Rich Baiocco

WRITING Published Elsewhereplace
BOOT N' RALLY zine Issue #1
DADDY ISSUES & DRONE NOISE essay :: 'What A Beautiful Face' Neutral Milk Hotel zine
The Dropbeatles :: Everyday Genius
Kentucky Backworld Conduits :: The Smoking Poet(scroll down)
Are You Decent :: Blog San Diego

YOU GUYS ARE FUCKING HEROES!

gnade:

The indiegogo to re-print my Do-It-Yourself Guide to Fighting the Big Mothefuckin’ Sad is 93 percent funded after only a WEEK. My big hope is that we can go over the amount so we can print more copies. The more copies we make the more people it can help. I’m pretty okay with that. FRIENDS, LET’S DO THIS!

https://www.indiegogo.com/projects/help-keep-the-diy-guide-to-fighting-the-big-motherfuckin-sad-in-print/x/7081244#home

image

This book is going strong. I see it all over Tumblr, people reposting pics of it, quotes, and saying the kindest things. Some special kind of strength, this little one. It certainly helped me out times I needed pep talks and no B.S. Help keep it in print for others who might benefit from a read

jv-greco:

my friend miriam in nyc mailed me this pencil she picked up at the Poets House down near the 9/11 memorial, so heres a gif poem i made of it. are pencils dying, btw, like fax machines? i just realized this is the only pencil i own 

I know Miriam - she has a kind heart. She’s good people. Nobody likes your crappy gifs though.

jv-greco:

my friend miriam in nyc mailed me this pencil she picked up at the Poets House down near the 9/11 memorial, so heres a gif poem i made of it. are pencils dying, btw, like fax machines? i just realized this is the only pencil i own 

I know Miriam - she has a kind heart. She’s good people. Nobody likes your crappy gifs though.

Things I learned
a Jessie James is a chocolate milkshake with Guinness and Jameson. I had that for dinner alongside a basket of onion rings
The Fox is a great venue because they hook it up for short people. The floor area is made up of tiered sections and each slopes slightly downward toward the stage so you are basically free to walk wherever, yet always at eye level with the bands and have no one directly blocking your sight.
if you ask people not to film the whole show on their cellphones and instead just watch and listen and dance and go nuts and be decent and remain in the present, they mostly will. 
You know how when you are having a psychotic break from reality you cling to some kind of solidarity in a book or a song or a person to keep you hanging on? Oh Comely was that solidarity for me, at a time in my life that got real dark, and the song kind of took on this sacred emotional presence in my mind. When I started feeling better about myself I didn’t really listen to it much, like friends you enjoy but drift apart from. I’d never seen NMH in concert before, but I figured there was a good chance they’d play it Friday night and yeah, I had some anxiety going for some reason. Why? I don’t know, but hence the booze milkshake for dinner. And then first song, Jeff Mangum walks out on stage with a heavy sweater and a big beard and an acoustic guitar and just starts playing Oh Comely. And it doesn’t happen often but some friendships do return; it’s not a big deal, but a small, small deal that means the world sometimes. 

Things I learned

  • a Jessie James is a chocolate milkshake with Guinness and Jameson. I had that for dinner alongside a basket of onion rings
  • The Fox is a great venue because they hook it up for short people. The floor area is made up of tiered sections and each slopes slightly downward toward the stage so you are basically free to walk wherever, yet always at eye level with the bands and have no one directly blocking your sight.
  • if you ask people not to film the whole show on their cellphones and instead just watch and listen and dance and go nuts and be decent and remain in the present, they mostly will. 
  • You know how when you are having a psychotic break from reality you cling to some kind of solidarity in a book or a song or a person to keep you hanging on? Oh Comely was that solidarity for me, at a time in my life that got real dark, and the song kind of took on this sacred emotional presence in my mind. When I started feeling better about myself I didn’t really listen to it much, like friends you enjoy but drift apart from. I’d never seen NMH in concert before, but I figured there was a good chance they’d play it Friday night and yeah, I had some anxiety going for some reason. Why? I don’t know, but hence the booze milkshake for dinner. And then first song, Jeff Mangum walks out on stage with a heavy sweater and a big beard and an acoustic guitar and just starts playing Oh Comely. And it doesn’t happen often but some friendships do return; it’s not a big deal, but a small, small deal that means the world sometimes. 

This note that came along with one of our orders totally made our day

wearepioneerspress:

"ORDER NOTES:
No need to gift wrap; that $5 is a donation for the animals. Keep it up, and keep the Baiocco/JVG stuff coming!”

