Bart Plantenga’s
Confessions of a Beer Mystic #17

“Any o’ yous evah touched a real tree.” I ask my neighbors. “Wood not covered with 10 coats of paint. When’s the last time yuh got real dirt under your fingernails, popped a milkweed pod, know that olives grow on trees, know the shape of a fish other’n fish stix?” No stoop gargoyle even bothers to look up. One woman fiddles with a big button that says simply JESUS (is that so when he comes back he’ll know who the real members of his fan club are?) pinned to her dingy terrycloth bathrobe the same drab color as the walls of the mental hospital. I was just more street noise.

“Ever heard the nocturnal song of the nightingale?” (Do the sirens, the car alarms, these “Manhattan shrikes,” ever vacate our inner ears?) Yea, I suppose I’m just another anybody who rants on and on because I’m either drunk, stoned, bonkers or horny or 3 out of 4.

“How come you know tings?” This one gnarled pug asks. They are all enamored by the convenience of proto-thought, pre-packaged individually-wrapped, reheatable, reflection-free and low-in-perception prejudiced thought bites. They just simply need to misunderstand and so they do. Once in a while they’ll turn their heads to see if their casket or mine is floating down the gutter towards our stoop.

Marco, our super, yells at me. It can be about anything. He’s in #11. He’s a sinewy snarling piece of work. Always dressed in his Nam fatigues, showing off the bulletholes by pushing his forefinger through the raggedy orifices. The problem is he still thinks he’s in Nam.

The other day he found some of my garbage in his can — crime of crimes. How’d he find out without going into it? The old women in the hall stare, shake their heads with the sinister glimmer of pity. Pity doused in vengeance. They’re not above putting my garbage in his can. The evidence was supposedly an envelope addressed to me.

So I went down, took out the violating sack. Say excuse me to him and then drop it on his Welcome Mat. He is awed beyond the capability of physical reprisal. The sheer audacity of my act prevents me from becoming a victim of his big rep — as a face re-arranger. Everyone seems to be a timebomb around here just itching to be triggered and go off to leave a big crater on the face of the earth. Or at the very least a mythical pothole in the uptown lanes of the FDR. Is it thought (made ineluctable by paranoia?) into action or action thrust into the blossoming wound of thought?

The fact that Marco’s dog, Angel, still has all 4 of its legs is thanks, I guess, to his big rep. No butcher would dare touch his Angel. Angel is 13 and arthritic. When Angel squats to leave it’s runny dog truffles on the walk Marco has to wipe Angel’s ass. The crap gets caught in Angel’s tufts of haunch hair. And sometimes Angel gets stuck in a squat position, the joints just freeze and Marco has to massage and maneuver Angel’s haunches to get her moving again. Now and again, the intimacy of their special relationship has me confusing Angel for Marco and I will sometimes call Marco, Angel. I thought of what could be reaped from this.

So the other night I positioned myself in the window sill. And there I ate dinner off the stained glass plates Djuna brought back from Chartres with her sometimes ex. These are the ones she hides so I can’t use them.

I waited and waited, vigilantly wrapped in my blue blanket, perched in the sill. Waited for the perfect photo to catch Marco in the act. Click — no flash with 1000ASA film. The next morning I went out to have my pics developed in a 5 minute photo joint. I took the best — there were several — enlarged them on a copier, then made 100 copies of these photos. After midnight of that very next day, I put up the fliers of Marco wiping Angel’s ass all over the neighborhood and even in the toilets of some of the local bars like What The Fuck (WTF) and the Den.

Early the next day I see him tearing them off walls and lampposts, lighting them with is lighter while interrogating neighbors. No one knows nothing. He is furious.

Angel doesn’t distinguish between friendship and fear. The petting is all the same. And Angel is right. The kind of friendships Marco has are all steeped in fear. I’m talking about the kind of fear that makes people small talk with Marco and fuss over Angel, talk googoo talk to her and act all chummy with Marco, even buying him drinks once in a while, all the time acting like they love his incontinent Angel, his only true love.

