Gabriel Ricard-Editor in Chief

Gabriel Ricard writes short fiction, poetry, scripts for stage and film, book and film reviews, novels, creative non-fiction and has conducted interviews with such names as Henry Rollins, Lance Henriksen, Utah Phillips, George A. Romero, Harvey Pekar, Sid Haig, Bill Moseley, and several more. He currently works for Unlikely Stories as a staff interviewer and Feel The Word Magazine as Editor-in-Chief. He also works as a Stand-up comedian in Virginia, Baltimore, and San Francisco. Born in Canmore, Alberta, Canada, he lives alone and very annoyed by that fact in Virginia.

Amber Vilate-Assistant Editor

Amber Vilate writes poetry, short stories, articles, music reviews and novels.  In her spare time, she works a full time job that she tolerates at a company that isn’t so bad, though she could use a raise.  Home is Houston, Texas where there really are four seasons, despite rumours to the contrary.

You can look for one of her poems, "The Freedom of Light," in Trellis Magazine’s third issue on page 13.  The poem won honorable mention in their recent sestina contest.  Take a look and, if you like what you see, feel free to email her with your comments at amber@feeltheword.net.

You can also ask her about personalized stories and poems for sale.  Need to find a unique gift for someone?  Try a unique, personalized story or poem.  Email amber@feeltheword.net for more information!

If you’d like to submit a link to Feel The Word Magazine, drop us a line at magazine@feeltheword.net

Robert V. Aldrich -The official website of Robert V. Aldrich, author of the Crossworld series.

Unlikely Stories -Short Stories, poetry, interviews, film, music, and more.

Pathetic.org- One of the best places on the internet to read/publish poetry.

The Painted Door -Excellent literary magazine.

The Internet Review of Books- Great review site.

Quill and Parchment -Very nicely done literary magazine and overall resource.

Virtual Fools -What can I say? One of the best commentary (films, games, music, the like) sites out there.

No One’s Laughing But You -Very sharp, very absorbing blog from FTW Magazine contributor Ben Dugas.

Amped Reviews - A zine full of awesome music reviews, interviews and photos.  Well worth a read.

The Common Line Project - This one is loaded with interviews and poetry.

63Channels - An online and print magazine dedicated to poetry, art, fiction and music. All submissions welcome.

The Abacot Journal - Another awesome literary magazine. Check them out.

Admit Two - Great literary magazine. Definitely look these guys up.

The Wrestling Menu - One of the best pro-wrestling columns out there.

Cinemension -Home of film critic Dan Schneider. Essential reading for all film fans.

Ascent Aspirations Magazine - Excellent source of poetry, prose, interviews and much more.

Blood Orange Review – A great literary magazine with some of the best poetry, fiction and art you can find.

Davey Boy’s Album Reviews - All new home base for the album reviews of Feel The Word music critic Davey Boy.

PJ Harvey: White Chalk (2007)

By Kristy Parker

When I listened to PJ Harvey’s latest album, White Chalk, I was prepared for her music to go in a different direction since her entire back catalogue has many different sonic textures and styles. To be honest, I actually respect her a great deal for being brave and not sticking to one tried and true formula to sell albums. I personally loved her 1998 release, Is This Desire?, which is entirely different than the raw gutter blues/punk of her previous albums. I viewed the dark ambient, electronic feel of that album as a natural progression of her personal exploration as a musician. Musicians are like visual artists because they change their instrumentation to match the musical message they want to convey; this process is similar to the way a painter can change their media to a graphite pencil if that would be the most effective way to capture their idea.

The cover of White Chalk gives a good overall impression of the delicate and lonely timbre of the eleven tracks. The image of Polly Jean in a traditional Victorian gown brings to mind her duet with Nick Cave, ‘Henry Lee’; PJ becomes the lonely, repressed woman of the Victorian era featured in that haunting duet. She’s completely alone and on the edge of losing her sanity. No where this message clearer than in the lyrics of the albums opening track, ‘The Devil’: I go out to the old milestone/Insanely expecting you to come there knowing/That I wait for you there.

On repeated listening of White Chalk, her instrumentation makes more sense if you think of the album in a conceptual sense. Since she is becoming a Victorian character, it makes sense that her ‘character’ uses the instruments that would have been available at that time: a harp, harmonica, acoustic guitar, and an old upright piano.

