tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-63642782012-02-01T18:35:07.686-05:00Underground Literary AdventuresThe Underground Literary Alliance presents literature from the underground.FDWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08525165420707410702noreply@blogger.comBlogger1531100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6364278.post-43744894976363310662007-02-21T22:58:00.001-05:002007-02-21T23:05:48.225-05:00Goddamn, it was a fun ride.......Due to internal disagreements between the editor of this blog (Pat King) and the leaders of the Underground Literary Alliance, this blog will be closing. The editor cannot continue to support the ULA. As you can see, the name of the organization is in the blog url. For readers who wish to continue reading an assortment of great underground writing in a blog Patrick Kingnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6364278.post-58237377293133271462007-02-19T15:25:00.001-05:002007-02-19T22:51:22.480-05:00Poetry By Frank Walsh THE GAS MAN I’m the gas manwhen the poor catch me in the hood midstwinter dial at fullforce and the babyfood gone cold init’s baby bowl theyhave a cow or else they forgetabout the security fencecome to their sensesand kiss my ass. I’m the gas man I control the vertical, Icontrol the horizontalthere’Patrick Kingnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6364278.post-81613591103618402132007-02-18T12:11:00.000-05:002007-02-20T17:01:52.193-05:00AT THE UNDERGROUND, Philadelphia, PA 40TH AND SPRUCE (BENEATH COPABANANA RESTAURANT) SUNDAY,FEBRUARY25, 3PM. the world’s most controversial writers group THE UNDERGROUND LITERARY ALLIANCE (WWW.LITERARYREVOLUTION.COM) MC: King WenclasMAIN EVENT: a 3- round poetry read off between ULA’sPatrick Kingnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6364278.post-43464091716846138872007-02-17T23:33:00.000-05:002007-02-17T23:37:02.964-05:00Poetry byDoug DraimeMausoleum Dream I watched through the mausoleum window, as a long table was placed in the middle of the tomb by 5 well-known poets. They took stacks of chapbooks from boxes and stacked them up on it The tomb was strewn with whiskey bottles and beer cans. The death Patrick Kingnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6364278.post-58087394866385058212007-02-15T22:14:00.000-05:002007-02-15T22:23:15.221-05:00Poetry byMisti Rainwater-Lites A Cherry Tart & His Tongue in My Mouth in the waking world i do not know or desire himbut in the dreami was giddy with possibilitiesi told him i slept betterin his housesurrounded not by angels exactlybut a really good energyi told him i could not sleepin my housebecause of all the ghostshe laughed and said i had no reason to fearspiritual wafersi took a cherry Patrick Kingnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6364278.post-29322719535054983402007-02-13T21:13:00.001-05:002007-02-13T21:13:31.258-05:00CAPTAIN JACK SHOT JED THROUGH BOTH BUTTOCKSBy "Wild" Bill Blackolive Captain Jack and Molly Bell had their ten year anniversary this past July of 1980. A hundred hungry souls waited on the beach, with expensive gifts, wearing their Thailand gold necklaces. In the pilot house of one of the moored cruisers, tinkering with the engine, his round ex-power lifter body wet through his shorts and Patrick Kingnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6364278.post-1171172642241656622007-02-11T00:42:00.000-05:002007-02-11T00:44:02.256-05:00 KittendrownerBy Dr. WReD FrIgHT, PHD Allen Ginsberg told usEverything is holyEven the assholeHe was rightWhere would we be without our assholes?That’s rightFull of shitThank your assholeHardworking assholeWhy is it an insult to call someone an “asshole” then?We need some new swear wordsSome new insultsWhat’s wrong with “fucking”?Except for test-tubePatrick Kingnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6364278.post-1171045353220647292007-02-09T13:22:00.000-05:002007-02-09T13:33:39.433-05:00alt + F4 = motherfuckerBy Chad Hubbard i am a little more drunk than expected tonightdance!dance!left, rightleft, rightkick'em in the cuntkick'em in the cunti like cheetos...anyway?jason molina hits ithe hits it hardi have not listened to this cd in a few monthsand sweet jesus have i missed itHEAVEN NEEDED SOME PLACE Patrick Kingnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6364278.post-1170987008662831222007-02-08T21:04:00.001-05:002007-02-08T21:10:08.663-05:00A Clockby Pat King A person who exists in twoTimes at onceA person two times onceA sonic regulationA person who becomes a man of hisOwn time becomes a clock becomesA regulatory commissionA person’s regulatory commission who turnsHis back on his personal time becomes freeTo pursue time on his terms (a beach house)A person of sonic regulation whose memory Patrick Kingnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6364278.post-1170972561904687442007-02-08T17:07:00.000-05:002007-02-08T17:09:21.956-05:00Girls and Food We didn't have free love, that is to say the best looking girls still wanted to get married. We did have dirty whores, and that suited me fine. It was a whole different aesthetic with the whores, as it was for the girls choosing between rat-bastards and squares, between druggie management majors and yippie guitarists. The best looking whore in the world would be Patrick Kingnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6364278.post-1170906908345011832007-02-07T22:50:00.001-05:002007-02-07T22:55:08.366-05:00 33rd By Toussaint St. Negritude Trane chasing impressions of giant stepping blues may not be what Franklin heard but all roads do lead to 1511 N. 33rd. West of Broad and but a few shades off Central Park West facing the expressed expansion of Fairmount Park landing three flights up from Patrick Kingnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6364278.post-1170906822170377002007-02-07T22:50:00.000-05:002007-02-07T22:57:13.023-05:00ThisPatLeftIntentionalyBlank. Patrick Kingnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6364278.post-1170735387594609402007-02-05T23:14:00.000-05:002007-02-05T23:16:27.616-05:00making sacrificesBy Reggie Woods her surreptitiousness was getting to me, but simultaneously i was grateful for nights of unworrisome slumber. keeping close watch on the cell phone had become a nostalgic activity, only surprise coming from its ring, never relief. thank god. yes, those days were awful. they were Patrick Kingnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6364278.post-1170383979429857252007-02-01T21:39:00.000-05:002007-02-01T21:39:39.433-05:00BlizzardBy Tom HendricksNobody knew from those first flakesthat the snow would fall 100" deepand more and more until no endwould ever ever come again.Burne caught the first twirling flakeon the