The further adventures of
Bart Plantenga’s
Confessions of a Beer Mystic #7

Lights went on the blink in the stalled subway. So quiet you could hear bodies wheezing and seething inside the confines of cruel fashions that defy the wearers’ best interests. Had the conductor abandoned us by running down the glimmering ribbon of track? This is where I began to think of things happening in terms of fate. Coincidence after coincidence, light after light, week after week, going out above, below, and all around me. Just last night in front of the Pyramid I put a light out, 12:07 AM, by standing directly under it and looking squarely up into its ugly maw. I heard a pop like a bone popping out of joint, and took in a few stares from some aimless types combing the concrete night for a messiah to obey. Don’t look at me, I’m not a pop star!

Coincidence seemed already wholly inadequate to explain this phenomena. Like love being explained in terms of bodily fluid exchanges. I even began to fear that I’d somehow wished situations into being this way such as this dark stalled train and that my wishes had begun to influence fate. This is how mind works you over.

In the dark “F” train I pictured the girl across from me tapping the seat with her Krazy Nails — TIKTIK-TIKTIK-TIKTIK-TIKTIK, smelling like Barbie soaking in warm 7-Up. There she sat in her best MTV-actress-extra, propping up the yearning portion of her bosom in a manner recommended by Mademoiselle. Infatuation (or the inability to rev up real life?) insists on misunderstanding. It furnishes it’s own den, digs its own grave, generates its own geometry of bile and ulcer.

A guy was slapping his hat at monsters, jabbing away at his image in the subway door glass in the flickers of spark light. Pointing his fist at his “adversary,” and threatening the image in the glass, “You nothin’.” Then a flurry of punches aimed at the self that would not go away.

“The monsters won’t let me off this train!” he yells, “It’s a matter of wife or debt!” Or death? I tried to imagine his wife, his life, his … He didn’t have much of a nose. Just a huge crust like a half-eaten slice of pizza jammed into a socket in the center of his face. Had he been the victim of a fight, a fall, or tertiary syphilis? A man sitting across from me is quick to fix his headphones back upon their oblivion mount.

He wanted so bad to tell his story which is really the story of Americans everywhere. Not for loose silver or sympathy. Just to tell it. Ah, go ahead. Maybe he just wanted to make his disfigurement into a little like a Picasso done in bone marrow. And, yea, there he goes, he tells us about tests done by the U.S. Government using irradiated mists [1959] on the unsuspecting which are us. And he points to “You and You too!”

As a child and survivor, it seems, American generals had sent HIM into the rubble of Nagasaki. Or so he claimed. Where he kicked up dust, unfathomable artifacts, and charred gruesome limbs. Jaws fixed in terror. He reported back to the generals carrying armloads of artifacts such as bottles melted around forks. Or so he claimed. He combs the 20 to 30 strands of hair back across the bald expanse. Is this an example of mind over matter?

Now he aches all the time. His body is “full of rusty hinges and duh Demelol don’ do shi’.” Pops them like Lifesavers. He ran away from a daughter — or so he says — in Modesto who was born with flippers, or so he says, for arms — “like a purpose.”

“You mean porpoise?” I corrected.

“Uh, yea, purpose.” As if he, this Japanese guy or what’s left of him, had been placed on this earth, in this subway car to herald the coming demise of each and every one of us.

“Why you think this car was stop in pits dark for so long so they can infect you an’ all us.”

And then the subway inexplicably jerked back to life and screeched into my stop, the station with ceramic walls oozing a grimy sap of an undetermined chemistry. And as I got off, 7-Up Barbie was already gone but I spotted a Krazy Nail — torn from her warm hand? — lying on the subway floor, smiling up at me. And for a long time I stood there staring into the windows of the car. And the further I fixed my gaze the more I caught the reflection of my face perched atop the neck of the noseless one, superimposed over his face so that for a brief instant he was wearing the ghostly mask of me. And as the train pulled out I could see my face flit from one neck to another until I was gone.