Another important difference in PJ’s new album is her different approach to vocalization. In her previous work, she was known for her forceful alto and sensual intonation. This time around she pulls everything back and adopts a surprisingly innocent falsetto in most the songs. Listen to the darkly beautiful chorus of ‘White Chalk’ if you want an example of how this new technique gives her music an ethereal equality.

The standout track on this album would have to be the foreboding lullaby of ‘When Under Ether.” The sparse, hypnotic piano arrangement coupled with surreal and disturbing lyrics make this song stick in your subconscious long after you’re done listening to it. I still get the chills when hear Ms. Harvey sing: Something’s inside me/
Unborn and unblessed/Disappears in the ether/This world to the next.

Other notable tracks include: ‘The Piano,’ which has murderous undertones; ‘Silence,’ a song that expresses the loneliness and isolation of woman who speak, yet have no voice; and ‘Dear Darkness,’ that has some of the most beautifully simple piano I’ve ever heard.

I recommend that long-time PJ Harvey fans listen to this album with an open mind. One first listen, you may become confused, even a bit disappointed. Trust me, this will pass once you get over your initial shock. This is truly the music of nightmares and the chills you get down your spine when you know you’re not alone even when there is not another person in sight. PJ finds beauty in fear, loneliness, and death through the music of White Chalk and like a fine wine, this album will become better with time and careful listening.

Copyright C 2007 Kristy Parker

Adventures in Netflix

By Gabriel Ricard

Hi, my name is Gabriel Ricard, and I am a movie geek.

I’m going to pause now, so you can stand up and do that bit where you all say “Hi, Gabriel.”

Or not.

You don’t have to.

I’ll leave it up to you.

I don’t have much to say for this introduction, except to kind of give you a rough cut idea of what the whole point of this column is going to be. Like a lot of people in this strange country that is the United States of America, I’ve given up on Blockbuster and even the local video stores, in spite of their stellar adult film collection. I’m sick of dealing with smug, stupid teenagers, and I’m sick of the one copy of Girl in The Café being out, but finding that there are still several thousand copies of Little Man ready and waiting for the moment I give up all hope on the common decency of humanity itself.

I’m sick of that and much more. Paris Hilton getting even richer off of stupid white girls, for instance, but that doesn’t really have anything to do with this. So, like anyone else who’s run of options, I’ve turned to Netflix to suit my addiction to film. The disease, as Frank Capra called it, has to be fed, because I refuse to get a real social life.

I’ve had the account for a while now. And so far, I’m pleased to say that it’s working out quite well. With the exception of that stellar adult section I technically don’t need anymore, Netflix not only suits my heroin like desire for films to watch, but it also gives me more than I could ever need in the way of Anime (Japanese cartoons), pro wrestling, obscure TV shows, and a bunch of weird crap in between that no one else but me would ever admit, in print, to renting.

Which sort of brings to where we are right now.

Because I’m going to make this very clear. My Netflix queue borders on some kind of new age insanity. There are five hundred slots in all to fill, with five titles being sent to me at a time. And I have easily filled those five hundred slots with not only things I like, things I hope I’ll like, and things other people swear I might like, but stuff I probably have no business renting. Telling me that I have a good variety going would be just about the same thing as telling that I should probably give up cigarettes and really cheap vodka. Meaning that it’s kind of obvious. I’m hoping that comes through in this. I always try to see the new thing that’s coming out, and that will come through in this. But more than that, I’m really up for anything at all. New, old, obscure, and everything in between.

And to those who live in places that do not have services like Netflix, I can only say that I’m sorry. If you’re into films and the like, it’s really your best bet for variety and a decent chance at something you’ll enjoy. But if it’s not available to you, there’s no reason why you still can’t get something out of this column. And that’s because I’m assuming that you either live near a good old-fashioned video store of some kind, or you have an Amazon.com account that you indulge in liberally. You should be set.

So, unless anyone wants to do the smart thing and shut me down before I really get started, let’s get going.

And to anyone who wonders why this is appearing in a magazine like this one? 

All I can tell you is that you’re asking a very, very good question.

