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Six Months
2008-03-19 04:18:00
Plans are underway. Six months from now I will officially leave my self imposed asylum and rejoin the day to day rat race in which I thrive. Tucson, Arizona, here I come.Regular readers of this blog are well aware of the details that led me to this exile. For the rest of you I shall be brief: I left Arizona after the death of some very close running mates and found my self swirling into the tiny cesspool of non-existence in the tip of a thin syringe. I needed to be not only somewhere safe, somewhere I could kind of take a break from life awhile, but somewhere that lacked the easy access to the numerous poisons and chemicals available to erase the soul.The back mountains of Arkansas proved to be the place for this "transformation". A place so boring and so out of touch with everyday reality that I could quickly and easily disappear into the backdrop of the Ozark mountains. On top of that, I had a 2 year probation on a trumped up misdemeanor charge that would have been impossible to a...
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Ghosts Of Hollywood
2008-03-18 05:49:00
*from the collection "Use Once & Destroy"sirens echo screamsthru this paper thinhotel wallseems we all have animalswe must cagedragons we must chaseI close my eyesor do my eyesclose meas horses tongue lapsthrough my bloodstreamI fuck the ghostsof hollywood starletteson cotton swab clouds& down in the alleyjudy garland leansher anorexicjunkie shouldersagainst a piss stainedred brick wallhikes her pink silk sleeveto revealpowder blue veinsthat scar her armof alabaster marbleand tonitejudy & Iare not afraidto diewould be likesticking our tonguesinstead ofsimply our soulsbetween midnitesbruised thighsas we driftlike nervous ghostsinto the silhouetteof this momentRC Edrington
More About: Hollywood , Poetry , Ghosts

Potraits From A Barrio Toilet Stall
2008-03-18 05:44:00
* from the now out of print chapbook of the same name.semen bleedsacross a flatstomach intoa piercedbelly buttonlike bloodswelling in aslaughterhousefloor drainclogged by a torncondom wrapperan empty 1/2 pintvodka bottleexplodes likea molotov cocktailinto a shit& vomit pluggedtoilet bowlmanicured fingersflip a $20crack rockinto a blackmascara drenchedface pimpledby sweatyteenage fearan hour oldtampon clingsto the freshlypolished heelof a black Oxfordas a steel parkbathroom doorslams closedsunlight rapesthe oiled darknesslike a thievesflashlight ina vacant houseRC Edrington
More About: Poetry , Toilet , Barrio

MySpace: Holy Fucking Christ...
2008-03-18 01:43:00
For those of you who must feel some closeness to me, or just wish to contribute to the general chaos that is the internet...yes I have a MySpace account. Please note, I only accept about 10% of all self invitees, so no crying. To find my lame page go here: PunkMojo. As with my email, personal replies are not guaranteed...and are most oft ignored.RC Edrington
More About: News , Myspace , Christ , Fucking , Holy

The Truth About Leprechaun's
2008-03-17 18:04:00
Despised for their religious beliefs and funny accents by the American majority, Irish immigrants had trouble finding even menial jobs. When Irish Americans in the country's cities took to the streets on St. Patrick's Day to celebrate their heritage, newspapers portrayed them in cartoons as drunk, violent monkeys.However, the Irish soon began to realize that their great numbers endowed them with a political power that had yet to be exploited. They started to organize, and their voting block, known as the "green machine," became an important swing vote for political hopefuls. Suddenly, annual St. Patrick's Day parades became a show of strength for Irish Americans, as well as a must-attend event for a slew of political candidates. In 1948, President Truman attended New York City 's St. Patrick's Day parade, a proud moment for the many Irish whose ancestors had to fight stereotypes and racial prejudice to find acceptance in America.As for the Leprechaun: The original Irish name fo...
More About: News , Truth , The Truth

To Believe
2008-03-17 03:44:00
your moonlit brushed wideadobe eyesfailed to blink closedwhen Renee registeredthen tappeda hidden vein& melted heroinlike tortilla lardinto my half-decadepure bloodthat drunkenSaturday nightI dragon chaseda 1/4 gramSummer criedfake black mascaraprison bars down herbruised cheeksonto your pillow& swore to leaveclaimed everyonewould blameher dope demonfor re-awaking mineso tonightyou hold melike a fallen brittle idolyou fearmay shatterwhile Summer swimsthru vomit& piss stained dreamson the cold tiledbedroom floor& you swearyou love me& that Summer onlyever really criesif she hasto share her dopeRC Edrington
More About: Poetry

