St. Valentine’s Day Massacre Issue | ‘09 #1-2

James Luther Dickinson sings

Dave Hickey's BILLY & OSCAR

WHOSE CONSPIRACY IS THIS ANYWAY?

Bohemian Grove Exposed!

Bart Plantenga’s

CONFESSIONS OF A BEER MYSTIC

This really gets them going. “Two weeks later I go visit her at the art gallery she manages in Soho. She shows me the art and then pulls out this bottle of wine and after a glass or two, she’s sucking me off and after that we do it like crazy in the closet. I’m shaking her tits like Quasimodo shaking the bells of Notre Dame. She even makes me stick like part of a broomstick up her asshole while I’m bangin’ her from behind. And when she comes she moans so hard that the people in the office over her gallery are thumpin’ on the floor to shut her up.”

TALES FROM THE OLD STASH: Jack Wesley Hardin’s

QUEST FOR THE HOLY OIL

A quest of the soaring '70s you won’t find in any books or learn in any school was a working formula for the production of hash oil from raw marijuana. Opinions and recipes for the real deal have, over the years, been more abundant than glass pipes at the Amsterdam Cafe. Attempts involving the alchemy of all this usually ended in a gooey mess or a massive explosion that left the would-be chemists stained permanently green for life. Some of these poor souls are quietly employed today masquerading as shrubs on some of our roads less traveled.

GREAT MOMENTS IN SPORTZ

A BUM LOVE STORY

by Viola & B. Prune (reverently continuing the tradition of Damon Runyon)

Darius James’

Razbliuto, baby

In the years before Berlin, on the Brooklyn side of the East River, during a time of fruitless endeavor and chronic financial unease, I awoke each morning with inconsolable feelings of dread. These feelings were not vague and free-floating. They were very specific, very particular. I imagined I had an undiagnosed disease. Each of my organs was a gelatinous suffusion of tumorous malignancies: my heart, my lungs, my liver, the gray sea sponge of my brain had metastasized a gum of shuddering tars.

THE LOVED ONES

An excerpt from Gail Gerber's TRIPPIN' WITH TERRY SOUTHERN

Mikhail Horowitz's

LAST OF THE BEATS

John Giorno-Renfreu Neff Interview

LOVE & SLEEZE: RENFRUE NEFF INTERVIEWS JOHN GIORNO & VICE VERSA (in which we (dis)cover potholes in memory)

[Giorno] We were approaching the zenith of the golden age of promiscuity, when we made fabulous love to beautiful strangers, and celebrated life with glorious sub-stances. A rare moment in the histories of the universe! Who would have thought that 25 years later, it all would be lost and destroyed by neo-conservativism and AIDS.

TULI TUNES presents:

The Fug's SUMMER OF LOVE

WISH YOU WERE HERE

a poem by Mike Golden

JIM HARRISON'S

DEAD FOOD SCROLLS #4

I love sushi but you know there is a point at which you really don't want to sink your teeth into a fish that's still flopping, and I'm not again talking about the greens that can be technically alive. I could go out and dig under two feet of snow and find some reasonably green parsley, rip it up and stuff it in my mouth -- that's not what I mean.

BUKOWSKI'S (all new in ’82)

NOTES OF A DIRTY OLD MAN #4

Well, so Mailer and his cohorts got him (Jack Abbott) out; he was a writer, there was a book, I haven’t read it all – all I know is what I read in the papers while I’m crapping. So, as you know, the writer put the knife to a waiter, “wasting him” as the boys in my time used to say. Which was not good for Mailer either. All right, here we have two writers and a waiter. Now we have two writers.

DICK LIT

excerpts from Michael Carnevale’s novel in-progress GOLDBERG

I wasn’t in love with Goldberg, but I could watch him bounce forever, his ropey blond curls flying out from his head like ragged wings. Whenever I could, I migrated next door to watch his trampoline routine. “Did you consent to your circumcision?” “No.” “And so you felt powerless over the mutilation of your body. This is the crux of it.” We had been discussing my anger.

JOE MAYNARD'S I THOUGHT I WAS COUNTRY

Dr. William F. Pepper

WHOSE CONSPIRACY IS THIS, ANYWAY?