Tideland (2005)

Directed By: Terry Gilliam

Starring: Jodelle Ferland, Jeff Bridges, Jennifer Tilly

*** ½ out of ****

-A lot of people didn’t care for this what does come out to be a very strange, even for Gilliam. And this is from the guy who’s career has included being the only American member of Monty Python and directing such films as 12 Monkeys, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, Brazil, Time Bandits, and numerous others. Gilliam is no stranger to the surreal and the controversial, and here, he pretty much surpasses anything he’s done in either one of those realms. Ten-year-old Jodelle Ferland turns in a mesmerizing, powerful performance as a child whose entire world is shaped by her vivid imagination. An imagination she retreats into even further as her real world crumbles to the tune of two junkie parents (Jeff Bridges and Jennifer Tilly) and being moved to a decrepit farmhouse in the middle of Texas. The movie is told entirely from Ferland’s perspective, to the point where we see the world directly though her imagination. And because it’s Gilliam, it’s not always an easy ride from the beginning to the end. But make no mistake about it, this is one of his best films to date. After his impersonal, commercial work on The Brothers Grimm, it’s good to see Gilliam getting back to stories that are clearly interesting to him. At sixty-five years old, the former Monty Python alumni has crafted a film that has the energy and enthusiasm of any twenty-year old film student working on their first film and desperate to make a name for themselves. This is a wonderfully offbeat, occasionally troubling descent into the mind of a child. Between that and the incredible work from Bridges, Tilly and the rest of the cast, especially the young Jodelle Ferland, who’s going to be somebody to watch over the next few years, this is definitely worth checking out. Even if you don’t care for it, you’re still in for an interesting ride.

Urusei Yatsura-TV (1981-1984)

Directed By: Various

Starring: Fumi Hirano, Toshio Furukawa, et al

**** out of ****

Before Innuyasha, before Ranma ½, before becoming one of the richest people in Japan, Rumiko Takahashi brought us Urusei Yatsura (which roughly translated, means Those Obnoxious Aliens). Originally a successful manga, the series was developed into a cartoon in 1981 and turned the series into an iconic cornerstone of anime and Takahashi into one of the most successful writer/artists in all of Japanese comics and animation. Basically, the story is that of sixteen-year-old Ataru Moroboshi, a leach and perennial loser of almost epic proportions who somehow finds his way into being the only means of survival for humanity. This comes up when an alien race, modeled after the Japanese Oni (demon) race and threatens to blow up the world unless Ataru can best their top representative in a game of tag. Their top representative winds up being the daughter of the alien leader, a beautiful sixteen-year-old girl named Lum, who has the power to fly and harness electricity, amongst other things. And Ataru has only a week to catch her. But when it gets down to the last day, and Ataru hasn’t even come close, his girlfriend, Shinobu, promises to marry him if he can save the world. This motivates him a little more. On the last day, at the last moment, he catches Lum by grabbing her Oni horns, and declares at last that he can get married. Lum misunderstands this as a proposal for her, and as such, decides to stay on earth so she can be near her new fiancé (whom she refers to as Darling). Ataru is violently opposed to this, and it pretty much snowballs from there. This is the basis for the nearly three hundred episode series, which also spun off into an OAV (think direct-to-video) series and several theatrical films. The series plays on the relentlessly chaotic, back-and-forth relationship between Ataru and Lum, with dozens of other characters joining in along the way to add to the general madness. In that respect, it’s sort of like The Simpsons, with the massive cast and their back-stories providing a wealth of material to work with. And obviously, they did a lot of work with what they had. There’s a very good reason why this series has remained popular as it enters its third decade of existence, to the point where it’s still even occasionally seeing reruns in Japan (which is exceptionally rare). Like a lot of Rumikio’s later work, the series deftly balances slapstick stupidity, meaningful character relationships, tireless action, and a sense of emotion and personality that’s seriously lacking from not only a lot of today’s anime, but also a lot of American shows and films as well. It’s a little on the old-school side, but that truly shouldn’t stop you. If you’re an anime fan who hasn’t seen this yet, get a hold of it, because it’s essential viewing. And even if you don’t consider yourself a fan, check this out, because it may very well surprise the hell out of you.