I forgot that I was supposed to be going to work. I came up out of the subway and felt that I had never been at this spot before. I forgot what education was supposed to make easier. I forgot what I forgot and just roamed and roamed. I saw the cripple crawling up out of the souls of everyone on the street. At noon I saw a man struggling with a heavy box. He was 55 and had carried thousands of boxes for thousands of days just like this one. His body bent in half. As a Jewish coolie, the carrying of heavy boxes had sculpted muscle out of consciousness. And I went up to him to shake his hand and saw him disappear into the chrome mirror on the bank corner.

(to be continued)

Confessions Of A Beer Mystic by Bart Plantenga




 #4 - #5 - #6

Bart Plantenga – is the world’s foremost Beer Mystic and authority on yodel-ay-ee-hoo!·

Leave a Reply

At last a Smoke Signals NO BRAINER

Truly, we’re fucked if we can’t call off and reschedule this whole lose-lose election the failed two-party-system has stuck us with in order to keep control of the country. In order to change things it's going to take a plan that bars anyone who ran for POTUS in this election and replaces them with... »

Jack Wesley Hardin’s

If you unlucky enough to be out in the soup tonight, baby, you don’t have to be told this toxic brew of critics and crucifiers alike is not pissin’ chicken soup for the soul down on us. All you gotta do is watch the waves of rage exploding out over the high bluffs above... »

an Octoberfest hors d’oeuvre

I am FiFi (not my real name), the French maid sex slave of two beautiful, brilliant, strong Amazon Lesbians. And though they tell me I am badly flunking the French part of my maid, What, Dear Vibrator, I must ask, is the correlation between pain and sexual excitement? Am I a sickness? »


As she obliviously barked on, I looked out the corner of my eye to see if everyone was staring at us. But they were totally frozen in time. I mean, they were all completely stuck in mid chew, or suck, as they case may be -- trapped in the unconscious flytrap of our... »

Joey Amdahl’s
The Big Dumb Nothing
fiction from MODERN (you call this) LIVING

See my thirty-five-year-old boss Betty Allen standing at the door of the club. She scratches at an itch that’s under her tight black skirt and her hand yanks up her fish net stocking at the knee. . A tattoo of a zombie geisha fills up her entire upper arm. The tattoo goes against..... »

The 49th Anniversary of having to ask

Though they probably don't have the balls to do it, the best opportunity Trump will ever have to be trusted by the great majority of Americans would be by using MLK's 86th birthday to name who’s really responsible for the assassinations of JFK-MLK- RFK, before bad-politics-as-usual buries the truth again forever… »

Charles Bukowski's
Six Inches

Sarah picked me up and placed me down between her legs, which she spread open just a bit. Then I was facing a forest of hair. I hardened my back and neck muscles, sensing what was to come. I was jammed into darkness and stench. I heard Sarah moan. Then Sarah began to move me slowly back and forth. As I said, the stench was unbearable, and it was difficult to breathe, but somehow there was air in there—various side-pockets and drafts of oxygen. Now and then my head, the top of my head bumped The Man in the Boat and then Sarah would let out an extra-illuminated moan. Sarah began moving me faster and faster »

an excerpt from John Goodman’s
Avant-Garde and Tradition
Photograph by Robert Frank

I don't want to be so junglish that I can't climb a stairway. I got to climb mountains all day long? We're going to the moon, right? Well, I'm with the guys that wrote music that got us to the moon. Not the guys who dreamed about it. Bach built the buildings, we didn't... »

Excerpts from
A Counter Myth
from Mike Golden’s

Sad to Say, if you ask any graduating class today who James Earl Ray was, less than 10% of those over-priced diplomas would know the confessed, then-unconfessed, alleged-assassin of Dr. Martin Luther King was indisputably one of the three biggest hand-picked-stooges in history, along with Curly Larry Sirhan and Mo Harvey Oswald... »

