Come join me Thursday night in support of @mjmellina ‘s new venture. If his beer is half as good as his writing, you’ll be weeping into your glass with joy.

Come join me Thursday night in support of @mjmellina ‘s new venture. If his beer is half as good as his writing, you’ll be weeping into your glass with joy.

>

Come check out the Gibson Grand Patreon site!

gibsongrand:

I’m following the example of some of my friends and have set up a Patreon page to help support my writing.  

If you enjoy the work you read here and would like to see more of it, including exclusive content from upcoming publications, please consider becoming a Patron.  Contributions will go toward productions costs and other projects for prose and poetry books in progress.

Very cool. Do other writers from Tumblr attend the shows that have happened? Have any performed?

Plenty of tumblr folk attend the shows. The readers are by invitation only but we are happy to take submissions.

When's the next time you're going to perform in NYC? I was kind of hoping to attend one of your shows/readings... We don't talk, but I still think that'd be cool if you were okay with that.

Of course! Everyone is welcome. The next Dirty Boys reading is May 4th, at 7 pm at the Parkside Lounge. Starting in the fall, there will be another reading series as well, that will be a little more…traditional.

Shameless Self-Promotion

image

(cover photography by Jack Scoresby)

If you enjoy my blog, please check out my book of short stories and poetry, Leave Your Money on the Dresser.

This collection includes a ton of stories and poems written over the last year, as well as some of my favorites from Trash and VaudevilleFireflies, and Accidental Betsy (those titles are no longer available).

Special thanks to Jack Scoresby and Aemilia McMorbid for the cover photography.

If you would like to buy a copy, you can do so here for $7.95.  The book is also available on Amazon (in both print and digital formats).

Please reblog and help me spread the word.  And if you’ve already purchased a copy, please take a minute and leave a review on Amazon.

-g.g.

Nobody wins at the Distinguished Wakamba Cocktail Lounge.

Nobody wins at the Distinguished Wakamba Cocktail Lounge.

(Photo by Matthew Mellina @mjmellina)

I can’t remember ever seeing the old man without a beer in his hand.  Most nights after work he would sit in his folding chair at the end of the driveway, watching the sky for planes with a nest of empties at his feet, calling out different makes and models to no one in particular.  Even on Sunday mornings when he cooked pancakes, there would be a tall boy sitting next to the griddle, sweating from the heat. He never ate with us kids.  He would just frown at us as we stuffed our faces, a Winston 100 dangling between his yellowed fingers.

To me, he just seemed angry all the time.  My mom would say he didn’t know how to be anything else, that some people were just born into war with everyone around them.  His days were an endless grind of twelve hour shifts and intolerable slights, both real and imagined—-an inexhaustible stream of resentments suffered at the hands of jackasses and bitches, the fat-baldies in their suits, and all the blowhards and know-it-alls who conspired against him. 

He was a docile drunk though.  It was as if the constant flood of beer pushed all that anger beneath the surface. Some men would drink liquor and slap their wives around.  But the old man would get kind of dopey and sweet. Sometimes I think he drank just to keep himself from beating us.

(c) 2014 gibson grand

#prose

(Photo by Matthew Mellina @mjmellina)

I can’t remember ever seeing the old man without a beer in his hand. Most nights after work he would sit in his folding chair at the end of the driveway, watching the sky for planes with a nest of empties at his feet, calling out different makes and models to no one in particular. Even on Sunday mornings when he cooked pancakes, there would be a tall boy sitting next to the griddle, sweating from the heat. He never ate with us kids. He would just frown at us as we stuffed our faces, a Winston 100 dangling between his yellowed fingers.

To me, he just seemed angry all the time. My mom would say he didn’t know how to be anything else, that some people were just born into war with everyone around them. His days were an endless grind of twelve hour shifts and intolerable slights, both real and imagined—-an inexhaustible stream of resentments suffered at the hands of jackasses and bitches, the fat-baldies in their suits, and all the blowhards and know-it-alls who conspired against him.

He was a docile drunk though. It was as if the constant flood of beer pushed all that anger beneath the surface. Some men would drink liquor and slap their wives around. But the old man would get kind of dopey and sweet. Sometimes I think he drank just to keep himself from beating us.

(c) 2014 gibson grand

#prose

dirtyboysnyc:

The next Dirty Boys reading will be bigger, louder, and dirtier!
As much as we love The Magician, last reading we packed the place and scared the neighbors. So please join us on May 4th at our new venue, The Parkside Lounge. We will have a lot more seating and privacy in their performance area, which means… well, which means trouble.
As always, Jack Stratton, Guy New York, and Gibson Grand will be reading their tales of love, lust, misery, joy, & rock and roll. We are also happy to introduce a new guest reader, Marissa Quenqua!
The Dirty Boys Reading May 4th, 2014 - 7PMThe Parkside Lounge 317 East Houston St (at Attorney St), NYC $5 Cover - 21 and over
RSVP on Facebook!
Photos of the Dirty Boys by Walter Wlodarczyk

dirtyboysnyc:

The next Dirty Boys reading will be bigger, louder, and dirtier!

As much as we love The Magician, last reading we packed the place and scared the neighbors. So please join us on May 4th at our new venue, The Parkside Lounge. We will have a lot more seating and privacy in their performance area, which means… well, which means trouble.

As always, Jack Stratton, Guy New York, and Gibson Grand will be reading their tales of love, lust, misery, joy, & rock and roll. We are also happy to introduce a new guest reader, Marissa Quenqua!

The Dirty Boys Reading
May 4th, 2014 - 7PM
The Parkside Lounge
317 East Houston St (at Attorney St), NYC
$5 Cover - 21 and over

RSVP on Facebook!

Photos of the Dirty Boys by Walter Wlodarczyk

(via dirtyboysnyc)

Better to let her whispers carry him home.

#poetry #happybirthday

Better to let her whispers carry him home.

#poetry #happybirthday

Marlon Brando and Anna Magnani in The Fugitive Kind (1960), directed by Sidney Lumet and written by Tennessee Williams
Valentine ‘Snakeskin’ Xavier: You know, Lady, there’s people bought and sold in this world like carcasses of hogs.  . .in butcher shops. You might think that there’s…there’s many…many kinds of people in this world. But there’s only two kinds: The buyers and the ones that get bought. [beat] No, there’s another kind.
Lady Torrance: What kind?
Valentine ‘Snakeskin’ Xavier: It’s a kind that don’t belong no place at all. There’s a kind of bird that don’t have any legs so it can’t alight on nothing. So it has to spend its whole life on its wings in the air. I seen one, once. It died and fell to earth. 

Marlon Brando and Anna Magnani in The Fugitive Kind (1960), directed by Sidney Lumet and written by Tennessee Williams

Valentine ‘Snakeskin’ Xavier: You know, Lady, there’s people bought and sold in this world like carcasses of hogs.  . .in butcher shops. You might think that there’s…there’s many…many kinds of people in this world. But there’s only two kinds: The buyers and the ones that get bought. [beat] No, there’s another kind.

Lady Torrance: What kind?

Valentine ‘Snakeskin’ Xavier: It’s a kind that don’t belong no place at all. There’s a kind of bird that don’t have any legs so it can’t alight on nothing. So it has to spend its whole life on its wings in the air. I seen one, once. It died and fell to earth.