Titus (1999)

Directed By: Julie Taymor

Starring: Anthony Hopkins, Jessica Lange, Alan Cumming

*** out of ****

Of all the modernized Shakespeare flicks to have come out in the mid-to-late 90’s (and a couple in 2000 and 2001), this one is my favorite. Not only does it throw some love towards one of Shakespeare’s greatest, occasionally neglected tragedies, but it’s also the kind of movie that you don’t even need LSD to enhance. It’s enough of an acid trip on its own, which just happens to have a small pile of brilliant performances to back it up. The story is indeed Shakespeare’s classic Titus Andronicus, but with various twentieth century elements thrown in for good measure. As I said before, there were a few movies that took this approach around the same time. Richard III, Romeo and Juliet, A Mid Summer Night’s Dream, 10 Things I Hate About You, O, and Tromeo and Juliet were the major entries in this strange market that was fairly active for about five years and then pretty much disappeared. Though this one got its fair share of attention, press, good reviews, awards, it was also accused of being overbearing and a little pretentious. Maybe so. But to me, that doesn’t take anything away from the incredible visual power of this movie. At times, it feels more like a terrible fever dream than an actual movie. And while most directors wouldn’t be able to handle this kind of approach, especially at a long running time (two and a half hours), Julie Taymor does a fantastic job here with keeping the movie focused and on course through the entire brutal story of revenge and redemption. But it wouldn’t mean anything without a cast to keep the interest going, and this one certainly has that. Anthony Hopkins, the kind of guy you think of when you think Shakespeare in the first place, gives one of the greatest performances of his career. Same goes for Jessica Lange in her desperate, crazed bid to seek revenge on Hopkins for the murder of her son. And I couldn’t get out of this review without something for Alan Cumming, who almost steals it away from Lange and Hopkins in every scene he’s in. This movie isn’t for everyone. It’s long, occasionally disturbing, and pretty much moves at a pace and style that assumes anyone who can’t keep up shouldn’t be watching to begin with. But if you haven’t seen this, and you’re a fan of anyone in the cast, or if you just want something a little different to what you’re accustomed to this, then you’ll probably do just fine with this.

Directed By: Donald G. Jackson and R.J. Kizer

Starring: Roddy Piper, Rory Calhoun, Sandahl Bergman

** out of ****

Basically, I rented this because I’m a lifetime pro wrestling fan and Roddy Piper is one of my all time favorites. And as far as wrestler trying their hand at acting goes, he’s not bad at all. Go check out John Carpenter’s They Live if you don’t believe me. And though he’s good in this low-budget Mad Max rip-off, I really can’t recommend this to anyone who isn’t already a fan of bad horror movies. Because believe me, this is one of the bad ones. But it does have some good performances, including the great character actor Rory Calhoun, of Hotel Hell and How To Marry A Millionaire (with Marilyn Monroe) fame. And there’s a sense of good old-fashioned stupid fun that can make it a good time if you’re willing to let it. Roddy Piper is hilarious as one of the last virile men on earth, sent on a government mission to rescue a group of women from a small town of man-sized, evil frog people, so our boy Roddy can knock them up and keep the human race going. If that sounds like fun to you, then you’re in. If it doesn’t, then nothing I can say is going to bring you around. I enjoyed it for what it was, but I have to believe that unless you’re into this kind of movie to begin with, you’re probably going to hate it.

And that’s gonna do it for this first edition.

Comments, feedback, suggestions, death threats, and marriage proposals are welcome at deep_in_liquid_indigo@yahoo.com

Thanks for reading.

Copyright C 2007 Gabriel Ricard

Eastern Promises (2007)

By Michael Patano

On its surface, David Cronenberg’s Eastern Promises tells a familiar story. Stop me if you’ve heard this one: A newborn baby is menaced by ruthless gangsters until a gruff hero arises to the child’s defense. Audiences could be forgiven for yawning, then searching around the theater for Clive Owen. But Eastern Promises isn’t just a movie with haunting themes playing under its surface: It’s a movie explicitly concerned with how surfaces warp the things they cover up.

Consider this diary entry from the threatened baby’s mother, who dies in a pool of her own blood in a pharmacy aisle as the movie opens. The passage is discovered by a London nurse (Naomi Watts) and recited in voice-over on two separate occasions; the words are the last we hear before the screen goes black. The entry reads: “When I was six my father died. He worked in the mines, so when he died he was already buried. We are all buried there, under the soil of Russia.”