I still suspect the puke in the hallway is Angel’s. No amount of intimidation is going to make me think different. I mean everybody’s afraid to so much as even suspect Marco’s Angel. Everyone fears the repercussions. And since Marco was in the Marines the revenge can take on some amazingly creative angles.

He does a lot of stints on our evening stoop, describing the ingenious ways they tortured the VC and then blew them apart. His fingers always finding their way to the bulletholes in his fatigues. He can do stuff to your mailbox, make your electricity short out, make you hear screams in your sleep, hire vets of random violence to rough you up, fuck with your telephone, your windows, your mind.

The last puddle of Angel puke languished in our hall for so long that a colony of ants fought off a pack of winged cockroaches and finally devoured the whole gut soufflé …

 

to be continued –

http://smokesignalsmag.com/OldIssue/bartconfession1.html #1
http://www.smokesignalsmag.com/2/beermystic.htm #2
http://smokesignalsmag.com/3/beer3.html #3
http://smokesignalsmag.com/4/wordpress/?page_id=27 #4
http://smokesignalsmag.com/7/?p=6 – #5
http://smokesignalsmag.com/7/?p=1344 – #6
http://smokesignalsmag.com/7/?p=2192 – #7
http://smokesignalsmag.com/7/?p=2295 – #8
http://smokesignalsmag.com/7/?p=2725 – #9
http://smokesignalsmag.com/7/?p=2783 – #10
http://smokesignalsmag.com/7/?p=2910 – #11
http://smokesignalsmag.com/7/?p=3008 – #12
http://smokesignalsmag.com/7/?p=3206 – #13
http://smokesignalsmag.com/7/?p=3363 – #14
http://smokesignalsmag.com/7/?p=3448 – #15
http://smokesignalsmag.com/7/?p=3505 – #16

How to become a Beer Mystic – by Mike Golden
http://smokesignalsmag.com/7/?p=653

 

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

http://www.bartplantenga.com/

Sharon Mesmer interviews the old Beer Mystic @ http://www.brooklynrail.org/2011/10/books/beer-is-two-subway-stops-away-from-mysticism
WRECK THIS MESS
Confessions Of A Beer Mystic by Bart Plantenga

 

 

Leave a Reply

Stories From Around the Web

Who Killed MLK?



At last a Smoke Signals NO BRAINER
MACACA SPEAKS
MAKE FRAGMERICA GREAT AGAIN
THE BRAND ON TRUMP’S BIG FUCKING WALL

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
THE ONE THAT GET AWAY

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

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? »

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
MINGUS SPEAKS
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
THE LAST INTERVIEW WITH JAMES EARL RAY
A Counter Myth
from Mike Golden’s
BEEN TO THE MOUNTAINTOP, WENT OVER THE EDGE

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... »

Victor Harwood’s
THE WRITERS’ CONFERENCE
excerpted from his novel
TO DIE IN MADRID

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
WHO KILLED MLK
HERE’S A CONVERSATION
WITH PRIVATE INVESTIGATOR WILD BILLY HICKS


“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 »

DARIUS JAMES
DR. SNAKESKIN SPEAKS


BOYS TOWN
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... »


THE NATIONAL PASTIME
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
Boise Weekly
Boston
Boston Phoenix
Boston's Weekly Dig
Boulder - Boulder Weekly
Charlottsville, VA - C-Ville Weekly
Chicago
Chicago Newcity
Chicago Reader
Chico
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. »

WAA!!
WHAT AN ASSHOLE!


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... »

    THE BEATS:
    REMEMBERING THE TEA
    an excerpt from Ellen Pearlman’s
    NOTHING & EVERYTHING

    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
    ROPE-A-DOPING WITH MUHAMMAD ALI



    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. »
    MY LIFE & TIMES IN THE SKIN TRADE

    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.

    CLICK HERE

    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’
    DISCOVERED


    “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....
    DISCOVERED
    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)


    Nightlife