Monday, December 31, 2007
for the New Year's Day episode of
Ashes, Paper & Beans live from 7 to 8 pm?
Biff wants WhiteFreather to cut his hair
live on-air and he's thinking One-Eyed
Josephine might brave the airwaves
No matter how hurtin you might be
from the biggest birthday party
of the year, of the night before
New Year's Day 2008 is the day
the BlackTop MotorCycle Gang
takes over Broken Joe's show
It's time to count yourself in:
time to be heard by the herd;
time to unearth your best words
Friday, December 7, 2007
Ashes, Paper & Beans: Fredericton's Writing & Art Show
with producerhost Joe Blades.
CHSR 97.9 FM, Fredericton, NB.
Guest: performing songwriter Eric Gale
(a BlackTop MotorCycle Gang member)
live with guitar!
[Weather and everything else permitting.]
Sunday, November 11, 2007
I remember, back in the summer, Biff telling me that he'd been busy helping write a short film script. This was the result: Chris' story, scripted by him and Biff, submitted for this award. Now, as Chris, wearing sunglasses in the bright lights, said at the podium (with Margo Flewelling of NB Film and co-emcee Josh Linton), he has to make a film.
Monday, November 5, 2007
out of his subterranean home. He had been in his hole for many hours
and needed to stretch his anxious legs. Rounding a sage bush he
discovered his friend the tortoise lying on his back with a branch
cracked over his belly.
"My dear friend, let me help you... then we can race! You beat me before but I am better now, more wise," he said to the tortoise, quivering in anticipation.
He flipped the tortoise over and pulled back in alarm, taking in the
tortoise's crushed shell. He twitched, he ticked and he trembled.
His friend was not all the way out of his shell; only the tip of his
beaky nose and his clawed feet protruded.
"Come out, come out of your shell, my friend,” he said, “and we will
race!” The chill of the night swept around them, bring cold tears to
the hare's eyes.
"I cannot," said the tortoise's muffled voice, "for my shell is
cracked, and a shard is pointing at my heart. If I move it will
pierce me, I will die."
"But you must come out and race me. You will die if you don't come
out. Come out," said the hare, "you don't need that shell, you can be
free...! Come and run with me over that hill. See! There is a little
stream, a brook, a lake, some seaweed and snails... come, come, let us
The hare stared deeply into the tortoise’s eyes. "Don't you see it?" he asked.
The tortoise looked over his old adversary's shoulder. He let out his
breath and felt a stab of pain.
"I do, I do see it. I will race you! I will win again, I will be free!"
The hare inhaled the early evening frost and started to run slowly,
"Come, my friend, you must run fast to catch me...!" His tears were frozen on his long lovely hare lashes.
"Come... come..." he breathed.
"I am coming!" said the tortoise, as he stretched his neck out and
pushed his legs free. His heart beat faster as his shell broke his
"I am coming! I am free, I am coming, I am free..."
And he ran after the hare, with greater speed then he ever demonstrated before.
Sunday, November 4, 2007
Tuesday, October 23, 2007
Saturday, October 20, 2007
In the tradition of rob mclennan's ongoing above/ground press poem broadseet series and the less frequent a little something . . . broadsheets from Broken Jaw Press, some members of the BlackTop have started producing Tread broadsheets to hand out at the gang's "reading raids" and elsewhere.
Each Tread opens to reveal a piece of wordage that you can pin to your wall like a poster. They also have a bio note informing or obscuring the writer-author. They may even have author photos or somesuch representation. Who knows for sure until after they happen and you've been raided . . . :-)
Thursday, October 18, 2007
Monday, October 15, 2007
words were written and words were recited, and in the end, something happened.
writers took another step towards becoming writers.
from left to right are bill, fiona, jilanna, jolene, judy, ian, and claire. seated is whitefeather, a brilliant crafter, artist, singer, writer and incredibly special person, thinking wonderful thoughts about writer soup, similar to tourist soup (which can trigger recipe searches), but with a little more imagery.
missing from the pic is jenn, but she was there in spirit.
Sunday, October 14, 2007
in fact, i even have a special shirt for the occasion ... my "one-eyed josephine blacktop motorcyle gang reading raid on odd sunday's at molly's madness shirt" ... here's what it looks like ...
btw, i may need to borrow a skirt and a big purse from somebody ... not for anything weird ... well, yeah, for something weird ...
don't miss the pandemonium and havoc next sunday when odd sundays at molly's features the blacktop motorcycle gang
Friday, October 5, 2007
Andrea Crabbe, seen here with BTMGer and blogmistress WhiteFeather, is one of the new gangsters.
