Stories tagged poets

The Great San Francisco Poetry Wars, Chapter 1

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I lived for a time on Red Square in Berkeley. You may have heard of it. It was run by Von Rotten (that’s just plain Von), who was considered the Vladimir Lenin of the Foul Language Movement of Poetry (FLMP, pronounced “Flimp.”) They even went so far

Romper Room with Beer

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Romper Room with Beer We go out for a thin New York Pizza at Lanesplitter’s over on Telegraph and watch the drunks staggering out of the bar across the street to have a smoke on the sidewalk, since you can’t smoke inside bars anymore. They ga

Ice Shelf the Size of Manhattan Breaks Off Canadian Island

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Ice Shelf the Size of Manhattan Breaks Off Canadian Island And they started building all over it immediately. Especially on the upper East Side, snobs with actual blue blood in their veins. Bearded taxi drivers mumbling in 56 languages began run

Giant Piece of Art Causes Chaos in Switzerland

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Flying Piece of Art Causes Chaos in Switzerland (from news article, with some additions) A giant inflatable dog turd by an American artist blew away from an exhibition in the garden of a Swiss Museum, bringing down a power line and breaking a gree

The Great San Francisco Poetry Wars, 2

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The next day was my faculty trial, and things grew real intense around the campus. A large crowd of students began to gather around the base of the building that housed the administrative offices, where my hearing was being held. The meeting room was up o

The Great San Francisco Poetry Wars, Chapter 4

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I put on my one suit to impress the landlord. I made up a story that I was a trust-funder and Allison was my newly-wed wife and we had just arrived in California to start a relaxed life of luxury and yachting. We didn’t need to work because of this stea

How The Sixties Ended: or, The Great San Francisco Poetry Wars, 2

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While we were drinking that warm beer from Golden, Colorado, a girlfriend of Allison’s strode into the house, saying, “Okay, Janov, tomorrow’s your trial. So, what are we going to do about it?” Everybody called this girl Creamcheese. “Your tr

The Great San Francisco Poetry Wars, 2

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The next day was my faculty trial, and things grew real intense around the campus of that little college. A large crowd of students began to gather around the base of the building that housed the administrative offices, where my hearing was being held. Th

The Great San Francisco Poetry Wars, 3

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We woke up at a rest stop on a knoll overlooking the Platte River, somewhere in Nebraska. Allison and I were under a blanket on our mattress when Greg and Steve peered in the door. “Psst! Janov, you awake yet? The sun’s been up for like a whole hou

The Great San Francisco Poetry Wars, 6

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When I got word from Mary Jo, she warned me that Mitchell Parkman was out looking for me with a butcher knife. I knew immediately what I had to do. I packed up my things and sold the Pepsi van and moved up to a room on Regent Street in Berkeley, all the w

The Great San Francisco Poetry Wars, 7

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When I got word from Mary Jo, she warned me that Mitchell Parkman was out looking for me with a butcher knife. I knew immediately what I had to do. I packed up my things and sold the Pepsi van and moved up to a room on Regent Street in Berkeley, all the w

The Great San Francisco Poetry Wars, 7

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On my way home that first night, I stopped off at a liquor store on San Pablo Avenue and bought a semi-expensive ($2.98) bottle of zinfandel, a real luxury for us. But I figured I would have a paycheck coming and wanted to celebrate my getting a real job

The Great San Francisco Poetry Wars, 9

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Warren Jeffries left this girlfriend of his named Karen, who was also a poet, and overnight she announced she’d gone back to being a lesbian, she’d so had it with MEN! She did a reading of her new series of Sappho poems at Cody’s Bookstore, and it w

The Great San Francisco Poetry Wars, 11

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When we were on the road coming back out to California, along the Lewis and Clark trail somewhere near Cardwell, Montana, I remember thinking life was like leaping through flames while reading poetry and drinking rotgut red wine. This was what life was, a

The Great San Francisco Poetry Wars, 11

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Sunday afternoon on Telegraph Avenue. Pretty much like any Sunday afternoon at the O.K. Corral. Von Rotten had set up a podium at the side of the street. One of his minions was reading from an essay by some French philosopher on the corner in front of Cod