Wednesday, September 19, 2007

yr. invited

SURGE! 4.2

Friday, September 21st, 7pm

384 Queen St. (upstairs)

Open Studio exhibition of works in progress by:

Karen Casey Photography
Mazerolle Gallery

Poetry Reading by UNB Writer in Residence:

Patricia Young

Musical Performances by:

John Born (laptop beats and loops)

Counting on Downstairs (drone)
[Mireille Eagan
Chris Giles
Eric Hill
Michael Venart]

Event is a fundraiser for the Fredericton Sexual Assault Crisis Centre

Admission by Donation

Monday, September 10, 2007

biff's poem for the nude dude reading raid

(I call this a planned spontaneous outburst of powerful frustration.)

fuck this – fuck that

an ode to 21st century post-digital semi-robotic Facebook-coital existential confusion

fuck this
fuck that
screw this
screw that
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
O fuck
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
another wall
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 TV
And Facebook
and radio
And the top ten
And the bottom ten
And the top fifty
And donuts
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
I was
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
Fuck this
And fuck that

(Yes ... yes ... the formatting is fucked ... I know that ...)

reading raid on the nude dude's turf

this is the nude dude ...

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 ...

old skull and ...

the angry john and ...

broken joe 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