Earlier today, at Gallery Connexion, Karen Ruet was a willing listener for a Random Act of Poetry (not to be confused with a BTMG "reading raid") by BTMGer Broken Joe. Tonight, absent though she was, Karen became a Blacktop.
A hearty welcome and clinking of glasses ensued before the merry band headed out lookin' for adventure . . .
Wednesday, September 19, 2007
Friday, September 21st, 7pm
384 Queen St. (upstairs)
Open Studio exhibition of works in progress by:
Karen Casey Photography
Poetry Reading by UNB Writer in Residence:
Musical Performances by:
John Born (laptop beats and loops)
Counting on Downstairs (drone)
Event is a fundraiser for the Fredericton Sexual Assault Crisis Centre
Admission by Donation
Monday, September 10, 2007
fuck this – fuck that
an ode to 21st century post-digital semi-robotic Facebook-coital existential confusion
to hell with this
to hell with that
down with this
down with that
im through with this
im through with that
ive had it with this
ive had it with that
im leaving this
im leaving that
im pissed at this
im pissed at that
im bored with this
im bored with that
im tired of this
im tired of that
now listen to this
its tit for tat
this game is screwy
its all kablooey
so how about you
have you had it too
it’s all so plastic
I’m feeling drastic
I want to hit something
I want to smash something
I want to demolish something
I want to strike out
I want to
I want to
I want to
I don’t know what
I want to
what the hell am i saying
whats this shit im braying
whats this thing im feeling
like the skin on my soul is peeling
and under it all
theres nowhere to go
nowhere too low
to hide from this thing
im trapped in this
im trapped in that
I cant get out
im going shout
im starting to doubt
I think I’ll pout
What’s it all about
My head’s on wrong
I’ve lost my dong
It fell right off
And now I cant boff
But that’s ok
I wasn’t using it anyway
But that’s neither here nor there
This is the existential snare
You don’t know what it’s all about
You have to invent it every day
Choose your daily lifetime route
Cause you’re the only one who has the say
No gods to blame, no destined path
And if by chance you stray away
Away from what, there’s nothing there
It’s up to you, it’s just your ass
That catches fire and pulls you down
You fucking clown
Into the fire
That sacrificial pyre
That burns away reason
And turns to treason
Against everything that rhymes
So fuck the meter
And fuck the rhyme
And fuck these times
And the top ten
And the bottom ten
And the top fifty
Let’s consider the donut
A hole surrounded yummy
Almost like a vagina
Only not as yummy
Eat the hole
Swallow it whole
It’s low in fat
But fat tastes good
Like real food should
But it’s out to kill ya
But it’s sooooo good
So what the fuck
You only live once
Take a big bite outta spite
cause the fuckers who make the rules
are a bunch of simpering fools
who don’t know their asses
ha ha you thought I was going to say
hole in the ground
But I forgot
So fuck you
And fuck me
And fuck him
And fuck her
And fuck them
And fuck those
And fuck these
And fuck the status
And fuck the quo
And fuck this shirt I’m wearing
And fuck these crocks on my feet
And fuck the bile in all our stomachs
And fuck the smell of our feet
And fuck the sweat on our backs
And fuck the tattoo we always wanted
And fuck Barney
Oh yeah, fuck the purple dinosaur
He’s eating your kids’ brains and
There’s no mercy when you’re on a fuck rant
There’s no I can
There’s no I can’t
There’s only you, you fucking fool
Making life bit by bit by bit by bit by bit by bit
And what does this mean
I think I just fucked my spleen
But what the fuck
My life is mine
Your life is yours
My fate is mine
Your fate is yours
My path is mine
Your path is yours
And if by chance we should meet and have a beer
Lift our glasses and sing out a cheer
And drink till our senses go … doink … in the night
Scream songs of joy and have a bloody fight
Stomp our feet in a banshee dance
Howl at the moon for an earth mother glance
And fall in the gutter and swallow the clutter
I just want you to know
How I feel about this
It’ll never happen
It’s too fucking late
The beer’s gone flat and the fists are packin’ hate
The moon goddess turns her back in disgust
The songs of joy are blood and rust
There’s no comfort here
No song of cheer
And fuck that
(Yes ... yes ... the formatting is fucked ... I know that ...)
he keeps bad things from happening to freddie beach ... or maybe it's the other way around ... across the street from him, there's a webcam that announces the dude's nudeness to the world 24/ ... perfect place for a blacktop motorcycle gang Reading raid with ...
whitefeather and ...
and then we all took our clothes off and mooned the dude
and backStreet eric
and the audience
at least ... the others did. I didn't. And whitefeather didn't. And I guess the angry john didn't ... oh yeah, old skull didn't ... and ... hmm ... come to think of it ... broken joe didn't
but I think backstreet eric did ... from the second floor of the building across the street
and ... I just remembered ... the audience mooned us ... yes, they did ... bad, bad audience
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
Listen up or be there!
