Funderberg.com

You Are Not Dead, A Guide To Modern Living Project

You Are Not Dead was born out of fraughtful observations of the state of our States and the repetitive, empty monotony of consumer culture and electronic music. The entire package is a protest against the meaningless decisions we are asked to make daily — between products, between paychecks, between political candidates — that conflate choice with free thought and individuality. You Are Not Dead apes the voice of authority, presenting absurd advice on how to live — or, more accurately, how to remain Not Dead. Which you must be.

You Are Not Dead: A Guide To Modern Living is a project of the Fakeproject Corporation of America and a product of postmortem life. The music and images were conceived and produced by Daniel James Reetz, and the words fell out of Meg Holle. Link

Scottsboro Alabama Book

Scottsboro, Alabama, which consists of 118 exceptionally powerful linoleum prints, provides a unique graphic history of one of the most infamous, racially-charged episodes in the annals of the American judicial system, and of the racial and class struggle of the time. Originally printed in Seattle in 1935, this hitherto unknown document, of which no other known copies exist, is presented here for the first time. It includes a foreword by Robin D.G. Kelley and an introduction by Andrew H. Lee. Mr. Lee discovered the book as part of a gift to the Tamiment Library by the family of Joe North, an important figure in the Communist Party-USA, and an editor at the seminal left-wing journal, the New Masses.

A true historical find and an excellent tool for teaching the case itself and the period which it so indelibly marked, this book allows us to see the Scottsboro case through a unique and highly provocative lens. Link

The Lost Fart

A short story by Lisa Swerling & Ralph Lazar. Link

The Writing & Poetry of Charles Bukowski

Excerpt from The Albums

I just drank in this cheap room, a young man
totally misplaced in the world.
I hardly ate anything, the wine was my
substance
and the classical records.

I lived like a god damned fly, or maybe like a
confused
rat.
Where I scrounged my few funds, I no longer
remember.

But I do remember the record store
where you could exchange 3 used albums for
2.

By buying an occasional album and by continuous
trading
I gradually listened to almost all the
albums
in that store.

But most of the time I was broke so I had to
listen to very very many of the 2 albums
on hand
over and over and
over.

I drank and listened again and
again.
each note became embedded in
me
and then
re-embedded.

now
decades later
I still sometimes hear
one of those old albums on the
radio–same conductor, same
orchestra–
and I immediately
shut the radio off.

Yet remember that time with a
melancholy
fondness.

A cult figure, novelist, short-story writer, poet and journalist. One of the greatest writers to come out of Los Angeles, many consider Bukowski to be a true voice of the city of angels. Bukowski, also known as “Buk,” wrote with raw emotion and painted with words. His canvas was Los Angeles. Not the glitter though. His Los Angeles was the stench of alley-ways, broken dreams, broken hearts, winos and of course…the horse track. Link

Cat Haiku

You never feed me.
Perhaps I’ll sleep on your face.
That will sure show you.

You must scratch me there!
Yes, above my tail!
Behold, elevator butt.

The rule for today:
Touch my tail, I shred your hand.
New rule tomorrow.

In deep sleep hear sound
cat vomit hairball somewhere
will find in morning.

Grace personified.
I leap into the window.
I meant to do that.

Blur of motion, then –
silence, me, a paper bag.
What is so funny?

The mighty hunter
Returns with gifts of plump birds –
your foot just squashed one.

You’re always typing.
Well, let’s see you ignore my
sitting on your hands.

My small cardboard box.
You cannot see me if I
can just hide my head.

Terrible battle.
I fought for hours. Come and see!
What’s a ‘term paper?’

Small brave carnivores
Kill pine cones and mosquitoes,
Fear vacuum cleaner

I want to be close
to you. Can I fit my head
inside your armpit?

Wanna go outside.
Oh, poop! Help! I got outside!
Let me back inside!

Oh no! Big One
has been trapped by newspaper!
Cat to the rescue!

Humans are so strange.
Mine lies still in bed, then screams;
My claws are not that sharp.

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