tip of his tongue. It melted away.But then came another and another behind it....Dad and his brother Uncle Paulwere working in the farm's one-stall garagewith their heater red and blowing hot air"It's Patrick Kingnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6364278.post-1170297769024414742007-01-31T21:38:00.001-05:002007-01-31T21:42:49.036-05:00BLAIR'S CHILDRENBy Bruce Hodder We've got cigarettes and lager and a lousy education. We watch the telly every night and practice masturbation. We lost the only jobs we had cos we were never punctual. We laughed when we were disciplined The boss called us presumptual. And girls? The only girls we have are spotty, Patrick Kingnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6364278.post-1170130151027325052007-01-29T23:07:00.000-05:002007-01-29T23:10:27.483-05:00Poetry by Lyndsie StremlowYour Words Fall Gently All Around You I do not want to hear"You have skin of milkand hair of honey..."But I do want to hear it.How much dead skyis there between desireand the soul,how many corpses of ratsand pigeons?I have not seen the sea,but your eyesdrown me in my own reflection.Your words fall gentlyall around you,but land as deadbird wings in my lap.I have Patrick Kingnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6364278.post-1170041801743237662007-01-28T22:34:00.000-05:002007-01-28T22:45:18.176-05:00extract from Spartanby Corpse Meditation i. He naked heap wobbled before the stretched canvas. Mozart's "The Marriage of Figaro" piccolo-ed from a decrepit phonograph sitting on a dead child's fireside chair. Her womb stank the mottled brew of stale oil paints and turpentine. A child crawled from that offal synagogue, welcome life slithering through viscera & trimmings of Patrick Kingnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6364278.post-1169965514272603062007-01-28T01:24:00.000-05:002007-01-28T01:27:00.213-05:00Poetry by Leopold McGinnisModern ArtGone are the daysOf artists and easelAmongst treetops and seagullsThese artists hide in cavesSpilling abstractionsFrom paint cansUsing photographsFor modelsOf a world they’llNever see.Revenge of the MouseHe watched a mouse dieon the busy sidewalk cornerof a skyscraper downtownHeaving, staring up at himwith eyes as black as spacebreathing slower and slower- somePatrick Kingnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6364278.post-1169965320551761212007-01-28T01:21:00.000-05:002007-01-28T01:22:00.566-05:00 ULA Director’s Manifesto #1We come hungry, sharp teeth bared for literary feast.The wine and the new literature (ours).Academic jargoneers grow dusty on our plates.Where is the sweet universe in all her wretched beauty?We want deliverance from her.We want to become her.Fancy this, my friends, Modernism isn’t dead, it lives in the bellyof Bill Blackolive.A handlebar mustache greased with Patrick Kingnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6364278.post-1165288036576006102006-12-04T22:05:00.000-05:002006-12-04T22:14:21.273-05:00Poetry by Chris MajorSMUG-GLE I thought I was liberal, very non-judgemental, yet I counted the minutes his yashmack covered wife spent in that toilet. Studied his thumb flicking the buttons of a silver i-pod, expecting leg room in economy class to increase by 20000 feet. While my ears strained strange language, I hoped the trolley dolly's liquor cart would calm Patrick Kingnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6364278.post-1164673159593023972006-11-27T19:12:00.000-05:002006-11-27T19:19:19.640-05:00Okay, we're back from our annual Winter Break......heading into December and 2006 is almost over....can you feel it? 2007....a new year...something special....a good year....it'll be a great year for the ULA....To kick things off, we have poetry by Literary Adventures regular Karl Koweski. Enjoy. can’t kill a man born to hang when the clinic diagnosed my mother with non hodgkin’s lymphoma I Patrick Kingnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6364278.post-1161658357178311432006-10-23T22:52:00.000-04:002006-10-23T23:19:22.003-04:00Poetry and Stories by Carissa Halston The Powers of Self-Delusion Have you ever had a one night stand?I know what you're thinking. One night stand? Jesus, those are terrible.They never turn out well.It'll only lead to trouble.Yeah, you should definitely steer clear of those one night stands.Well, it's too late for me.I've already had one.With the most wonderful man in the whole Patrick Kingnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6364278.post-1161108836146546652006-10-17T13:46:00.000-04:002006-10-17T14:13:56.213-04:00 Charles P. Ries, Poetry by.........Charles P. Ries (Poet)..... BIRCH STREET Sitting on the porch outside my walk up with Elaine watching the Friday night action on Birch Street. Southside’s so humid the air weeps. Me and Elaine are weeping too. Silent tears of solidarity. She’s so full of prozac she can’t sleep and I’m so drunk I can’t think straight. Her Patrick Kingnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6364278.post-1160512305143246422006-10-10T16:28:00.000-04:002006-10-10T16:31:45.193-04:00Poetry by William Taylor Jr. Portrait of a Woman She had skin like leather the cruelest mouth I’d ever seen and eyes as hard as the streets on which she walked everything she owned in a plastic crate beneath her arm an ancient radio screaming jazz as she walked down Eddy St. on a Sunday afternoon her clothes ragged and ill fitting but her legs still as beautiful as any Patrick Kingnoreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6364278.post-1159761009534729842006-10-01T23:36:00.000-04:002006-10-06T22:17:41.810-04:00Poetry byBradley Mason Hamlin Poetry byBradley Mason Hamlin Bukowski’s Shadow StrikesThe only people who may or may not call themselves writers that sufferfrom the shadow of Bukowskiare the onesnot yet litwith enough of their own lightningdoesn’t matterwhat a stupid reviewer saysyou should be so lucky to even get Patrick Kingnoreply@blogger.com122tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6364278.post-1158082709846952632006-09-12T13:32:00.000-04:002006-10-01T23:35:55.520-04:00Poetry by Nancy GauquierWords I was thinkin’ about words –and attitude and howsome people are so uptight about sex,they use it to insult you.Like, I used to be a “sweet young thing” –ages ago –but that gets old fast –so now I’m an old bitch.I looked up bitch and it meansa woman considered to be lewd.Did you know that?I didn’t know that.So I looked up lewd and it means –preoccupied with sex Patrick Kingnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6364278.post-1156878380149742162006-08-29T14:45:00.000-04:002006-08-29T15:06:20.170-04:00Poetry By Misti Rainwater-Liteslonely down saturday's highwayblistered by your