A Thanksgiving Prayer from William Burroughs

Thanks for the wild turkey and passenger pigeons destined to be shit out through wholesome American guts... Thanks for vast herds of bisons... Thanks for bounties on wolves and coyotes...Thanks for a nation of finks... »

Victor Harwood’s
excerpted from his novel

That Saturday night Malraux and I sat side-by-side, facing the room, watching the crowd flow in and out in waves as it passed through the Dingo, quick to find out what was doing in the Quarter, savor a Jimmy Charters Gin Fizz and head off for dinner at the Brassarie Lipp or the Dôme... »

Now entering the 50th year of having to ask

“I’d rather be dead than afraid,” the spirit said to Hicks It was Dr. King’s mantra, but all Wild Billy saw was a poor lost soul who didn’t know he was dead. “I never felt so small as when I realized it was my job to inform Dr. King’s spirit his body was gone »


They took their beer from the bar to a table in the back, and then Johnson started talking about whore houses it had been his distinct pleasure to know. Like shortstops or writers, there was a rating system."There was a place in Jersey. In Wildwood. A grand old House, for its... »

Die for it or live for it, it always comes down to whether you go for what looks most inviting in the moment or wait for what you're lookin' for. Call it Yes or call it No, to swing or not to swing appears to be the only room left to move in... »

What's Happening In:

Little Rock - Arkansas Times
Buffalo - Artvoice
Athens, OH
The Athens NEWS
Austin, TX - Austin Chronicle
Baltimore - Baltimore City Paper
Birmingham - Birmingham Weekly
Black & White
Boise Weekly
Boston Phoenix
Boston's Weekly Dig
Boulder - Boulder Weekly
Charlottsville, VA - C-Ville Weekly
Chicago Newcity
Chicago Reader
Chico News & Review
Cincinnati - Cincinnati CityBeat
Rochester - City Newspaper
Minneapolis - City Pages (Twin Cities)
Lansing - City Pulse
Des Moines - Cityview
Halifax, NS - The Coast
Colorado Springs - Colorado Springs Independent
Columbia, SC - Columbia Free Times
Atlanta - Creative Loafing (Atlanta)
Charlotte, NC - Creative Loafing (Charlotte)
Sarasota, FL - Creative Loafing (Sarasota)
Tampa, FL - Creative Loafing (Tampa)
Dallas - Dallas Observer
Dayton - Dayton City Paper
Oakland - East Bay Express
Hermosa Beach, CA - Easy Reader
Eugene, OR - Eugene Weekly
New Haven - Fairfield County Weekly
Calgary, AB - Fast Forward Weekly
Athens, GA - Flagpole Magazine
Jacksonville, FL - Folio Weekly
Fort Worth, TX - Fort Worth Weekly
New Orleans - Gambit
Vancouver, BC - The Georgia Straight
Hartford, CT - Hartford Advocate
Honolulu - Honolulu Weekly
Houston - Houston Press
Springfield, IL - Illinois Times
Durham, NC - Independent Weekly (NC)
Corona, CA - Inland Empire Weekly
Madison, WI - Isthmus
Ithica, NY - Ithaca Times
Jackson, MS - Jackson Free Press
Los Angeles - L.A. Weekly
Las Vegas - Las Vegas CityLife
Las Vegas Weekly
Louisville, KY - LEO Weekly
Long Island, NY - Long Island Press
Maui, HI - Maui Time Weekly
Memphis - The Memphis Flyer
Knoxville - Metro Pulse
San Jose - Metroactive

Great Moments in Sportz
Fear & Loathing @ The Kentucky Derby

RALPH STEADMAN remembers meeting HUNTER S. THOMPSON: I heard a quick hiss from the spray can Hunter was brandishing. He had Maced me again!...