Google Sky
2008-03-14 03:25:00
For all you wanks too lazy to download Google Earth, check out the brand new version of Google Sky available in browser format: Google Sky. From your browser you can smoke some doobage, scope out the skies...planets, galaxies, constellations, and other mega cool shit. Much cooler than looking at the filth available on this planet (including your local bookstore).Navigation is as simple as using Google Maps, and their are cool icons and graphics to help you navigate the virtual galaxy. More details: Official Google Blog. But trust me on this kids, the historical maps of the sky and Hubble telescope images kick some serious space ass.Then again, you could steal a telescope from the local pawn shop and check out some of this stuff first person...you wanks do that anymore?RC Edrington

Love Poem for Bridget
2008-03-12 15:54:00
I didn't intendto miss you morethan the few momentsit took to wrinkle a few t shirts& a torn pair of jeansinto a rucksack now 2000 miles& 375 days of memorythe flop housesare just as crowdedthe sex even moremeaninglessthan the sugar cutheroin my veinsstill ache forbut some nightswhen candlelight bendsat a perfect angleI catch a tiny glimpseof your facein the meth glossed eyesof teenage girlswho spread widetheir souls& legsbefore the godsof this street life& wish notthat you were herebut that I for one final timecould melt intoyour bloodstreamlike a warm poppy tinged kissRC Edrington
More About: Poetry , Love , Poem , Bridget

Living In The Past
2008-03-12 15:11:00
thru walls thin like paperchildhood televisionsare obsoletethe muffled woman criesnext door intofisted balls of toilet paperas fresh washed dishesexplode like hand grenadesagainst a lockedbathroom doorI sip another glassof cheap drugstore whiskeytuck my chin to kneesbehind a musty closet doorthis night is a nightof commercial-free reruns& ends in broken bonesRC Edrington
More About: Living , Poetry , Past

Without A Net: The Poetry Reading
2008-03-10 13:41:00
The cafe is cold, stainless steel. Musty air reeks of soured tea. Sweaty dreadlocks. I keep my pen and nose tucked into a battered black leather notebook. I do this not for the sake of art or even literature. I do this perhaps the way a prisoner details his surroundings in want of future escape. I am the condemned man. I yearn to replace the dull empty spaces of these white prison cell walls with windows to reflect like mirrors the shattered images of man who either lost or found salvation through the tip of thin syringe.The waitress smiles "Hollywood" through crayon greased lips. Candy-apple red. Her bloodshot eyes dream if only tomorrow could be today...and today she fills my coffee mug half-full. She is quite aware of the silver flask tucked neatly inside the front pocket of my worn bomber jacket, and the vodka it contains to numb me through this night (and every other night) of plastic people with their fake smiles and trivial personalities. Only I seem to notice the tiny red bl...
More About: Reading , Poetry , Prose

Birthday
2008-03-09 01:13:00
No broads. No booze. No drugs. No party that lasted well into the next day. Everything was mellow. My lil-nephew took my to eat a "Flying Burrito", which was quite tasty, and then we landed back at his house to play a few games on his Wii system. Of course he totally kicked my ass. He also gave me a stuffed red bear with Harley Davidson chaps and jacket just like the one he remembered me giving him around 4. Smart kid.This sister kicked me a new pair of Nike sneakers and four pairs of jeans. She knows how I roll. A few hours later I was driven up the highway back into the lovable wasteland I call home. It was a great day. Just sorry that my life is in this state of perpetual chaos, that I am limited to fond, memorable days such as this only once or twice per year.RC Edrington
More About: Birthday , Essays

Another Year...
2008-03-08 00:05:00
RC Edrington
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Weed, Shotguns, & Snakeskin Boots
2008-03-03 07:45:00
It started with clay pigeons. Most likely sometime in 1985. Booze and drugs have a way of wearing on the memory like an evil wind carving out a mountain wall. 1985. Jim, my best buddy at the time, and I would load his shotguns and a box of clay pigeons into his dad's puke green Chevy Nova and head out into the middle of the Sonoran Desert. We'd get stoned on whatever weed was floating around at the time and take turns blasting the clay targets out of the sky.At some point we grew tired of shooting the clay pigeons and decided to start shooting the nasty jack rabbits...who from our view point were useless creatures anyway...because the only time we ever really saw the fuckers close up was on the highway asphalt splattered by cars. Our wasted quasi-punk philosophy of the time being: if something was too stupid to preserve itself, then it deserved to die. Besides, the only thing alive in that desert beside diamondback rattlesnakes were coyotes...and the Red Hot Chili Peppers had sung...
More About: Boots , Weed

This Aint No Punk Rock Song
2008-03-01 10:05:00
tattoo stained kidsslam dope insideporcelain shatteredbathroom stallswhere even rats avoidhepatitis laced syringesflicked likecigarette butts intoa piss soaked corner& there is nohip soundtrack bleedingfrom a stolen boom-boxto make any of this shitbeautiful or cool& as for artJenny & the girls saythey got no use for artless he's got a $20 bill& needs his dick suckedRC Edrington
More About: Poetry , Punk , Punk Rock , Song , Rock