sunwhich is your ego fried hardand I'm allergictoo soon the moon goeslike my mom, a GeminiI have no coversblast me like you willscorch me like you do, laughingwatch the layers peel...Pep Talk From A Security Supervisorthey are wondering if maybeyou could get to workfive minutes earliergrave shift guards love to Patrick Kingnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6364278.post-1156192118286308512006-08-21T16:21:00.000-04:002006-08-21T16:30:20.456-04:00Poetry By A.D. WinansFOR KELLOld guitar slung over his backPure country singing the bluesin all of uswith eyes that cry out to be heardLeaving a message onAnnie’s answering machineReading a poem about a birdthat died in his handsRemembering the scatteringof his daughter’s ashesCaught in the pit of sorrowThis man of musicThis one time old friendwho works the nerve endslike a skilled surgeonStill Patrick Kingnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6364278.post-1154972946581074412006-08-07T13:39:00.000-04:002006-08-07T14:28:26.090-04:00I really like Christopher Robin's stuff. Funny, elegant, sad poems. Good poems. Christopher is from Santa Cruz, California and he publishes one of the two or three best poetry magazines in the country. Aptly titled Zen Baby, you can get a copy by sending a couple bucks to PO Box 1611, Santa Cruz CA 95061.Poetry By Christopher RobinXerox SprintHow will we interpretThis reluctant American Patrick Kingnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6364278.post-1154288432416526272006-07-30T15:28:00.000-04:002006-07-30T15:43:09.763-04:00Hey All. Welcome. We're back on schedule now, running something every Monday. It'll be on this schedule from now until I fuck up again.This week, we're featuring a short story by James Nowland along with poetry by Lakewood, Ohio's JACK MC GUANE. It was a pleasure meeting Jack at Wred Fright's FILF festival a couple weeks ago. You'll dig his stuff.And then, of course, there's the ULA's own James Patrick Kingnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6364278.post-1154030163499940522006-07-27T15:38:00.000-04:002006-07-27T15:56:03.530-04:00Sorry it's been over a week since the last post. Strange things have been happening and I haven't been able to get to a computer with Internet. But I'm very excited about the next few weeks. We've got some great poetry and short stories coming up. Bill Blackolive, James Nowland and Christopher Robin to name a few, plus other non-ULA writers.It's about time to wind down our FILF coverage. This Patrick Kingnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6364278.post-1153160861979401002006-07-17T14:26:00.000-04:002006-07-17T14:27:42.000-04:00Crazy Carl Robinson gets FILFYdateline cleveland filthfest: girls, I’m feeling fairly middle-aged and repentant these days, so forgive me if my story lacks the prerequisite assblood…..i haven’t written anything in 6 weeks (the longest period of time I’ve gone without writing anything sine 1997) and my summer has been spent hiding in the basement as mama whirls in concentric circles singing “lift Patrick Kingnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6364278.post-1152548425688100992006-07-10T11:21:00.000-04:002006-07-10T12:57:14.586-04:00Hey all. Welcome to this week's Underground Literary Adventure. As some of you might know, Wred Fright hosted ULA and Underground writers in Cleveland last week for the three-day F! Independent (FILF). Over the next few weeks, various participants in the festival will share their experiences on this site. The first report comes from Jelly the Clown (Eric Broomfield). After that, we have a short Patrick Kingnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6364278.post-1151888626107302322006-07-02T21:00:00.000-04:002006-07-02T21:03:46.130-04:00We're back!Hey all, this is Pat King, co-founder of Underground Literary Adventures, the blog you're reading right now. I'm back in the role of editor and very excited. Every Monday, I'll have some great stuff up from both regulars and writers that are new to this blog. This week, we're featuring a recent collection of poems by Frank Walsh, an Underground Literay Alliance member since 2003. Patrick Kingnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6364278.post-1146095383208505952006-04-26T19:49:00.000-04:002006-04-28T02:06:00.826-04:00THE CHRONICLES OF JELLYBOYERIC BROOMFIELD (AKA. "JELLY-BOY THE CLOWN", AKA. "PROFESSOR MALERKUS SQUIDLING" ) besides being now officially welcomed into the ULA membership roll call, following his tongue-smashing performance at the ULA Columbia Howl Protest! He is also, among other things, lead guitarist and vocalist of the Philly musical and performance underground phenomenon known as THE Patrick Kingnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6364278.post-1145481445066470742006-04-19T17:00:00.000-04:002006-04-19T17:17:25.146-04:00Aftermath of the Columbia Protest & Street Reading!On April 17, the ULA returned to NYC with a high energy street performance, protest, and crashing of Columbia U's highbrow Howl event. For full reports of what went down, check out this page on www.LiteraryRevolution.com! The ULA thanks our hardworking members and allies, including Philly poet Shawn Terreri, a hugely talented & very active Patrick Kingnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6364278.post-1141030685633485242006-02-27T02:52:00.000-05:002006-02-27T03:59:28.433-05:00Goodness Is That The Time??Welcome back! I can't remember the last time we embarked upon an Underground Literary Adventure together! Fortunately we had the Torino Olympics to focus on, and what glorious games they were! Don't know about you, but my most memorable Olympic moments this time around included heavily hyped skier Bode Miller's string of pathetic failures. Worst of all, the guy doesn't Patrick Kingnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6364278.post-1136786220802875872006-01-09T00:53:00.000-05:002006-01-09T01:07:17.003-05:00Two Poems by J.D. NelsonCa-Na-DaIce crystals sparkleupper therein the norf,where the auroraslive in peace& the black goldgrins underground.Snowy cats dancein the mid-lightfun-shine.Canned ice.