Sunday, August 26, 2007
unexpected and artsy might happen
@ this potential site: aerial view
no, not drive-by poetry
though members of the blacktop
motorcycle gang might be inclined
might happen in front of city hall
near freddie the nude dude fountain
at high noon the next two saturdays
no, not the spanish inquisition
though "nobody expects . . ."
is a pretty good guess ;-)
it might involve live poets
caught on security cameras
and the unsuspecting public
it might be a reading raid
Tuesday, July 24, 2007
WhiteFeather is waxing journals, drilling teeth, acquiring bones (coyote, deer, seal, beaver, etc.), funerary flowers, and more, and recombining them. Deanna is painting to Germanic operatic renderings of great Chinese poems rich with feeling and fraught with contradiction.
Monday, July 16, 2007
Monday, July 2, 2007
underneath black paint i added
years ago in another town
manual not electric greenery
on the clover under leafed tree
shadow of canada flag over me
sun and wind and big clouds—
clouds trailing rain not reaching
all the way down to the ground
sterling creek pony rides nearby
trap kids holding parent's hands
walk a short circle inside rope corral
a large red on white sign advising
wash hands after contact with animals
—good idea not often practised
especially as there is a wash station
and so many dogs in holiday crowd
firebird and royal fireworks music
is the stravinsky or handel in the arcs
feathers and maple leaves first layer
on the gessoed sheet of plywood
today's harder canvas for the five
paint the town red commissioned artists
wind shear and rain in a blue wash
makes deanna start to like her painting
the elephant is hidden in dana's
fields of colour layered and layered
more hidden than the stag in blue
glade in third floor studio4ward
hidden as this morning's doe
briefly on gibson trail watching
me on bicycle roll closer to her
before she leaps into tree shadows
faraway bagpipes are playing
likely part of the marshalling
parade—two long lines of people
lining the curbs of half of pointe
sainte-anne drive parade route
for the about to begin green
harmonious with ever-changing
earth creating and recreating
korean drums and percussion
kiwanis bear costume huggers
the town’s largest gideon bible
on a wagon pulled by a horse
chinese dragon dances on road
the pipes and drums approach
deanna steps on her palette
a painted heel for her art
i am sprayed with fine splatter
not from heavy clouds overhead
orange drops off dana’s brush
on poem paper clothing and me
almost mushroom cloud shape
thunderheads on northside and
i’m asked if there are still
bouncy castles or pony rides
red wine in my water bottle
my typewriter not so quiet
on this red and white day
painting with words this town
my red road red word world
charlotte paints a big leaf
green and her older sister
adds small falling light green
more than child interaction
there's parents and audience
watching them and me create
with all that we have available
self portrait smiley cat face
in the otherwise so abstract
reality of coffee cans and
large frozen yogurt pails
paint and more surprise paint
charlotte and janice the able
assistants as a truly promising
raincloud drifts along the river
writing words with the magic
buttons immediate and right there
no erase function on typewriter
x-ed out the only true edit
truly busy crowd now happening
deanna's wish for children
to collaborate has happened
the grey clouds approach
this typer a bouncy thing
never before seen by some
—not an inflated castle
or another island for no
rain still hasn't happened
burnt-out artists in public
marilyn flat-out on grass
dana returns with coffees
bag of grapes by my hand
a love fredericton t-shirt-
wearing challenged younger sister
of someone sits here talking
her father setting off fireworks
from carleton park 10:45 tonight
was in the greened parade earlier
handing out sun-maid raisins
with one way jesus stickers
on every unsuspecting box
followed by police service dog
bear on i can follow the rules
je peux suivre les règles sticker
darth dust devils and lawnmower-
chewn 7 of spades playing card
element(s) wind water fire earth
and the pony wranglers haul out
as the music turns hard country
a little burnt sienna luminosity
meredith approaches across the grass
vocalist calls out "are there
any firefighters in the crowd today?"
answered with a few whoops
as paint splatters across art
water runs down the surface
layer upon layers whooped
and highlighted for the late
late arrival of biff the fanatic
Tuesday, June 19, 2007
his name and links would be at the right of this posting, 'cept I can't seem to figure out how to modify the template. but this will be done and, in the meantime, welcome to the literary blood pack, joe.
