one that has mirror-eyes so when you look into them
you say, “You have the most beautiful eyes. When I look into
them I feel safe.”
But behind every face is an expressionless skull.
- Sam Pink
D Holidey
Holidey sent the Riverbed his new shit. The Riverbed thinks that Holidey is bringing it. The Riverbed thinks the masses should get with it. Check out Holidey’s Noise-Hop.
Wall Attacks
Wall Attack #3 has long been over. The Riverbed was sidelined by academic obligations, but now Wall Attack #4 is ready and will be destroying the streets and making the walls sing much farther than Gainesville.
New fashion models for American Apparel special spring series: DIY, the Culprits in their Fatboy McPopcorn as Mr. Riverbed shirts which will soon be on sell just like the Riverbed’s Damaged is on sale at the Wayward Council and maybe soon from his own hands for ten dollars ($10!). Hit him up at andy.riverbed (at) yahoo.com for details. The book costs ten dollars, the shirts cost seven.
Fatboy McPopcorn
Matty D’Angelo
Rily Fink
Andy Riverbed
Check out where Wall-Attack #3 got to:
The Sky
Gainesville
St. Augustine
Miami
Check out all of the Wall-Attack #3 pics HERE.
Riverbed's Summer Tour
Andy Riverbed will be on tour this summer, with Circus Circus and the Mystery Books, hitting up portions of South Florida, and Puerto Rico.
Riverbed poems have been published at Libelo Weekly #3. Check out “Last Night on the Way to My Apartment” and “I Touch a Button” HERE.
And a poem at decomP. Check out “Tasted like peanut-butter and guava-jelly.”
**UPDATE**
In a post DiGangi made about spilling coffee on his laptop and that the Jargon would be interrupted for a bit, haters are hating on "Tasted like peanut-butter and jelly." Check that out HERE.
**UPDATE NUMERO DOS**
Not everyone hates "Tasted like peanut-butter and guava jelly." Some people claim to actually be reading it. Check that out HERE.
AND MORE IN THIS NUMERO DOS UPDATED
Tao Lin is Blacklisted
And just because the Riverbed loves it when people piss other people off by really doing nothing wrong, this picture, that was taken by an unnamed compatriot of the Riverbed's from what is rumored to be the old office room of the Florida Review at UCF, is available for all to see.
The Riverbed's initial intention was to see if señor Lin would post up an email chat between the Riverbed and the omnipotent being, Titular, about the Riverbed's and Lin's excursions through Gainesville during the Fest last Halloween. In this conversation the Riverbed told Titular of Lin getting followed and solicited by college sluts and how the Riverbed and Lin took them up to the Riverbed's apartment, leaving the girls with bloody faces.
Lin will not post this email, but here is the photo of Tao Lin being blacklisted at the Florida review at UCF.
**UPDATE NUMERO TRES**
The Riverbed's EveryDayYeah e-book, Afternoon Drinking is Okay, was promoed as something cool by Disproductions. Check that out HERE.
Radiation Newsletter is looking for submissions of anything you might desire.
Odradek
se aguanta con imánes.
Tengo una parecida a la tristeza.
Tengo una de un baquero rígido e imperturbable (cual
tiene un cígarro puesto entre sus labíos y esta sin afeitar hace tres días).
Tengo una hecha de hojas y ramitas cual uso cuando estoy escondido
por tu casa velandote en lo que te bañas.
Tengo una que hace ver como si me importara lo que me estubieses diciendo.
Y tengo una con espejos puestos como ojos que cuando estamos frente a frente,
tu me dices, “Tienes ojos bellísimos. Cuando me encuentro dentro
dellos me siento protegida.”
Pero detrás de cada una desas caras hay solo un cráneo sin expresión.
- Translated from English by Andy Riverbed
My face is held on by magnets.
I can take my face off.
I have one face that is my sad face.
I have one face that is my stern, imperturbable face (that
one has some stubble and a cigar pinched between the lips).
I have one face that has leaves and twigs glued to it so I can hide
out in front of your house and watch you shower.
I have one face that looks intrigued about what you’re saying.
And I have one that has mirror-eyes so when you look into them
you say, “You have the most beautiful eyes. When I look into
them I feel safe.”
But behind every face is an expressionless skull.
- Sam Pink
D Holidey
Holidey sent the Riverbed his new shit. The Riverbed thinks that Holidey is bringing it. The Riverbed thinks the masses should get with it. Check out Holidey’s Noise-Hop.
Wall Attacks
Wall Attack #3 has long been over. The Riverbed was sidelined by academic obligations, but now Wall Attack #4 is ready and will be destroying the streets and making the walls sing much farther than Gainesville.
New fashion models for American Apparel special spring series: DIY, the Culprits in their Fatboy McPopcorn as Mr. Riverbed shirts which will soon be on sell just like the Riverbed’s Damaged is on sale at the Wayward Council and maybe soon from his own hands for ten dollars ($10!). Hit him up at andy.riverbed (at) yahoo.com for details. The book costs ten dollars, the shirts cost seven.
Fatboy McPopcorn
Matty D’Angelo
Rily Fink
Andy Riverbed
Check out where Wall-Attack #3 got to:
The Sky
Gainesville
St. Augustine
Miami
Check out all of the Wall-Attack #3 pics HERE.
Riverbed's Summer Tour
Andy Riverbed will be on tour this summer, with Circus Circus and the Mystery Books, hitting up portions of South Florida, and Puerto Rico.
Riverbed poems have been published at Libelo Weekly #3. Check out “Last Night on the Way to My Apartment” and “I Touch a Button” HERE.
And a poem at decomP. Check out “Tasted like peanut-butter and guava-jelly.”
**UPDATE**
In a post DiGangi made about spilling coffee on his laptop and that the Jargon would be interrupted for a bit, haters are hating on "Tasted like peanut-butter and jelly." Check that out HERE.
**UPDATE NUMERO DOS**
Not everyone hates "Tasted like peanut-butter and guava jelly." Some people claim to actually be reading it. Check that out HERE.
AND MORE IN THIS NUMERO DOS UPDATED
Tao Lin is Blacklisted
And just because the Riverbed loves it when people piss other people off by really doing nothing wrong, this picture, that was taken by an unnamed compatriot of the Riverbed's from what is rumored to be the old office room of the Florida Review at UCF, is available for all to see.
The Riverbed's initial intention was to see if señor Lin would post up an email chat between the Riverbed and the omnipotent being, Titular, about the Riverbed's and Lin's excursions through Gainesville during the Fest last Halloween. In this conversation the Riverbed told Titular of Lin getting followed and solicited by college sluts and how the Riverbed and Lin took them up to the Riverbed's apartment, leaving the girls with bloody faces.
Lin will not post this email, but here is the photo of Tao Lin being blacklisted at the Florida review at UCF.
**UPDATE NUMERO TRES**
The Riverbed's EveryDayYeah e-book, Afternoon Drinking is Okay, was promoed as something cool by Disproductions. Check that out HERE.
Radiation Newsletter is looking for submissions of anything you might desire.
Odradek