---------------Gorilla TabWho are your ancestors?Gerbil U = Chicken.Topped with cucumber,sunflower seedsTongue Game!Carefully,E*G*G string.Chuckle x = tofu,self-loathing pop.Joint Staff?Unfit to have a Patrick Kingnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6364278.post-1134777583810422002005-12-16T18:37:00.000-05:002005-12-16T19:28:23.583-05:00Happy Holidays!Blog faithful, I have been in a tizzy trying to figure out what to post you for Christmas this year! Some of you would surely enjoy a (somewhat) traditional Christmas tale sent in by Musea's Tom Hendricks...but since Tom's been a naughty boy and posted it to his Musea site first, we'll save internet space and just link you over there.Most of you will send me nothing but coal this Patrick Kingnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6364278.post-1132744120145637822005-11-23T06:00:00.000-05:002005-11-23T06:25:09.850-05:00This Thanksgiving, Try SomeWolfe With Your Turkey!Patriotism Redux By Jennifer C. Wolfe “When a whole nation is roaring Patriotism at the top of its voice, I am fain to explore the cleanness of its hands and purity of its heart.” --Ralph Waldo Emerson Claire Dawson sat in front of her living room television set as she waited for her egg-timer to announce her frozen sausage pizza was Patrick Kingnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6364278.post-1130743596492291392005-10-31T02:06:00.000-05:002005-11-02T03:39:09.136-05:00Spooky Literary Treatsin lieu of razor blades & candy, from the friendly ghouls of the ULA... Halloween Horror Haiku!by Leopold McGinnisHooked killer on loose!Young couple hear thump, drive offFIND HOOK ON CAR DOOR!!!!!!!--------Spider bite on cheekItchy, inflamed and swellingBLACK SPIDERS POP OUT!!!!!!! ---------Shattered By J.D. Finch I’m not going to tell you what happened, step by step, Patrick Kingnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6364278.post-1130189991404603462005-10-24T17:26:00.000-04:002005-10-24T22:43:33.186-04:00Poetry by Hamilton & Hodder...POEM FOR HOWL FIFTYby Bruce Hodder Where is your radical spirit, Allen Ginsberg? I know you died in 1997 but since when would you let that obstruct you? Allen, lawyers have stolen your words and store them in safehouses waiting for the next Harper-Collins contract instead of letting the little mags have them. That's not in the spirit of Beat. Who gets thePatrick Kingnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6364278.post-1128807598792327092005-10-08T17:27:00.000-04:002005-10-08T18:50:04.840-04:00 ULA 5th Anniversary! Today, October 8, is the five year anniversary of the founding of the Underground Literary Alliance. It began with the signing of a paragraph-long petition protesting a Guggenheim grant to millionaire author Rick Moody. Today the ULA's membership stands at 35 talented writers who aren't afraid to make some noise in the literary world. Here's a brief rundown of the ULA's Patrick Kingnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6364278.post-1126906671602114782005-09-16T17:21:00.000-04:002005-09-19T14:38:36.953-04:00Zero Station(prologue to the new novel)by Greg IppolitoIntroductionOctober 4, 2001Ready for your first song chunk?It’s an easy game to play. I give you a chunk of song lyric, you give me band name and song title. Ready? Go:emancipate yourself from mental slaveryWait, stop. Too easy. Consider that a warm up. Let’s try again. Ready? Go:phony Beatlemania has bitten the dustThat’s right. The Clash. “Patrick Kingnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6364278.post-1125898284982548032005-09-05T00:28:00.000-04:002005-09-05T10:23:44.310-04:00Sadness & Outrage in the Aftermath Gulf Coast communities in Mississippi, Alabama, & Louisiana--especially the ruined city of New Orleans--are suffering in what is likely the worst natural disaster in American history. The vast damage done by Hurricane Katrina has been exacerbated by human depravity in its aftermath, including the incompetence & indifference of state and federal leaders, and Patrick Kingnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6364278.post-1124556541765514472005-08-20T12:42:00.000-04:002005-08-20T21:04:24.553-04:00The Black Heart of Leopold McGinnisReaders of this blog is be treated to some of the finastest wrriting in the English langij. Today we dig deep into the earth's crust to expose Canadian writer Leopold McGinnis. A multi-talented member of the ULA, Leopold barely breaks a sweat juggling several fun, high-quality projects at once. His latest is a serialized novel called Game Quest. A new entry getsPatrick Kingnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6364278.post-1123550240297567312005-08-05T21:09:00.000-04:002005-08-08T21:41:46.903-04:00 What A Mule Believes...by Devin "the Mule" D'AndreaAll of you have heard Don King utter the phrase “Only in America.” Tomorrow is one of those occasions. Tomorrow we will, as a nation, “remember” the A-bomb. Ah, the 60th “anniversary” of Hiroshima. Don’t your chest swell and your chin rise with American pride? Tomorrow we will do what we do best; act concerned and then go about our Patrick Kingnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6364278.post-1122322345562023822005-07-25T15:55:00.000-04:002005-07-25T16:14:59.306-04:00Dear Blognosticators: I'm back nestled safely in the bosom of Cali after spending a riotous weekend with the ULA in Philadelphia. The Medusa show was a smash hit (read about it HERE, pics HERE) and i got to meet Adventures Blog legends Wred Fright and Pat King (i'm not Pat King, for those of you still clueless: my name is Pat Simonelli, and i run this here villa with Marissa Ranello--who is also Patrick Kingnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6364278.post-1119834593830443252005-06-26T20:00:00.000-04:002005-06-27T00:34:35.263-04:00Mini Preview of the ULA's Big Lit Show in Philadelphia on July 16We're a couple weeks away from a major literary event: the ULA's Invasion of Philadelphia, Pennsylvania on the weekend of July 16. On Friday the 15th, ULAers from across America will begin to infiltrate the city, evading paparazzi and the border police.Saturday July 16, 5 to 8 p.m. at the Medusa Lounge (an awesome rock bar at Patrick Kingnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6364278.post-1119112884877469002005-06-18T12:36:00.000-04:002005-06-18T12:41:24.883-04:002 Poems by Charles P. RiesA BRIEF NATIONSaddam in his underwear. (polyester briefs, screaming for freedom)George Bush in his underwear. (cowboys and Indians circling wagons)Pope Benedict XVI in his underwear. (red as a cardinal and chirping like a cherub)Carl Rove in his underwear. (fitting a little too tight for good circulation)Bill Clinton in his underwear. Patrick Kingnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6364278.post-1117256696246786902005-05-28T00:10:00.000-04:002005-05-28T01:11:45.643-04:00"Psychotics all over the fucking lawn," he said. But all I saw were cicadas.Interesting things can happen on a road-trip! Yes, I, Marissa Ranello, took a 120 hour round-trip on a Greyhound. Yes, I dragged a child along with me. Inhumane? Perhaps. Interesting? Fuck yes. And let me tell you--sitting in the front seat of a Greyhound bus, with a driver who had his eyes closed(?), in the pouring rain,Patrick Kingnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6364278.post-1116980696329204192005-05-24T19:28:00.000-04:002005-05-24T22:25:05.253-04:00This Blog Will Run On Time!Faithful blog readers and whorish churls: Today, i stand before you with a heavy heart. Brothers and sistas, i have SINNED! Nope, i'm not referring to the Orgy of Orangevale, nor to the Massacre of Mountain Falls. It's something serious---a two day neglect of this blog (gasp!). Actually it's been a nine day neglect, but our goal here is to post every week, and we've Patrick Kingnoreply@blogger.com26tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6364278.post-1116222336416397052005-05-15T23:54:00.000-04:002005-05-16T01:56:49.533-04:00Zen Baby Poems!This week the Adventures blog gazes through the ears of Santa Cruz poet Christopher Robin. Chris is one of a handful of ULAers who reside in Northern California's Bay Area, including Urban Hermitt, Joe Pachinko, and myself. The ULA plans to become more active out on the Western Frontier, but for now, we scattered Cali folk can sit back, write poetry, enjoy the sun, and hope our Patrick Kingnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6364278.post-1115612446287185082005-05-08T23:42:00.000-04:002005-05-09T00:22:20.513-04:00Coup de pat?Bloggos, i'm confused! It's Marissa's turn to escort you through another Underground Literary Adventure, but somehow, she's not here! Ahh, this reminds me of the time in my youth i was briefly kidnapped at the supermarket, by an eccentric old lady who thought i was lost. "Mother...where are you?!," i whimpered and screamed, until the old lady and i found mom just around the corner in Patrick Kingnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6364278.post-1114997963676302732005-05-01T20:47:00.000-04:002005-05-01T23:46:35.266-04:00May Day Surprise!Hello, Adventures Blogheads! This week we have a very exciting treat for you. Couple weeks ago we served up a yummy Stir-Fry Brass Horse, but with names like Simonelli and Ranello, we've got to turn this blog into an Italian Deli just once. So, like my dear Grandma Rosie, i will set you a place at the table and force you to eat Parroove Sandwich!Now, what the funk is Parroove Patrick Kingnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6364278.post-1114398708842022922005-04-24T22:14:00.000-04:002005-04-30T22:10:37.893-04:00Heeeeeeeeeerrrrrrrre's Pachinko!Welcome to the gang Joe!Joe Pachinko gives us raw poetic styleee, just the way we like it. Perhaps this is why he is the newest ULA member. Grab some chopsticks and dig into Pachinko's poems. You're invited to check out his website Superstition Street Press_______________________________________________________________IF ANYBODY SAYS “POETRY”, RUN THE OTHER WAY...Patrick Kingnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6364278.post-1113626963320863872005-04-15T23:39:00.000-04:002005-04-16T00:49:23.343-04:00A Cry From Down-Underground...Hello!! It's with great pleasure that i take the reins of the Adventures Blog this week. Co-editing this blog with Marissa is going to be a kick. We've received many cool underground writing samples in our Olde Ye-Mail box, so keep those coming! Before i introduce this week's work, i gotta vent. The Man's been laying it on heavy lately. Income taxes, jury duty Patrick Kingnoreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6364278.post-1113000729196774972005-04-08T18:09:00.000-04:002005-04-10T02:49:59.016-04:00A new post! A new week! A new introduction. Welcome to Underground Literary Adventures. A really happenin' place that showcases poetry, fiction, and a variety of material from underground writers. We'd like to thank Pat King and Wred Fright for maintaining the blog from 2004 until now -- publishing works of 37 different writers in less than a year!Patrick Simonelli and I are excited to take on Patrick Kingnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6364278.post-1112237697508519572005-03-30T21:51:00.000-05:002005-03-30T21:57:35.310-05:00STATE OF THE BLOG 2005by Wred FrightThis will be the last post either Pat King or myself will make on Underground Literary Adventures during our editorial run because we're now turning over editorial duties to the new co-editors and fellow Underground Literary Alliance members, Marissa Ranello and Patrick Simonelli. We hope this will be the first of many "changes of the guard" on the blog, Patrick Kingnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6364278.post-1111352392423439692005-03-20T15:44:00.000-05:002005-03-20T15:59:52.430-05:00WHAT I DID ON MY CHRISTMAS VACATIONby Crazy Carlso last week I went to the english teacher convention in philly in hopes of landing a (decent) teaching job . . . a two-night stay in the wyndham plaza was over $330, but my parents thought it would be a good idea for babyboy to get some much-needed interview experience . . . I did actually manage to stumble upon one interview (with a community Patrick Kingnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6364278.post-1111028225169023442005-03-16T21:47:00.000-05:002005-03-16T21:57:05.176-05:00IN MY LIFEby Cheryl TownsendSomeone slapped my faceSomeone stole my jointSomeone lied about last nightSomeone really loved meSomeone bought me emeraldsSomeone fucked me goodSomeone forgot my phone numberSomeone sucked my toesSomeone made me breakfastSomeone waxed my carSomeone liked my catsSomeone gave me HPVSomeone sang me a songSomeone read me poetrySomeone wore my shoesSomeone liked my Patrick Kingnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6364278.post-1110587912732542482005-03-11T19:37:00.000-05:002005-03-11T19:38:32.740-05:00HI, I’M JACKby Steve KosteckeFor a year before I left the States I wore a nametag that read Hi, I’m Jack while working as assistant manager on the afternoon shift at an extremely large corporate supermarket, whose name I want to forget. A manager gave me the tag my first day on the job (when I started as stock boy) and told me to go to Human Robotics to get the name changed (meaning Human Patrick Kingnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6364278.post-1109891956133441472005-03-03T18:17:00.000-05:002005-03-03T18:23:00.536-05:00SYNOPSIS FOR THE BITCHES OF SAMby James NowlanMy concept for The Bitches of Sam finds its inspiration in numerous sources. Russ Meyer’s film Faster Pussycat Kill, Kill, the Manson Family, the films of Jean Luc Godard, my own experiences working as a security guard in Paris, and the television series and film Charlie's Angels. It’s the story of three kickboxing transexuals (I’m not going to use Patrick Kingnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6364278.post-1109438694350586622005-02-26T12:23:00.000-05:002005-02-26T12:24:54.350-05:00180by Ray XPOV 1:Fuck!