Boston Holy Frick by Steve Roggenbuck
Underground readings continue. Massachusetts offers basements for poets. That’s part of the state healthcare plan. Right from the get-go is Gustavo Rivera. Punk rock is a big part of the poem. Life can be punk rock. Few live life in a punk rock fashion.
Gordon Marshall rocks out next, sans punk rock. These are erotic poems. PG-13 is a good sign of what is up, but these can transform into NC-17 material. One person in the chat states ‘this would be better if he was naked’. Most of his poems are big into breasts and stuff. A few of these lines are former, unsuccessful pickup lines. Poetry is just a series of unsuccessful pickup lines. Yet another in the chat states ‘this guy is getting laid tonight’.
Theo Thimo introduces himself in his first ever public appearance. Everybody is going wild for Theo’s tender good looks. Since he came out on Buttercup’s press he’s been blowing up on the East Coast. Poor Theo mugs people. After somebody gives him their wallet he stabs him because he is bad. Never mess with Theo. Avoid ever giving him money. Someone in the crowd says ‘punk rock’. Punk rock is still alive in Boston apparently. Multiple times Theo asks for confirmation from the audience. Obviously the funniest part is Theo’s twitter handle. What he does is read all the tweets he tweeted at Spencer Madsen. Theo tweeted over 300 tweets at Spencer. Spencer never tweeted back. In the chat the crowd went wild. Sarah and Lucy love Theo.
Bill reads an intense poem. It is the heavy breathing of poetry.
Some dude in a fox mask plays noise. Does anybody know how long? The Spreecast might say the amount of time three hours or six hours but really it could have been eternity. For the audience held candles remaining vigilant against the harsh nasty wall of noise. Clad in darkness the satanic noisy being kept on playing distortion. One particularly witty chatroom member asked ‘Is that applause or noise’? Sadly the fox mask wearing bro (named Bill) did not pay attention to the chat but rather did whatever noise heads do. Yeah Roggenbuck runs around screaming a lot but it is hard to compete with a fox/man hybrid who writes noise compositions.
Hilary Gardiner gives a shout out to her relatives. Family is where the blog is. People move all the time. URLs are forever. She reads ‘letter to my therapist’. What her letter states is she needs a cat. Cough drops are not candy. Poor doctor gets slammed by Hilary. After crushing her therapist’s spirit she talks about the weirdness of pop songs. A person calls her out on eating the M&Ms of the trail mix. How she responds is with a dignified ‘Fuck you’ because she is classy. One person Hilary used to know tells her a story of love-making. Halfway through the loving making they ask for a filthy thing after which he says ‘Okay’. The quote itself is perfect, beautiful, life-changing, and requires at least a tissue.
To end it Steve Roggenbuck gets up on stage and rips it apart with his teeth. Harvard was unable to house him. Academia is not ready for Steve Roggenbuck. Give academia another couple of decades, they’ll get there. Buffalo reading remains the worst reading Steve has ever done. Meanwhile people in Boston dig Steve’s work. Here they say things like ‘truly’ chanting after him. Omegle chat loves Steve Roggenbuck’s online presence. Much of the audience feels indifferent towards Justin Bieber.
Every time Steve asks people to unfriend him for hating Justin Bieber he gets space for new friend. Friends are lining up outside just to friend Steve. Life on the internet without Steve Roggenbuck is a joyless life indeed. Drawings in Steve’s notebooks got him in trouble in the 9th grade. This is a rare glimpse into Steve’s tough childhood, a life of teachers who hate metal. Matt Romney and Rob Paul are the future leaders of America. Check out their twitter handles. Imagine a world run by Matt Romney and Rob Paul. It can be a reality but people need to vote to make it happen. After this Steve decides to sell off his clothing, right down the shirt on his back. Jack Gooding unfortunately missed this opportunity to pay Steve Roggenbuck to ‘take off his shirt’.
And the Spreecast ends, with a potentially half-nude Roggenbuck in a cellar with noise heads, as Satan intended.