Reb Livingston’s Poetry Home
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When Reb Livingston saw Joe Hall’s Poetry Road she wasn’t impressed. Wasn’t impressed at all. Hell, she told me, more shit goes on in my Poetry Home (where I’m working on my novel, Bombyonder) than all that stupid-ketchup-&-knives, “Poetry Schmoetry Road” bullshit. And so Reb and I did a little interview and photo shoot (her husband, aka “man-meat,” took the shots. Poor devil!).
And the rule, again, fyi, for the interview was that Reb could only answer with language from Bombyonder– samples here and here.
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Besides Beyonce’s “All the Single Ladies,” Madonna’s “Like a Virgin” and the entire Bette Midler canon, what sort of music and sound things or voices have you been listening to in the ol’ lonesome Poetry Home??
Songs on the fly
The unconscious lizard
A zipper up his ass
Silently managed
Mice crammed into books
The offspring’s first meal
A dead bird blasted
Someone’s dick
Is breaking
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When Chris (yr monogamous partner of a long, long time) is out of town how do you deal with the physical loneliness and strange arousals of an empty, abandoned Poetry Home (all the bible salesmen, mermen, mail men, athletes, pool boys, James Francos, Nicolas Cages (ahem), hunks, man-sluts, etc, etc, yawn) ??
Snickering like dragons
Hands pawing, probing my privates
Scared, vile and leaking
Those fuckers would all tweet and
Reweet and favorite and
Fuck them
Crying and deny, I wasn’t
Going to go near them
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The Poetry Home’s notorious for its ghouls & witches, kitchen gnomes and vermin, dolldrums, cyber fuck-throats, dish elves, troll accounts, dishes and stainless eyeballs, blah, blah, but tell us about some fire, newt-heads, brew and tarot-luck that you’ve been sustained by in yr Poetry Home??
A flying broom
Your penis keeps ending up
In my spaghetti
Because it was my desire
Like a bloodworm
The Worm Queen break apart
(Want to hear about marriage?)
A bullet’s path
Has tongues and eyes, will I see you
At the One Million Angry Penis March?
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Ok, I can’t take it any more. (Shiver. Shiver). We have to address the elephant in the room: what contributions–yeah, baby!–are you going to make for next year’s National Poetry Month?
raze the rubble, smite it, blank it, write it out, white it out
raze the rubble, smite it, blank it, write it out, white it out
go back to Europe on an inflatable raft and
fuck my great great great great great great grandfather
raze the rubble, smite it, blank it, write it out, white it out
raze the rubble, smite it, blank it, write it out, white it out
find my my great great great great great great grandmother and
tell her nothing personal
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Certain disfigured and Whitmanesque, loafing Homemakers claim to have “seen the light” among the pots and pans and bathroom stains, and claim, even, to have been “born again” in the idle, fabric softeners, dull, linen and drudgery of the Poetry Home: tell us about any of your such transports?
”A” is for ass
A god in a puff suit
With its own colostomy bag, winged
Serpent etched on to it
A bona fide astronaut
Cut out my heart
A barren rock garden
Bloomed
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Catullus, suffering over Lesbea, self-cautioned against “Leisure,” the scourge and ravager of so many kingdoms and their sometime Kings and Queens: what sort of bad (I mean bad, bad), bad, bad decisions have you made in the ruts and gluts and sad twisted channels and dungeons of the ol’ Poetry Home?
I could be persuaded to stop
Beaching myself like a bloodworm tossed in
Monstrous faces of butter
Poured mouthwash on my chest
(I didn’t really want this gift)
Volcanic ash
This test dummy’s mouth
Reduced to meat
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Bio: Reb Livingston likes to skeet shoot, pump iron, chew tabacca, watch UFC and WWE. Reb’s a sucker for Monster Trucks, all forms of porn, and likes to watch The Expendables in his underwear. Early Garth Brooks helped shaped Reb’s “rugged sensibility.” But, above all, Reb Livingston is “a complicated, diverse creature. A fine mix of debonair and adrenaline. Battle scars and smooth jokes.”
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(Reb Livingston isn’t leaving the house any time soon. Whew!)
Tags: photo shoot interview, Reb Livingston
I have a question: “Is ‘The Expendables in his underwear’ a movie I can rent?” cause it sounds awesome, and clearly helped formulate some terrificly crazy and bizarrely compelling stanzas of poetry and fictional eruditeness.
Also, as a man-meat myself, I approve of this use of worms.
hi “man-meat”
excellent, approval, first and foremost, is what we’re striving for! (regarding the movie, uh, yeah, sure)
and thx for being the photographer (what a sordid task, indeed)
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