--hate this town, nothing goes right, no money, have to get out of here, drug deal, that'll do it, that cunt Connie, took it all, can't pay rent, but I bitch-slapped her good--huh--ouch-- Goddamn crack in sidewalk, stupid city, fix it before I break my leg, this city is a pile of shit, falling apart, making me fall apart--there's that old lady on her porch, must be Patrick Kingnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6364278.post-1108829050613012852005-02-19T11:02:00.000-05:002005-02-19T11:04:10.616-05:00MICROWAVE DIRECTIONS FOR YOUR CHICKEN-FRIED STEAK ENTREEby Mark Russell1. Remove entrée from cardboard box.2. Peel back film covering chicken-fried steak portion. Microwave on HIGH for 2 minutes.3. Remove chicken-fried steak from plate, place gravy pouch in microwave-safe bowl. Microwave on MEDIUM HIGH for 3 minutes.4. Return chicken-fried steak to plate. Stir mashed potatoes. If mashed potatoes Patrick Kingnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6364278.post-1108237923158218962005-02-12T14:50:00.000-05:002005-02-12T15:26:39.020-05:00IOWAby Jessica DisobedienceIowa is slow and hot. Time moves like molasses. For every three hours that passes by in the real world, only one hour passes by in Iowa. All there was to do was wander around in the sun, feeling like a surly cowboy, swatting bugs away from my face.It’s strange to be taken to a friend’s hometown, to meet their family, to see the places where they got in fights and Patrick Kingnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6364278.post-1107608753515937232005-02-05T08:04:00.000-05:002005-02-05T08:05:53.516-05:00Excerpt From WEEK (+DAY) OF BOMBS
by Todd Dills
8/8
The weather is beautiful this day. Winds blow a surge of cool, fall-like air into the city. My friend Amber from high school in NC is here for the National Poetry Slam event. She and her team--a ragtag group of bearded boys and dredlocked girls from Winston-Salem, NC--slammed against a crew of incoherent Canadians from Ottawa and a team of Patrick Kingnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6364278.post-1105379039355855302005-01-10T12:43:00.000-05:002005-01-10T12:45:34.486-05:00The Halloween Party
(from the novel Half Empty)
by Tim Hall
Dennis walked in a state of extreme agitation through the streets.
Maybe it had been a bad idea after all. Instead of invigorating him, the crisp night air brought with it only the loamy smell of decaying leaves and anxieties of the coming winter, exciting his senses to overload. He was overwhelmed by sentimental memories of Patrick Kingnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6364278.post-1104515085720634892004-12-31T12:42:00.000-05:002004-12-31T12:46:14.926-05:00MAYBE NEXT YEAR WE'LL GO TO A REAL FISHIN' TANK: THE DIRTY VERSION
by Mickey Hess
In a restroom someone has drawn the left half of a pot leaf. Like a lesson in symmetry, one of those explore-your-artistic-talent kits you get in the mail. Underneath it someone else has written "Please finish." As if he can’t wait to see how things are going to turn out. There is no more of this anticipation Patrick Kingnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6364278.post-1103489723856384062004-12-19T16:52:00.000-05:002004-12-19T15:59:10.233-05:00SCUPPER SUPPER
by Moe Bowstern
I had been fishing on the Jennie Lynne about a month when we caught the octupus. It oozed out of the moneybag and fell plop on the deck after what salmon we caught spilled into the hold. Normally Fred was quite casual about the ocean wonders we sometimes inadvertently snagged, but the octopus got his attention.
"Hey, wouldja look at that guy," he said, and SusanPatrick Kingnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6364278.post-1102984033108501202004-12-13T19:24:00.000-05:002004-12-13T19:29:19.530-05:00HAIRSTYLES OF THE DAMNED
by Joe Meno
1
In our History Class, we had to do a twenty-minute oral report on An Event That Changed America, and Mike and I were listening to a lot of old metal records and also very into serial killers at the time, and the girl, Dorie, who was put in our presentation group because she looks as about as hooked on drugs as Mike or me, well, we decided what the heck, andPatrick Kingnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6364278.post-1102294777735277332004-12-05T19:56:00.000-05:002004-12-05T19:59:37.736-05:00SIX O'CLOCK, OLD TOWN SQUARE
by Edward Mujinga
They walked quickly down the road, down the hill towards the station. A little of the early morning mist still hung in the valley. The air was fresh. The pavement fluctuated in width so where the kerb had crumbled away Tonda, the younger of the two, was obliged to step into the gutter. He bobbed up and down gaily, not minding the inconvenience in Patrick Kingnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6364278.post-1101689809837082512004-11-28T19:54:00.000-05:002004-11-28T19:58:09.863-05:00A couple of poems by Bonnie MacAllister
south philly crossed
they fought once more
at the art fair--
amidst oils and encaustic,
salting brushstrokes for
doubly priced canvas.
his t-shirt bore the brand
of his wife: trite and boring.
quickly inverted, she had to laugh
as she stroked him on the porch later.
"could she make you feel this way? "
she asks.
we stride by a fountain
fenced off--
Patrick Kingnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6364278.post-1101082943161938402004-11-21T19:20:00.000-05:002004-11-21T19:22:23.160-05:00The City Without Walls
by Jeff Somers
I was curiously reluctant to go up to the three of them after the funeral. With the gray sky behind them and the wind playing with their hair, their ties, her skirt, they looked otherworldly, tall blond gods resplendent in their grief. I'd never known them all that well, in the first place. I didn't really know anyone at the funeral any more-they were all Patrick Kingnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6364278.post-1100038495259036722004-11-09T17:11:00.000-05:002004-11-09T17:14:55.260-05:00UPTOWN VALHALLA
By Emerson Dameron
Thursday evening, 8:34 PM. I jerked awake on my brother’s couch in Uptown. “At least I don’t have a hangover; that’s a goddamn miracle,” I thought, right before the railroad spike went in one ear and out the other. I glanced at the coffee table. I shoveled my hands in my pockets. Wallet and keys were not forthcoming.
Fortunately, my sibling had a few twenties Patrick Kingnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6364278.post-1099949748421994392004-11-08T16:33:00.000-05:002004-11-08T16:35:48.420-05:00His Name Is Duncan
By J.D. Finch
He had never felt he’d better understood how cattle felt than now as her momentum, like an aura of concrete, moved him to the place he was supposed to be, a position of subservience in front of the editor’s desk.