Not a single word in this text has been chosen at random; together, they express everything Cronenberg and screenwriter Steve Knight (Dirty Pretty Things) want to say with this ornate, fascinating movie. There’s the repetition of the word “buried,” with its evocation of concealment and rot, and then there’s the word “soil”—which could have been “dirt” or “ground,” except those terms don’t carry the secondary meaning of contamination and shame.

Am I obsessing over minutiae here? I don’t think so, not when Cronenberg has so carefully constructed a story about a motherland poisoning its children—a repeated theme in Russian history, from Ivan’s cannibalism to Stalin’s 20 million. Eastern Promises treats this bleak legacy as something imprinted on the very skin of its inheritors—the vory v zakone mobsters wear their criminal commitments as intricate tattoos. A little ink means a lot.

Such details are in keeping with Cronenberg’s long-held fascination with mutation and mutilation. This time around, instead of turning Jeff Goldblum into an insect à la The Fly, he buries Viggo Mortensen’s body in black-and-blue tats. Mortensen last worked with Cronenberg in A History of Violence—less a movie than a nasty parlor trick—and here he’s dolled up to look like a young Paulie Walnuts sucking on a lemon. But this role, as a mob cleanup man, is more textured than anything he’s done before. It’s certainly more revealing: He wages a climactic battle in a Turkish bath, his naked body as powerful and unprotected as any wounded animal.

With the exception of this fatal schvitz, Eastern Promises is not an extraordinarily violent movie. If it seems graphic, that’s because Cronenberg realizes that owning a body is a severe and dangerous thing, and he treats every offense against the flesh as a serious matter. Even the collection of a DNA sample is precisely meditated: “For poetic reasons,” a character snarls, “I suggest you take his blood.” David Cronenberg is aware of everything that spills or taints the blood—of an individual or a nation—and his reasons are always poetic.

 Copyright C 2007 Michael Patano

Pan’s Labyrinth

By Michael Patano

There’s no mistaking Guillermo del Toro’s monsters for those hiding under any other bed. In The Devil’s Backbone and Hellboy, the Mexican director honed a distinctive species of wraiths—and in Pan’s Labyrinth, his latest, best work, the beasties are clawing out of the woodwork. Emaciated humanoids? Check. Bulbous amphibians vomiting slime across the frame? Why, yes. Dudes with ancient hieroglyphs carved on their skin? In spades.

But no fiend haunts del Toro, or terrorizes his audiences, quite like the righteous ideologue. More than any other director, he recognizes the brutality and madness lurking within the true believer. In Pan’s Labyrinth, the fascination with fascism continues. Ofelia, the movie’s intrepid 12-year-old heroine, is warned that one of the creatures she must confront "is not human." Considering the humans Ofelia has already met in the Spain of 1944, a year when Francisco Franco was squeezing the life out of his people, "not human" is quite the compliment.

Of the specters Ofelia (Ivana Baquero) encounters in the maze behind her country house, none can hold a candle to the man who wants her to call him "Father." Captain Vidal (Sergi LÓpez) is an agent of Franco’s nascent dictatorship, deployed to the forest to mop up the last resistance to the GeneralÍsimo. Vidal considers himself an emissary of "a clean, new Spain," but he’s not above messy methods. Indeed, he takes a positive relish in the wet work of the pliers and the chisels. He’s a sadist in spit-shined boots, a brute impervious to pain or pity—and he’s married to Ofelia’s mother.

Little wonder that Ofelia is more at ease around enchanted insects and giant toads. Soon after her arrival at Vidal’s headquarters, she’s summoned for a nocturnal meeting with the local faun—a creature with the head of a goat and the movements of Montgomery Burns. He tells her she is actually a princess of the underworld and assigns her the standard coming-of-age rituals: finding keys, pilfering daggers, sneaking into the banquet hall of the Pale Man. Oh, you know the Pale Man. He’s that reptilian chap with the eyeballs in his palms.

