Friday, September 30, 2011


by Sam Haddix

"Basically it’s just fuckin' -- who was the dominant -- like who controls the social space in Ann Arbor? It’s like the entire premise of Critical Mass is based on 'taking back the street' which is fucking bullshit because -- I don’t want to necessarily boil down Critical Mass but, especially in Ann Arbor, the majority of bike culture enthusiatsts are generally those people that have a huge voice in the social sphere, right?

"So really what Critical Mass ends up being is just like a reassertion of, uh, that power -- of that stance. Of like, a bunch of white males breaking street laws & screaming at people, wearing denim vests and really just being as visible as they possibly can be & having a huge adrenaline rush. I mean, you could get sexual with it but, uh, that’s totally what it is. Is that not true? It’s just some white kids looking for reaffirmation for white kids that they’re the shit.

"Those who would participate in an event like Critical Mass are already, um, sort of like their identity represents something that's like antithetical to what it’s supposed to be like. It’s like the entire art world. Like everyone should be seeing the art... people are creating art that... museums are no place for art to be. Because it’s already a safe place. It’s already condoned. People go to museums or more importantly the art show -- which are hip as fuck these days -- who are the people that are likely to be walking by & want to get drunk for free. Like that entire crowd self-replicates itself. Like the art that’s supposed to be challenging peple -- it’s already in an environment that’s supposed to be safe. You’re going to that environment expecting to be challenged but you feel safe."

"Well maybe it requires a new envisioning of the art world. I’m sure what I’m talking about has already been done and acted upon & what not but at that point the audience becomes like the enemy. Because you’re not, because these people -- because the audience becomes the very people your art hates. The justice you’re trying to enact is to those who arent able to come to the show. If you’re reasonably intelligent, your art in whatever reduced political sense should be repsonding to all of the products of pseudo-liberal capitalist society. Like consumers -- pure consumers -- that don’t create. That are interested in life but look for it in these weird reproductions of like...

"It’s not whiteness, it’s power. It's those that occupy pirvilege -- and what is privelage? It's like a social power, right? There's a whole field of study that's emerging right now that supposedly tackles ideas like why are black people supposedly louder than white people? Because they feel they have to occupy a larger space because white people control it. And because white people don’t have to forge a space for themselves, what you end up happening are these narcisssitc negative rituals that are really the reverse of the things they attempt to act out. Where you have these white kids 'taking back the streets' when in fact they’re reasserting their own power space.

"I noticed that there are a bunch of black longboarders in town. I mean, what's that all about? I think the most important thing is that you’re pursuing, like, you're just like being honest with yourself."

Wednesday, September 14, 2011


This is a poem about you, son
endless mirror images
taken on a fucking Macbook

You staring you down
in endless mirrors of annoyance
your dumb face

O, the terror of anger at friends
"the long road down"
and the hot time before it

History was a drag
a Hallowe'en mask
whipping on a string

When being too busy was
being busy and not being
annoyed by one another

Wednesday, August 10, 2011


In the middle of a party, they pulled the scarecrow into the doctor's office and set it aflame. "That'll teach him for scaring away the birds -- the birds that bring us doctors, nurses and orderlies a certain special something with their song," said the doctor.

The nurse piped up: "I love the songs the birds used to make. I'd awaken in my farm bed to the KAW KAW of the grackle."

"Yeah, this scarecrow is a real dicksucker," said the orderly. "I haaaaaate him!!" He took a plastic fork and stabbed the effigy in the guts. All of a sudden, the room filled with light from a car out front.

"Oh my god! Did we leave someone at the strip club?!" said the nurse.

The doctor began counting. "No, all three of us are here."

"I'm scared," said the orderly. "And that Long Island Iced Tea is doing a number on my spaghetti house."

"Shut the eff up," said the doctor.

"Why say 'eff'?," said the orderly. "Is THE MAN gonna' get you for using a few blue words!?"