“So what’s the plan Cal?” his editor asked him with a “let’s-get-on-with-it” urgency.
He gazed around the room slowly, put off by knowing that he Patrick Kingnoreply@blogger.com30tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6364278.post-1099596620795301462004-11-04T14:28:00.000-05:002004-11-04T14:41:49.083-05:00Nightswimming, Ch 43: They Said
(As delivered to PEN America’s celebration of Books Beyond the Margins)
By Yinishye Nasdijj
It begins with hostility.
The kind of hostility that breeds yet more hostility.
I often ask myself about twenty times a day why it is
I am such a masochist to take the hostility
Publishing dishes out to me
And writers like me and the degree of sheer hatred that is Patrick Kingnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6364278.post-1099009591224933562004-10-28T20:25:00.000-04:002004-10-28T20:29:30.636-04:00THE FALL OF AMERICA
by Grant Schreiber
It took more time to bury a sub-par president than it did to drop the story of the prisoners being tortured in Iraq, Afghanistan and elsewhere. Once the nation’s stomach was turned, it came as sort of a blessed relief that longtime carrot, Ronald Reagan, finally shuffled off the mortal coil. Not that Americans are a squeamish group, but we like our Patrick Kingnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6364278.post-1098653092230999972004-10-24T17:22:00.000-04:002004-10-24T17:24:52.230-04:00i'm dead, who am i
by Ron Androla
hyenas' claws harp
at my ass. i'm a screaming,
edible, stringed instrument in gold
eye sunbeam morning,
& this isn't l.a. or san
pedro. this isn't especially
amerika. i'm in rotten
guts of disbelief, ripped
like a fucked, old race-horse.
jane is drooling from wine
we guzzled last evening & night.
she sleeps with a face that
cld finally kill god.
& she's Patrick Kingnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6364278.post-1098036771816057302004-10-17T14:11:00.000-04:002004-10-17T14:12:51.816-04:00EMPTY
by Muffy
(For L.A.L.)
it’s amazing
how an
empty heart
can be
filled quickly
with a
dream’s kiss
gentle embrace
a smile after
a long day.
it’s amazing
how a
heart so
full can
be emptied
so quickly
by a
harsh word
work boots
stomping
on awakening
feelings.
Muffy a.k.a. Melissa Prunty Kemp is a writer living in Atlanta, Georgia USA. A native Virginian, Kemp writes periodically for Patrick Kingnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6364278.post-1097199650855616472004-10-07T21:38:00.000-04:002004-10-07T21:42:22.196-04:00A HUNDRED MOUTHS
by Jessica Manack
The bank I used turned out to be a fake. It seems
my investment in you fell through. I'm astounded
to think of all I lost, but know what richness teems
in the air, at my feet--by what richness I'm surrounded.
My toaster shares its manifesto. Even my toothbrush
has things to say, these days. They thank me for imbuing
their lives with need, my functional Patrick Kingnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6364278.post-1096855343243860402004-10-03T22:01:00.000-04:002004-10-03T22:02:41.453-04:00POISONING SCHOOLCHILDREN AND OTHER PATRIOTIC ACTIVITIES
by Sean Carswell
With five minutes left to go in class, the principal came on the loudspeaker to tell everyone that a rocket had exploded and released a poisonous gas cloud over our heads. Nobody was allowed outside until the poisonous cloud passed. So there I was-perhaps the world’s most reluctant junior high school teacher--stuck with Patrick Kingnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6364278.post-1095712689498922062004-09-20T16:34:00.000-04:002004-09-20T16:38:09.496-04:00 A couple poems by Madrea
I'm Dying part II
The smells of fresh-cut roses,
hot coffee in the mornings,
and heavy rains
singing me to sleep.
The feels of soft silk against my skin,
hot showers on cold mornings,
and caffiene running through my viens
The sights of the sun setting on the horizon,
still waters being broken,
and beautiful people,
The sounds of the simple phrase:
"I like you",
and Patrick Kingnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6364278.post-1094762649067475702004-09-09T16:36:00.000-04:002004-10-03T22:00:02.536-04:00
Editor's note: I read this poem through once and then read it again carefully and slowly, taking in all of the images and reflecting on my own experiences with the visions that occur when one catches great flashes of, for lack of a better word, God or holiness in small and bigger objects that float freely around us. Asha is one of the underground's great treasures and her writing continues Patrick Kingnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6364278.post-1093601531076287262004-08-27T06:11:00.000-04:002004-08-27T06:13:42.703-04:00KIMOSABE
by Marc Parker
Waiting for the Interstate line downtown, I'm flipping through this notebook when one of two women also waiting calls out, "Hey . . . hey! . . . White boy." I look at her. "What time does the bus come?" I tell her five minutes.
I hear her friend indistinctly, admonishing. "What?" the woman says, "he is a white boy." Her friend reacts, so she tells me, "You can call Patrick Kingnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6364278.post-1092998409456602442004-08-20T06:32:00.000-04:002004-08-22T22:23:47.243-04:00GOING ON A BENDER WITH THE UNDERGROUND LITERARY ALLIANCE
by Will Ratblood
If you find yourself in Philadelphia, the first thing you will want to do is get drunk. And what better way to go about that than to follow in the guiding, if erratic, footsteps of your frequently un-sober ULA brothers? Come with me as we go on a little drinking tour, a little bender, with the ULA.
You will want to begin Patrick Kingnoreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6364278.post-1092325842366192582004-08-12T11:48:00.000-04:002004-08-12T11:50:42.366-04:00LETTING THE DEAD STAY DEAD
by K.M. Dersley
A copy of Axcess, a magazine Carl hadn't paid for, dropped onto the mat. They said, 'We hope you will subscribe, but even if you don't, please write back and say what would make you wish to send off a cheque.'
After studying this production he pulled out a sheet of white 100gsm, dipped the steel nib in the bottle--then crapped out. He couldn't give anPatrick Kingnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6364278.post-1091806850249405602004-08-06T11:40:00.001-04:002004-08-27T06:11:13.583-04:00WHERE WAS I?
by Eddie Willson
The lighting strikes me as quite arty, looking at the pictures now.