Sunday, June 10, 2007
"'Cause we ain't makin' it happen," growled BTMG guy Old Skull.
"Remember that fuckhead's 21st Century balland, I Just Wanna Punch You In The Face?" barked John.
"Fuckin' A!" snarled Old Skull. "Let's create!"
And so the BlackTop MotorCyle Gangists created ...
And then they celebrated.
Sunday, June 3, 2007
Seconds later, he and his friend were attacked and devoured by a horde of angry amoebas who were hiding in their beer glasses.
A random Leafs fan made fun of the devourment. After much debate the amoebas devoured him as well.
I checked my glass for one cell threats and quietly finished my beer.
Friday, June 1, 2007
And now for Biff's recipe for dandelion wine ...
Wait till the first dandelion blossoms. Second and third are OK, but with successive blossoms, the flowers become increasingly bitter and that bitterness is carried over to the wine, causing the imbiber to become irritable and prone to listening to old Marilyn Manson recordings. Body cutting and facial tattooing may also ensue.
Pick 4 quarts of flowers making sure to get as little of the stem as possible. (BTW, the leaves make a great salad, especially with Italian dressing.)
Add the 4 quarts of flowers to 4 quarts of water in an open container. (Note: Make sure the container is clean and free of Ebola, Lassa Fever and E.coli 0157:H7.) Let the mixture sit for 6 to 7 days. It’s going to smell like death warmed over twice, so put it someplace where it won’t offend guests and loved ones.
After 6 or 7 days, strain the fluid until it’s as clear and free of flower top materials as possible. Cheese cloth or panty hose make great straining materials. You may have to repeat this process two or three times. (Note: Again, make sure everything is clean.)
Now, you should have just under 4 quarts of smelly dandelion liquid. To this, add 4 pounds of honey. For stronger wine, use 2 pounds of honey and 2 pounds of sugar. The taste won’t be a lot different, but you may wake up in a ditch somewhere in Zeeland.
Now, add an ounce of brewer’s yeast. You can buy this at the Bulk Barn or Scoop ‘n Save. If you use anything other than brewer’s yeast, your wine will taste like shit.
Now, add three lemons sliced into quarters. They’ll float around on the top of the liquid.
Let this mixture sit uncovered for 6 or 7 days. It’ll fizz a lot and smell awful at first, but the smell will improve somewhat as the mixture ferments. Scum will form on the surface. Ignore it. Just let the whole thing sit and pop away.
After 6 or 7 days, strain the mixture again, repeatedly, until the mixture is thoroughly clear. It’ll have a golden tint.
Pour it into bottles, but don’t cork or screw the top on until the mixture stops working (i.e., fizzing up). As soon as the fizzing stops, cork or screw top the bottle and let it sit in a cool dark place for at least a month. Three or four months is best.
When you open it, do so over a sink. It may be very bubbly, like Champagne. Don’t worry if it’s not bubbly. Dandelion wine has this weird thing about making up its own mind about whether it will be bubbly or not from year-to-year. Drink with great caution.
Some facts about dandelions:
Dandelions are NOT weeds! They are wild vegetables.
According to the USDA, dandelions are more nutritious than broccoli and spinach.
In Pueblo, Colorado it is illegal to grow dandelions.
Dandelions are helpful medicinally: as a diuretic, to cut fats, to reduce gas, for kidney stones, cancer, diabetes, to cleanse the blood, for weight reduction, for vision, for your skin and acne, for bowel functions, to lower blood pressure and serum cholesterol, and for anemia.
Dandelions may be used in many recipes, for beverages, omelets, salads, juices, gelatins, quiche, soup, pasta dishes, breads, pizza, gravy, dips, spreads, pies, cookies, jelly’s, waffles, fritters, wind, pudding, and even ice cream!
All parts of the dandelion are useable. The leaves for greens, the blossoms for wines and jelly, and the roots for coffee.
Tuesday, May 22, 2007
Sunday, May 6, 2007
Thursday, May 3, 2007
that weird off-beat again.
the slow, foxy grumble
easing out past the piano
it is whispered (not sung) that
the logic of a
dull man's dance
is born of his decision to dance
has not felt
the dizzy whirl
but ooooooooo the
that love supreme
the hand hand fingersthumb
somehow, both gone and returned