That description, of course, does little to convey the apparitions del Toro has cooked up for his fever dream. The title Pan’s Labyrinth is something of a mistranslation (this faun is not the Greek deity Pan, but a slightly kinder Catalan cousin), but it’s telling all the same: Pan was the god of irrational terrors. In Ofelia’s fantasy world and in Franco’s country, suffering is doled out with a diabolical logic. If a little girl steals fruit from the Pale Man’s table, he will eat her alive. If a captured freedom fighter can’t count to three without stuttering, Vidal will torture him to death. And both villains expect history to commend their atrocities. Vidal is obsessed with nurturing an infant son to carry on his legacy, while the Pale Man has commissioned frescoes of his baby-eating exploits.

Copyright C 2007 Michael Patano

Blood Sucking Freaks (1976)

By Michael Patano

Troma films, the sicko’s who brought you The Toxic Avenger and Class of Nuke ‘Em High in the 80’s, now owns the rights to this film, which is great, because they’ve re-released it out on DVD which I just picked up recently.  This film would’ve never been released nowadays, but back in the 70’s, it  played in Drive In’s in such great cities as Podunck, Texas and such.  I first heard of this great gem by reading Joe Bob Briggs’ review for it in one of his books, and wound up finally finding it in some obscure video store out in the middle of the nowhere one night and just had to rent it.  This was back in da daze g, befo’ there was an internet, and purchasing a original VHS tape costed anywhere from 49.95 to 99.95, so yeah.

Anyway, there is a bare thin plot to this, so if that’s what you want, forget it, but if you actually have any desire to see this film, you should know that there is not going to be much of a plot, if any.  It’s all about Master Sardu who runs a cheap off-broadway show down in New Yawk where he performs ‘magical illusions of torture’ similar to the Grand Guignol back in da daze g.  But guess what!  It’s not really a illusion, he’s actually getting WHITE SLAVES from the ARABS in exchange for, I think it was cocaine (which would make sense in the mid 70’s) or whatever, dopes them up, throws them on stage, strips them nekkid and tortures them.  Plot?  Uh..oh yeah, he sees this hot ballerina and comes up with a great idea to mix torture with ballet and create a sensation.  Uh, hey, if Warhol can paint pictures of Campbell soup cans and make it work, why not.  Postmodern art is merely all about the spectacle..isn’t it?

Anyhoo.  There’s tons of nekkid women in this.  Lotsa boobs, butts, and so forth, but no sex or hardcore stuff, just wanted to let you know in case this stuff offends you.  Oh wait, there is a scene in which Ralphus the midget does RAPE a decapitated head, and Sardu has homo love with a corpse, but eh…There’s also a ton of extremely fake, yet graphic violence.  My favorite is when the ‘doctor’ comes over for a little ‘fix’ of his ‘fetish’, and Sardu allows him to take a nekkid slave, shave her head, grabs a power drive, drills INTO her head, sticks in a straw and now  you know why it’s called Bloodsucking Freaks.  YEAH BABY!!!

The infamouse ‘bloodsucking’ scene begins!

Ralphus has some popcorn and enjoys the show!

Copyright C 2007 Michael Patano

About A Son

By Eryn Mulloy

I was able to catch the Seattle International Film Festival premier of About
A Son : Kurt Cobain when I was in town in June. The film is supposed to be
of unheard audio interviews and interview sessions from the "Come As You
Are" book, by Michael Azzerad, which is known as Kurt’s most trusted
journalist in his time. As a long time fan, I defiantly wanted to check this
out, not really knowing what to expect, and really had the impression it was
not going to be a big deal. I was pretty sure I may have herd a lot of the
interviews anyway, or read them at one point I thought.

My friend and I got there about a half an hour before show time. The line
was wrapped around the Neptune Theatre and down the block. This was also the
one and only showing of the film. Once the line started to move, it did
rather quickly. There was no promotional posters or booklets handed out for
the film. We rushed inside to get a good seat. The main floor was mostly
reserved for Film Festival Members, so most good seats where not available
there. We sat up on the balcony with a great view of the screen. I don’t
think I ever watched a film from a balcony before. There was defiantly a lot
of people there, if not sold out. Before the film started the director
A.JSchnack came to the front and gave a brief introduction to the
film. He said he filmed it right in the state of Washington, in three cities,
which where Aberdeen, Olympia, and Seattle. He also said he was quite proud of his work
with it, and enjoyed shooting the footage. He also told the story that when
it premiered in Toronto’s Film Festival, he cried at the end.