But what these assholes didn't realize was that it wasn't THE MAN they had to worry about. In fact, it wasn't men at all. It was four women. And good lord, don't call them 'gals.'

Perhaps you've heard of 'moxy.' Well, these women bought up all the stock. These women OWN moxy.

Perhaps you've heard of lace gloves. Well, these women have nothing to do with those. In fact, they gathered up all the lace gloves in the western hemisphere and threw them into a vat of acid.

Perhaps you've heard of corn dogs. Well, I'm sick of talking about corn dogs.

What you really ought to know about all this -- what you should really hear about -- is this gang, these women... they're called Van Houten. And they're right fuckin' here.

Thursday, August 04, 2011


Well, I'll tell you what I DIDN'T feel:

I didn't feel chumpchanged by God
God didn't gyp me
I didn't been had by God
God didn't jew me out of every last nickel
I wasn't pantsed by God
God didn't laugh at my penis

It was a good morning!
I had a Dr. Pepper
and then a hot dog
from a friend!

Wednesday, July 06, 2011


Perfukt Pup had a puking
license of which no
dangler could touch!

A hot item with a bracelet
of ribbons, tears,
beads of perspiration

A leper would wink and
its eyelid would fall

I heard a deep basement
scream from upstairs
I saw a whole slew of bare
feet of babes tramping
down a catwalk.

Deep creases of the face,
an animal shaved into
the back of your head.

The pin-up collection on
the front door and
the degenerate laughter

Peas in the shag, split
pleather chair and
you were wiping your eyes, little

Sad, sad raccoon
eyes. The saddest I ever
saw, I think, just
for a second cuz I only
saw you for a second.

Saturday, June 18, 2011


I came in the room and said, the whole gang is here! There are large windows with heavy cloth drapes. It reminded me of a funeral home but not in a morbid way. We were just smoking cigarettes in here. My man was wearing a turnip on his lapel. I said, what's that mean? He glared at me like a crook. He raised his hand, rubbing his index finger and thumb. If it had been his index finger AND his middle finger and thumb I would have thought one thing: MONEY. But I didn't know what this meant.

I've got a little mosquito, he said. Right here, he said. Do you know about The Bull and The Mosquito?

Thursday, June 16, 2011


God dammit. I'm turning a distinct/peculiar shade of red with anger over a certain British band with floppy, dark, "mop-like" hair for driving their little clown car up to the music bus and kicking out all the good stuff: Satanic R&B and cheesy, anachronistic instrumental cuts with needly, wet-sounding guitar and sleazy basement musics. It doesn't take a psychologist to come down and break a bottle on the side of a ship to crown this a complete & total bummer.

At the time, it was as if everybody turned into a gaggle of weepy virgins instead of some kinda' creep that hangs out in a bar (re: basement) and says weird, vaguely veiled things to teenage girls. Ehh... maybe that's not such a great vibe. It was as if someone had replaced gin & coffee (together -- it's called a "Ray Charles") with a hot chocolate machine (::frowny face::). What's good about that? I'll tell you what: nothing!

Wednesday, June 01, 2011



SKATE LAWS - U.S. Post-Disco
C-25 cassette (edition of 48)
"The first released document of dude’s one-man skatecore assault, featuring classix like 'Asylumed By My Parents' and 'Clawing At Spiders.' Obvious reference points include early Flag, VOID, and maybe the first Suicidal Tendencies record, among any number of other suburban teenage mooks. Each package comes with a piece of grip tape, so get this thing now and try not to bust it when you’re listening to yr walkman on the half-pipe."

Wednesday, April 06, 2011


If you want to get in
on a good racket,
start wearing a helmet
at places like Meijer.

They make you take a little
wheelchair/Amigo thing
and you can steal
all kinds of shit.

The Amigo is sweet.

If you get a key
you're set for life.

Any K-Mart anywhere
in the world
is yours to drive
around the parking lot in.

