"I confuse art with everything - life, death, walk, wake, sleep, not sleep, sex. It's all art to me. I could never draw a straight line, or separate consciousness from being."
~Bro. Vic Swan~
The first time I spoke with Vic Swan, I was hosting a shitty internet radio poetry show, & he called in to read a bit. He introduced himself as “Bro. Vic” & mentioned that he was packing everything he owned into the bed of his truck & hitting the road, taking the word to the street. Having spent most of a life in the south, I was immediately concerned. In my experience, anyone with the title “Bro." who is “taking the word to the street” usually wants to pass around a plate, or at least give me some shitty literature. I braced myself for the worst, & he read a poem about fucking a midget. Respect is seldom so easily earned.
The last time I spoke with Vic, he was outside a dispensary somewhere around Denver. He hit me up, wanted an opinion on what varieties of medicinal marijuana I really enjoyed. After half an hour of ganja talk, we settled into a lengthy discussion on the merits and/or drawbacks of hairy pussies. Verdict: bring back the bush.
In 1981, while working as a dj in Tallahassee, he experienced an unlucky morning on Friday the 13th, and duly refused to get out of bed. The station sent a truck, and Vic broadcast from his bed, on a trailer about town. This year, when confronted with his own mortality, Vic decided the hospital life was no life at all, & packed up his truck again, hitting open mics & beautiful spots on the American road. He died August 7 in Colorado, among friends. His life exemplifies what we stand for here at Paraphernalia Quarterly, & we are damn proud to have known him.
You’ll find artwork & poetry by Bro. Vic scattered throughout this issue, and a bit more as well. Being a liquor-friendly establishment, Frankie Metro & Jason Ryberg both chime in on the dangers of that demon we call coffee. Steve Huffman brings us a yarn about cowpies, Coors beer & the unavoidable flying saucers that haunt parts of East Texas. tj jude has some advice on how to handle unruly veterans at yr next social function, & Fake Dada hosts our first Spirituality column, where he explains why the guy downstairs may just get a bad rap. There’s all manner of deviance inside, so roll up a joint & come join us.
~Bro. Vic Swan~
The first time I spoke with Vic Swan, I was hosting a shitty internet radio poetry show, & he called in to read a bit. He introduced himself as “Bro. Vic” & mentioned that he was packing everything he owned into the bed of his truck & hitting the road, taking the word to the street. Having spent most of a life in the south, I was immediately concerned. In my experience, anyone with the title “Bro." who is “taking the word to the street” usually wants to pass around a plate, or at least give me some shitty literature. I braced myself for the worst, & he read a poem about fucking a midget. Respect is seldom so easily earned.
The last time I spoke with Vic, he was outside a dispensary somewhere around Denver. He hit me up, wanted an opinion on what varieties of medicinal marijuana I really enjoyed. After half an hour of ganja talk, we settled into a lengthy discussion on the merits and/or drawbacks of hairy pussies. Verdict: bring back the bush.
In 1981, while working as a dj in Tallahassee, he experienced an unlucky morning on Friday the 13th, and duly refused to get out of bed. The station sent a truck, and Vic broadcast from his bed, on a trailer about town. This year, when confronted with his own mortality, Vic decided the hospital life was no life at all, & packed up his truck again, hitting open mics & beautiful spots on the American road. He died August 7 in Colorado, among friends. His life exemplifies what we stand for here at Paraphernalia Quarterly, & we are damn proud to have known him.
You’ll find artwork & poetry by Bro. Vic scattered throughout this issue, and a bit more as well. Being a liquor-friendly establishment, Frankie Metro & Jason Ryberg both chime in on the dangers of that demon we call coffee. Steve Huffman brings us a yarn about cowpies, Coors beer & the unavoidable flying saucers that haunt parts of East Texas. tj jude has some advice on how to handle unruly veterans at yr next social function, & Fake Dada hosts our first Spirituality column, where he explains why the guy downstairs may just get a bad rap. There’s all manner of deviance inside, so roll up a joint & come join us.
"Poetry Sucks"
Vic Swan
Vic Swan
Return To Index
No comments:
Post a Comment