The lights went out, and the film started. It begun with the first five
minutes or so, of just soft music, with footage panning over the top of a
foggy evergreen tree forest at dawn. When Kurt’s voice started to speak, I
almost didn’t recognize it. It was clear , low and confidant. He told
stories of his childhood, and how he used to have to go to the lumber yard
on Saturday’s with his dad, and that was what his dad has considered
spending quality time with Kurt. Then also of the time when he would steal
his mom’s pot and replaced it with basil , and that eventually she just had
a bag of basil in her jewelry box. He spoke about how happy he was as a
child, and then how his parents divorced really effected him. As he told
these stories, shots of Aberdeen where displayed on the screen. But with an
artist twist, and odd angels.

They would also show people and up close faces of people of that town today.

After his stories of adolescence, the film then went to the second chapter
of Olympia, where Kurt told stories about how good Tracy (his girlfriend at
the time) was to him, letting him stay at her apartment and not make him
work. And then also telling the story of how he thought a turtle made a
stupid pet, and that he liked cats, because of their attitude. Then the film
made it to its last chapter; Seattle. Kurt spoke of how he does like heroin
and uses it to self medicate his stomach problems. But then would also speak
stories of past tense heroin use. He also speaks of how he does have
scoliosis and that playing guitar made it much worse. He also makes about
three to four suicide references, in saying things like " Yeah I was ready
to blow my head off my stomach hurt so bad," or " I just wanted to kill
myself". Which was obviously so haunting to hear it, from his mouth, and so
often. He said thou during when he moved to Seattle, his stomach was not
bothering him as much. He also noted he had a $400 a day heroin habit during
this time.

He talked good and bad about Dave, Krist, and Courtney. He would say how
Krist always demanded to be the center of attention in social gatherings,
but always was worried about him, and always there for him in his worst
times. He spoke of how he loved Courtney’s spontaneity and confidence, and
noted his first impression of her was that she looked like Nancy Spungen. He
also admitted he wanted to quit Nirvana a few times, and was happy to come
home off his European tour because he was miserable at that time.

Music that Kurt would have liked, is the best way to describe it would play
in between sound clips. Songs from Iggy & the stooges, The Breeders,
Screaming Trees, Queen, Mudhoney, R.E.M and many more. The interviews where
both from in person sessions and over the phone. Most done at Kurt’s house
in Seattle between dawn and midnight in his kitchen, which is the main
publicity photo you see, of the windows with the three sections, looking
over the water at sunset.

The film ended with Kurt telling how he is happy with his life, and loves
having his family. That his family is most important to him. The last
interview you hear is a conversation between Kurt and Courtney;

"Kurt can you bring up a bottle for the baby when your done"

"Sure, okay"

"Don’t forget"

"I won’t"

Then ends with a telephone conversation of Kurt saying bye to Michael and
Michael saying bye to Kurt.

Charles Peterson supplied many of his famous photos for the film, but only
shown when Kurt was actually talking about the person. Photos of Kurt where
not shown of him until the very end of the film when it was playing the
conversation of him talking to Courtney. Which I thought was a very nice
touch. Because after just listening to this voice for an hour, it makes you
really want to see this person again who you are listening so close to, and
learning from.

The soundtrack was defiantly very impressive, put together nicely and I
enjoyed it.

The film would not be what it was with out those shots of the cities, and
that music. It really connects it all, and provided the visionary needed for
the audio.

The interviews are raw and unapologetic. Kurt didn’t want to speak about his
personal life, but already said to much in the end. Seeing this film helps
you understand Kurt as a person with troubles and not as the flawless icon
we have made him to be.

The audience clapped as the film ended and the lights turned on.