Messiah
2008-02-23 08:06:00
Jen consecratesher disciplesone blow jobat a timefor the purestdime cuttaste of heavenher martyred tearspurified by firein a bent teaspoonthen strainedthru a cotton strandtorn like gauzefrom a dirty red& white stockingthe same filthy red & white knee-highstockingI will tourniquetaround her thintattooed armto stave offcellulitisfrom creepingits bruised fingerstowards her heartwhile I shake& slap herinto awarenesswe need to dial 911& not her dealerRC Edrington
More About: Poetry , Messiah

2008 UK Indy Music Awards
2008-02-22 01:28:00
Firebug, one of my fave new rock bands, has been nominated for Best New Rock Act for the 2008 UK Indy Music Awards . This event will take place in London in April. This means all of you need to do me a favor: submit a vote for them! This is a real simple process you can do on your computer in between surfing your fave porn sites. So go give Firebug a listen, then click here to vote. Do this for good karma and stuff.RC Edrington
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Updates & Musings
2008-02-21 09:17:00
Recently I've been surfing through some of the back issues of the poetry and short story ezine, Red Fez. Found some good reads. If you have yet to familiarize yourself with this ezine...do so. You can find a piece of mine in the current issue. I will also be making an appearance in the March issue of Underground Voices, and the upcoming print issue of Zygote In My Coffee. Don't forget to support the small press.With a reasonably clear head, and a fairly pure bloodstream, I am making plans to return to Tucson, Arizona. See you all soon, I have been away much too long. While I have enjoyed my little retreat here in the Ozarks, I have found absolutely nothing of inspiration to make me stay. So like a moth tempted by flame, I am ready to dive back into the home fire. There's no place like home...Debbie Kirk is currently accepting submissions for her follow up to the Dope anthology. This time around the focus is on the small press. A lot of good writers are already involved, and I wil...
More About: Musings , Updates

No Future
2008-02-20 03:15:00
outside Sam's Liquor Storechildren dabble in cigarettestheir stolen bicyclesscattered in the dusty alleylike wounded horseslast nightthey pillaged McDonald's,threw frozen beef pattiesat cars on slow cruiseup & down the bruised blvd.even Josethe neighborhood dope dealeroffered them jobsmaking heroin dropsafter schoolbut like tiny firessoon consumed into onethese kidsjust continue to burn& burn chaos throughthe sleepy barrio streetsRC Edrington
More About: Poetry , Future

Mass Weirdness: Abduction?
2008-02-18 03:12:00
Few people know this story. At the time it took place I was unable to rationalize as to what had happened. Time has not granted me anymore understanding now than then. Few people were told this story because I felt then, as I do now, that emotional neophytes should not be granted free commentary on my reality. Besides, the admission of this story would only add fuel to the flames that were starting to slow burn thru my sanity in relation to the absurd society I found myself a slave to.Dates tend to blur thru my head into a giant mass of nothingness, and instead of getting lost down those dark and unfruitful alleyways...let's say this tale took place sometime in the late 1980s. When blood flowed pure through my veins, and even booze was just something I dabbled in on weekends. I often find it quite odd that during those few short years of my life when my mental clarity was at its peak, the most confusing and unclear event happened to me. I was working graveyard shift at a copper sme...
More About: Essays , Mass , Abduction

she said
2008-02-16 00:43:00
she said lovethe 3 a.m. trainto el paso that rattlesa bedroom windowwith the arthriticbones of treeson a wind raped nightshe said aftera slow drag off a sharedhand rolled cigarette& a few swallowsof my gallo winelove lostthe huge contusionof emptiness it leaves behindRC Edrington