HUNTER meets RALPH: Another problem was his habit of sketching people he met in the various social situations I dragged him into--then giving them the sketches. »

Mike Golden’s
Inside Outsourcing
Even if eating it is not exactly their thing they always have the option to use it as a dildo made exclusively for them personally by white trash fashionistas from the south of France collection, Dominique, would you like a tattoo of your face on your ass, dear, while you’re waiting for the designer to take measurements we can use to fit your soul into a gift package? »
Although Tuli was dubbed “the Noel Coward of Bohemia” by his friend co-founding Fug Ed Sanders, I always thought of the multidextrous humanist-humorist as “the Tom Paine of standup protest performance art”, but no matter what handle any of us pin on him it’s safe to say he has probably subliminally influenced more underground writer-poet-artist-publishers than any other Boho to come down the page this century. »


painting collage of UBU, THE DECIDER by aka
Fred Wistow introduces Malcolm Gladwell

Max Blagg Commercial

  • 1965 collage by d.a. levy

  • Before you leave...
    visit Lally's Alley
    for daily updates
  • Visit Richard Cummings'
    The Fire Insider

    for daily updates
    Dick Lit
    Missionary Positions
    fiction by Joe Maynard

    Painting by Peter Cross

    "dick lit" is here to acknowledge the good, bad and ugly that goes with it, as it celebrates every young boy's quest to get off the next time, and every old man's quest to get off one more time, before there is no time left to get off on... »

    an excerpt from Ellen Pearlman’s

    Nothing and Everything is about the relationship of Eastern thought, particularly Buddhism, to the arts in post-war New York City —from the early 1940s to the early1960s—a handful of individuals brought about major changes in music, performance, dance, theater, installation, video, mixed media, painting, and sculpture, as the evolution from modernism to postmodernism broke down the idea of art as a practice devoted to a particular medium. The world—or life itself—became a legitimate artist’s tool, aligning with Zen Buddhism’s emphasis on enlightenment occurring at any moment.... »

    A Message from Senator Franken

    Please take 2 minutes to watch this important video.

    Alan Greenberg’s

    For three hours Ali was in the ring sparring, and the entire time he never threw a punch. When he finally stepped down I asked him what he was doing. “I’m gonna get that sucker so tired of punching me he’s gonna fall flat on his face,” Ali replied. And so the “Rope-a-Dope” was born, not in the ring in Zaire, but in a gym in Pennsylvania. »

    Up on the stage a man who looks like Klinger on Mash lifts his dress for the audience to inspect him. He has a clit. An actual clit. Then suddenly the legs spread, and PRESTO SLEAZO, there's a schlong! What a bargain! A real live hermaphrodite is about to take the skin of his female genitalia and stretch it over his male genitalia and get it on with itself »

    Great Moments in Sportz
    Professor Irwin Corey Accepts The National Book Award for Thomas Pynchon

    It happened Thursday, April 18th, 1974, at Alice Tulley Hall, and those that were there will never forget it (if they remember it at all). The National Book Awards, commercial publishing’s now defunct version of the Academy Awards was in the bottom of the ninth, down »

    Mimi & Richard Farina Live

    In 1965, Mimi and Richard Farina dropped by the studios of WTBS (now WMBR) with electric guitarist Barry Tashian (of Barry & the Remains) for music and talk with DJ Ed Freeman. Richard is on dulcimer. One of Mimi’s two guitars is tuned like a dulcimer. The explanation for the brief gap in the tape has long been lost.


    Michael Disend's RIDER OF THE JADE HORSE

    Li looked firmly into his eyes. “No! I want man who is also a woman.” Penman nodded against his will, his gaze stealing down toward the strap-on dildo she was generously coating with lube. It thrust out like a red cannon from her leather harness. Why red? Is it because she’s from China?


    Dick Lit
    Stacia St. Owens’

    “Dick lit” has been around since the first caveman’s curiosity stuck his dick into the equation when he rubbed those two rocks together around it until....
    Millie tittered, which is how girls used to be taught to laugh. Tilda wondered if this were an intentional jab.

    Barney Rosset Interview
    (The Subject Was Left Handed)