There was a Q & A after the film, in which Michael Azzerad, A. J Schnack,
Charles Peterson, Steve Fisk (soundtrack), and Benjamin Gibbard
(soundtrack), came up front of the theatre. Some questions asked and
answered where if Courtney, Krist or Dave had any problems with making the
film, and they said no and they all knew about it. And Michael told the
story of the time he went to go do his first interview with Kurt at their
house. Where Courtney answered the door, offering him grapes, and Michael
was more nervous about meeting Kurt because not that he was a rock star, but
he had never known anyone who was a heroin addict. He said he done a few of
the interviews where Kurt was just laying in bed, and Michael was sitting on
the bedside. The audience asked why did he think Kurt trusted Michael so
much, and he said because he thought they had so much in common. Also asked
was how they were able get so much great music into the film, and it was
answered that all the artist where really supportive of it and had no
problems with letting this film use their songs.

It was so great to see those involved with the film, and seeing it in
Seattle of all places. It really gave you the home town feeling, that
Seattle does still loves their Kurt Cobain.

Running for Office

By Gabriel Ricard

Under the blood moon lights,
I’m stumbling and stuttering
about some of the things
that seemed a lot funnier
when I was working them out
in my head a couple of hours ago.

I’m trying to talk about the way
people have been misspelling
my name for the last twenty years,
and someone tells me to talk
about something that’s actually funny.

I’m trying to get through a bit
about traveling from San Francisco
to Virginia on Greyhound’s
Highway to Hell vibe,
and a couple of guys at the bar
start screaming with insincere laughter.

I’m hoping to make it through
a few words on why a writer
is essentially a wannabe alcoholic
who hates money and a shadow
in the back starts booing me.

Understand,
it’s only my fifth show.

It’s a feeble attempt at an assumption
people have been saying for awhile.

But I’m still thinking to myself,
as I’m standing there under
the lights that have better things
to do than be as hot as Dallas in August,
that I might be better off taking up
a job that involves living and dying on
the streets of Memphis and entertaining
tourists who are too drunk to know better.

Because even that sounds more
appealing to me than the kind of things
my graduating class has been up to lately.

I’m thinking this though,
as I get off the stage
and walk over to the bar
for a bottle of water.

Because,
as though the night
couldn’t be any better,
I didn’t have any photo I.D.

I order my water,
and a drunk skeleton
with chipped marble features
holds a small dog in her lap
and tells me how sorry she was
that I just wasn’t that funny at all.

Her husband grins
and almost chips a tooth.

I give the 80’s metal outcast
behind the bar two dollars for the water,
then I tell the woman and her dog
that I’m sorry too.

Copyright C 2007 Gabriel Ricard

The Red Bull Generation

By Gabriel Ricard

I was eating breakfast
at ten o’clock in the evening,
and it was hard to keep
a conversation going with
the people at my table.

It’s just that I kept getting
distracted by some of the kids
hanging out at the other tables.

A whole bunch of good looking
youngsters dressed in upper middle
class rags and chain smoking cloves.

Laughing,
shouting,
managing to remain pretty
bright and eager to be alive,
in the face of serious clinical depression
and an IPod play list to prove
how they were just barely getting by.

They were the locals.
Exhausted from a long night
of mixed drinks and emulating
obscure icons
they didn’t know by name.

I was just a tourist,
trying to eat my eggs
and talk about the weird things
I got up to earlier in the summer.

But at one point,
I thought about what the largest
table of these cool kids would do
if I walked over to them,
waited until I had their attention,
and then proceeded to open up a vein
with the Swiss army knife
I happen to keep in my pocket.

I just wonder what they would do
if someone suddenly started spraying
them with blood
and Vincent Price laughing fits.

And then maybe,
and this is purely nothing
more than kicking an idea around,
I kill one or two of them
while they’re staring at
the French Toast they paid for
with the money from parents
who don’t really love them.

I’d really want to see how
they’d react to something
that they couldn’t take a picture
of for their MySpace pages.

The ones
that take so long to load,
they make my computer crash
just thinking about it.

But of course,
I don’t really do any of that.

I don’t have it in me,
and I’m also not terribly
fond of jail.

I just glare,
start in on the bacon,
and make quiet sarcastic remarks
to my friends.

It doesn’t do anything
to the whole self-righteous shtick
that I do so well these days
to remember that I wasn’t much
better a few years back.

How I’m not much better now.

Just a little bit older,
and a little quicker to get
to a point where it’s harder to keep
my eyes open any later than 2 a.m
than it was less than a decade ago.

Which I guess
means I’m a little bitter as well.

Copyright C 2007 Gabriel Ricard