B-Movie Reprise
2008-02-15 21:47:00
my metaphorsare often slammedimpreciselyleft to bleed & festeracross the worn skinof this bruised pagebut these track marksare not odes to the hipor belt notchesfor the pretentiousorgy that has becomethis literarycircle jerkthese lines aregang signsto my fellow inmatescaught in the softtrick of lightthat binds the innocentto these drug riddled& whore infectedbarrio alley-waysin the enda cliche still remainsjust poor man's metaphorbut I sure as fuckdidn't come hereto slam dancebefore all youkings & queensnor suffer delusionsof Noble Prizesor even an Oscarfor this suicidalcar crashthat splatters a bloodyRorschach stainupon your boringamerican dreamI am quite contentacting outthe poorly penned& edited scriptof this B movie while all youpoet laureate pretendersfuck yourselves blindlyin the backyardsof your rentedsuburban crash pads to the distorted soundtrackof my drive-in movieRC Edrington
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Suicide Note - Johnette Napolitano
2008-02-13 21:35:00
What do you get when you take clips from the film "Young Adam" based on the novel by my favorite author, Alexander Trocchi...then drape it with the song "Suicide Note " by my favorite female vocalist/songwriter of all time, Johnette Napolitano? A pretty damn good music video. Enjoy...Johnette Napolitano | Suicide Note | Alexander Trocchi RC Edrington
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Ozark Morning Fix
2008-02-13 21:01:00
sunlight prisms rainbowsthru 5 a.m. snowlike a butane flamethat shimmersthe flakesin an ounce of pureuntainted cocaineher chipped purplefingernailstrace the ghostof half remembered namesacross the moist glassof a truck stop bathroomwindowpaneas tears meltinto black mascaralike mexican tarin a cocked syringeRC Edrington
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Innocence Lost?
2008-01-30 16:16:00
at 19when a chick phoned"bring something"meanta condomtoday it meansa twenty paper& a fresh syringefor a blow-jobRC Edrington
More About: Lost , Innocence

Skin
2008-01-28 20:31:00
she burnt her journalsafter rehabcaught a Greyhound southtattoos poems outside a BBQ shackalong the Meth highwaydown the pimpled backsof fake Hells Angel'sher magnum opusa four inch scarsliced up & downher left wristRC Edrington
More About: Skin , Poetry

Crutch
2008-01-25 10:10:00
after the last poetry festivalI will ever attend, he askedwith a smirk to matchhis perfectgovernment scholarship grammarif I made this "shit" upor is it realone punch launched himinto a splash of shattered coffeemugs & a puddle of pissingAmerican Literature majors3 days I sat in county jailwaited to be sentencedfor assault & triedto remember the shadowy facesof every friend buriedJohn or Jane Doebefore the age of 21every single dayI kick awake in hopethis nightmare is just that& you thought the heroinwas just a prop?RC Edrington

40
2008-01-25 08:45:00
words ripsleep from my eyeslike a rapist knifein desire of fleshto drag meby the hairlike a cheap whoreto bash my noseinto a blood speckledmirror stainedby snot tears& bonemy black eyes emptyas the syringethat hidescocked like a cobrain the rustymedicine cabinetwords slicethe sternumcrack the ribsto peel awaytattooed skinto shock a heartbeatfrom this shellof a manoverdosedon the boredomof sad middle-ageRC Edrington

Amy Winehouse Smokes Crack: The Video
2008-01-23 23:31:00
In the event this video gets pulled off YouTube before you get a chance to watch it, just go to the site and do a search as I am certain others will be uploading it as soon as it gets pulled off from other uploaders.Amy Winehouse , who I have reviewed in earlier posts on this blog, is becoming quite the burn out case I long ago predicted she would become. I am quite familiar with the personalities of this type of chick, as I spent a lifetime dating them. There is a somewhat sensual quality to the "bad girl" image. Especially when that image is not an image, but is in fact real. Amy Winehouse | Crack Cocaine | Drugs | RC Edrington
More About: Video , Smokes

Withdrawal
2008-01-22 10:35:00
a red candle slowbleeds into a syrupy puddleon top a woodentelephone cable spoolas headlights piercea torn curtain seam& pirouette acrossa wall absentof giraffes birthedby shadowy fingers& whisperswhere are your whisperslips to tickle earsor a stomach bloatedby orange juiceGallo Wine& store brand ginthat now begs to convulsefrom a thinbaby bird-like throatonto a frigid cementgarage office floorabandoned tohomeless piss& spent syringes& I needto touch you noweven more than I needheroin to touch& massagethis sharp body throbback intosubmissionType rest of the post hereRC Edrington
More About: Withdrawal

The Case for DIY Publishing
2008-01-21 23:22:00
This letter has been published in countless literary mags and rags. It has even garnered several awards since it original publication sometime in 2003. Regardless, I felt it was important to grace the screen of this blog one more time. Enjoy. Bitter Comes Out Better On A Stolen Guitar orThe Bukowski Pissing Contest orAn Open Letter to the Small Pressby RC EdringtonI suffer no "Bukowski Hangover". I suffer from an over active ego and delusions of grandeur. I suffer from the same disease all other small press authors suffer from. Namely, if you write outside the mainstream you're pegged as another Bukowski rip-off and your identity as an individual writer is tossed in a drawer with the other "also rans".My brother in arms, Victor Thorn over at Babel magazine (who I have nothing but respect for), seems to think if we band together...we can use this to our advantage. I tend to agree. Working with a bunch of other arrogant, self centered assholes like myself should prove interesting. B...
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