Let's Amigo,

They will bust you
when they see you
with an Amigo
so tie that key
to a string
around your wrist.

My brother tried
to look dopey
and it seemed to work.

Never got caught.

Friday, March 11, 2011


 Gang leaders take note. Punishment is not a curse, but a strange blessing. The true curse is apathy & there is nothing if not the extreme. A set of snow white wings, a bleeding sparrow.

 Are there any warriors here tonight? Are you taking back the street? Do the streets need to be taken? … What of the earth? Is it right to be in nature? Is it right to be of nature? Our saint was heaven sent with a halo bent.

 The best person I have ever known, she is just one of a few children but a fierce light of her own entire. The love she held in her heart could raise a poor girl in the projects. This is what singers sang about when they referred to the ghetto. A spirit named “L-U-V.”

 Her height belied her tall capacity to give, a saint like no other but not unlike every other saint. She could transform an angel food cake into an avocado, frost to fruit, a bird into a stone.

 Have you ever really touched a satin cloth? Have you ever really felt a wedding gown? Does the cloak of a nun inspire thee? Would you blow into the ear of your oppressors? Our saint. Our saint.

 Imagine the air turned to glass. Imagine a halo of burrs. A crown of doves. The leaves of a pine. She taught me how to put on makeup. She taught me how to wear clothes so that I’ll always look my best: “A bow tie, a cummerbund, a single lace sock.”

 Who here helped at the funeral? Who held our saint’s hand? Were you there when they bit the umbilical cord? Did you say something sweet to your neighbor? Raise your hands or don’t; there is apathy, there is damnation, there is enticement, there is a hot cross bun.

 We sat in the basement eating bread. When I did not want starch, she showed me her bruise. “How shallow of me,” I thought. And then I tasted the bread.

Monday, March 07, 2011


The roar of a cycle
heard in the distance.

Imagine a bad thing,
a bad bad thing.
Imagine a bad thing,
a bad bad thing.

Who were his enemies?
And was it the police?
Is there blood on his hands?
Or is he a thief?

Imagine a bad thing,
a bad bad thing.
Imagine a bad thing,
a bad bad thing.

The wind is blowing,
it's doing its thing.
Feeling it in my face,
dang danger dang.

Did he call his gal
a blushing who-ore?
And just how did he escape
with his thing caught in the door?

Imagine a bad thing,
a bad bad thing.

Tuesday, February 15, 2011


His roommate was listening to us talk about a few women we knew. He asked us to talk about a woman we knew with redeeming qualities. My friend didn't know what he meant. His roommate explained: "That's what's the matter with you." Then he explained what a redeeming quality was. We tried to think of anyone we knew with redeeming qualities. It was next to impossible. We talked about my ex and we talked about her father who we called the 'potato on toothpicks' because he was a small guy & wanted to be tough so he let his stomach get all big but he still had twiggy little legs. Ever since then I've been on the wrong side of the law.

Friday, January 14, 2011


A band of frigid nuns overheard a guy:

"I'm a lucky one. I've not met a frigid woman."

He continued:

"I'm kind of living through a tension I have not known.
The feeling is almost of euphoria."

What would the movement have to say about this?
And could this man ever look at a baby and guess its age?

The nuns begin to converge,
the rapping of clogs of black leather on stone.

Sunday, January 02, 2011


We were inside a Canadian cabin
with a boot of Canadian Club
and no deck of cards and no dice.

The forecast had been correct
but we don't want to be the kind
to talk of weather.

We're going to die die die
which is something we joke about
but seems feasible.

The door hasn't budged in days
and a dirty patch of carpet
reminded me of something.

A rubber blanket weeps sex sweat:
we weren't in a cabin
we were in a motel.

The dirty patch of carpet is here
and the tan flecks of skin
from sun beating through a sweater.

Move to Memphis and fall in love
and fall in love with Memphis
a kind of Memphis torture.

Soft skin, a heated argument over soup
"You look like a bunch of girls,"
he said to he.