I'm in the top frame. Just below is D. Then N. Then me again. I was a storeman in a builders' merchant back then. That's where I bought the donkey jacket. I qualified for a staff discount so I also got them for a couple of friends. They were popular then as an interim step between ditching the Patrick Kingnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6364278.post-1091458545586585402004-08-02T10:50:00.000-04:002004-08-02T16:31:35.623-04:00CRUEL SUMMERS FOREVER
By Yul Tolbert
I think Bananarama and Ace Of Base are right: It's a cruel summer. More to the point, all summers are cruel to me. It's the worst season of the year, and the worst time of the year.
First of all, I have the misfortune of living in a part of the world where summer weather is often like thermonuclear heat! (And conversely, the winters are like the south pole Patrick Kingnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6364278.post-1090952749325051612004-07-27T14:25:00.000-04:002004-08-02T16:34:06.296-04:00Hillbilly Bowling
By Karl Koweski
On top of Brindlee Mountain there was little else to do. We parked our trucks near the airline at Conoco Gas Station, Friday night, and waited for something to happen. I leaned against the side of Codeye’s ‘78 Ford, not so much because we were friends (I tolerated him) but because he brought a pint of Wild Turkey lifted from his daddy’s stash.
A sip of Wild Patrick Kingnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6364278.post-1090269837521671232004-07-19T16:31:00.000-04:002004-08-02T16:39:27.913-04:00Big Jim & Rose
by Brian Fugett
A quarter past midnight. The motel room is in shambles. Empty beer bottles and fast-food wrappers litter the floor. Big Jim and Rose, half-naked and drunk, wrestle playfully over a pint of whiskey. They roll across the floor thumping into walls and laughing. Pretzel crumbs and cigarette butts cling to their sweaty bodies as they go.
“Knock that shit off!” Patrick Kingnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6364278.post-1089746466570546482004-07-13T15:20:00.000-04:002004-07-13T15:21:06.570-04:00Some Literate Film Alternatives To Mindless Blockbusters Of Summer 2004
By J. D. Finch
Well, it seems that -- for better or worse -- postmodernism is the taste du jour in Hollywood. And now that "Lord Of The Rings" has given us its final chapter and Spiderman is making so much money that it's in a league of its own, it's time to see if the pen is mightier than the sword and sorcery. Will the Patrick Kingnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6364278.post-1088894868544634592004-07-03T18:44:00.000-04:002004-08-02T15:57:00.980-04:00Poems by new ULAer Marissa Ranello
Five Hour Booty Call
I will make you feel my sand dollared tongue.
As it enters your mouth, I will spoon the sloppy syllables
that fall from your lips like baby words,
gravitate them back to you.
That can become a grin, if you let it
I can not communicate my feelings.
I'm an anti-social socialist with agoraphobia
your five hours away
I'm an anti-social Patrick Kingnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6364278.post-1088099580121179852004-06-24T13:26:00.000-04:002004-06-25T11:39:45.066-04:00BUT I'M GOOD WITH FACES
by Jeff Somers
I. Stuart’s Retirement Party
Everyone was crowded around the bar, making themselves heard, waving around glasses and cigarettes carelessly, making their points. The restaurant was largely empty; it had been rented for the evening and half the office had already paid their respects to the host and left for the evening, avoiding the vaguely embarrassing Patrick Kingnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6364278.post-1087576244485777132004-06-18T12:22:00.000-04:002004-06-18T12:32:16.106-04:00DREAM
by Tom Hendricks
Tuesday evening, Dallas, Texas, 1949. Setting: Parks Liquor Store. It was near closing and 37 year old store owner Mort Parks was sitting behind the counter and watching the clock over the ice cooler tick. It was 8:45, about an hour before closing. He was alone and bored. The last customer left 45 minutes ago. He checked some prices and then left without buying anything. Patrick Kingnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6364278.post-1087197469682118832004-06-14T03:13:00.000-04:002004-06-14T03:19:34.186-04:00I penned this baby back in March. The sweet li'l tryst didn't "solidify," it gassified. A lot of my April 100Words entries were me being a self-pitying dick during the fallout. Such is life. Things are better now. I've got a new zine out: Wherewithal #1, 16 pages of childhood recollections, booze-fueled anecdotes and other ramblings. It's yours for a buck. E-mail emerson(at sign)hush.com for Patrick Kingnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6364278.post-1086968223868348372004-06-11T11:33:00.000-04:002004-06-11T11:53:05.230-04:00BLACKBIRD
by Victor Thorn
With Nashville nothing but a distant memory, we made Memphis by midnight, where we quickly hit a 7-11, bought two 12-paks, then ambled to Duke's apartment in the Arbors. I grabbed the beer and our suitcases from the trunk while my partner-in-crime snagged his guitar and a small handbag. After climbing a flight of steps and unlocking the door, Duke snarled, "I forgot Patrick Kingnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6364278.post-1086917753810663262004-06-10T21:34:00.000-04:002004-06-10T21:35:53.810-04:00"The Future" Happens This Saturday
Saturday, June 12, at MoJoe's Cafe (2256 W. Roscoe, a block off Western), SPEC Chicago and Diatribe Media present an evening of zine readings concerning the future. You'll see Aaron Cynic (Diatribe), Alicia Dorr (Random Life In Progress, Zine Guide), Kate Sandler (Brainiac), Andrew Mall (Living Proof), Emerson Dameron (Wherewithal), Puppy Dave (Grilled Tuna Patrick Kingnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6364278.post-1086370309372533322004-06-04T13:18:00.000-04:002004-06-04T13:31:49.373-04:00LIFE IN THE HOTEL IN THE SPRING OF 2004
by Crazy Carl Robinson
while i'm on the subject of the hotel, i might as well go ahead and break down my floor for you.....when i first moved back here i lived on the 3rd floor (i think the manager likes to put students on the 1st four floors and the older freaks on the top three), but the dude above me kept pissing and throwing up on my balcony, so i Patrick Kingnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6364278.post-1086369457543079622004-06-04T13:11:00.000-04:002004-06-04T13:17:37.543-04:00Greetings! We've enjoyed the recent postings of writing by ULA members so much that we've decided to continue publishing them on a regular basis. Pat King and I have agreed to manage this project. So starting today, on a weekly basis we'll be presenting literature from the underground on this blog. The following is our fancy shmancy "mission statement":
Underground Literary Adventures is a Patrick Kingnoreply@blogger.com1