Made our day in a huge way. Five bucks might not seem like much but it’s half a month’s worth of dry corn for the sheep/goats/ducks/pig/chickens. In “country money” it counts massively.

The “Baiocco/JVG stuff” in question is the incredibly excellent Torch Ballads zine. Now funding rescue animals in the greater Leavenworth, KS area!

This is awesome. Big Ups to whoever wrote that. Talk about motivation to keep writing new stuff. Keep supporting the Hard50 Farm folks (Pioneers Press) and their rescue animals - they are the hardest workers and I have this feeling the universe gives back in ways you wouldn’t believe. I’m a rescue animal too, and I’m not the only one they’ve given a home and a bond to a really good community buildin’ here

A Mystical Education

You end up paying for college and you look back on it like, what the f*** was the value of that? I made a lot of good friends, a lot of shady ones, a fair number of complete mis-steps, and an unfair number of classes were complete bullshit. In fact, thinking of it today I can sum up the value of my college experience to 2 important bits of advice: 

  1. From Tom Lindblade, this theater history teacher who I randomly took an adjunct class with said: Read Everything that is recommended to you by someone you respect. If a writer you like drops the name of a book that was important to her/him in an interview, you should read it. Trace lineages of interest and inspiration. If you end up in a conversation with someone at a party who you feel drawn to, whose mind pops & crackles and invigorates yours, and they happen to mention an artist they like, or a writer, or a book, or an essay, then you should track it down. It’s a little mystical, but think about it: there are any number of ways to go about living your life, getting an education, but if you trace the lineage of someone you like to something they like, it seems like a pretty practical way to get to the good stuff. Afterall, there’s a reason you’re talking with them in the first place, even subconsciously you must have some style or ideology in common. Why not follow it? With blogs and so many obscure interviews and journals of dead artists surfacing, this seems easier than ever. Besides, who do you trust more for a recommendation, some New York Times Review of Books critic who you’ve never met, or like, Richard Hell or Keith Haring, who you’ve never met but who’s music or paintings you’re excited by?
  2. My best friend El Rod out in Denver is one of those people whose mind and lifestyle definitely inspires me. His name’s Joe - somehow El Rod became his nickname, I can’t remember why (Also Sheriff Joe, El Sherrife, and briefly in San Diego, Giff Gish) - and in college he was one of the most compassionate listeners I knew, which was kind of the magical thing about him because it gave a shy person like me the unspoken permission to speak up and lay out whatever weird, twisted, repressed shit was on my mind. But El Rod wouldn’t suffer pity partiers, and when I would cry in my beer over some soft melancholy malaise or vague depression he would say "Go climb a fuckin’ mountain, get outside." It was harsh, but it turned out to be some of the best advice I ever received for dealing with certain mental blocks, and now looking back on it from a writing perspective, it’s absolutely my go-to for getting out my head. It’s like the more your body works the better your brain works, and you can think about it like a car battery: it runs stronger the more often you put miles on the car. I’m from an urban town close to NYC and Joe is from Wisconsin and grew up summers on a trail repair crew in Philmont, New Mexico so hiking and outdoors stuff was kind of alien to me, but 2nd nature to him (1st nature more like it). He read Edward Abbey and John Muir and turned me on to Desert Solitaire and fly-fishing in rivers. We were in school in Colorado so the mountains were right there, but even after school when I lived in NYC I would hike around with no particular place to go, letting the city and it’s noise and colors absorb just as if it were a forest or I was following a river.

If these 2 small pieces of advice can save any of you from the debt that a 4 year college/university accrues then I hope it helps. College has it’s place, and hey, if you feel you can thrive there then by all means do it, but I’ve never been convinced school is the best education for writers. In fact, the only ones who try to convince you are the gatekeepers and future gatekeepers who perpetuate a system of privilege because they don’t want their mountainous tuitions $ to feel wasted.  

Write. Read. Gravitate to people you respect. Climb mountains.

image

The Pyramids or Cemex Aggregate? Weird hills of Mount Diablo

image

Unimpressive elevation but hey, this ain’t no olympic sport. I like how some meticulous vandal carved with a penknife the mountain range on the sign.

rustbeltjessie:

Torch Ballads, by John-Vincent Greco.
I read J-V Greco’s other poetry zine, Death in a Rifle Garden, last summer, and I dug it, for sure, but this one…let’s just say it’s appropriate that it’s titled Torch Ballads because it made my heart, my brain, and my nerve endings feel on fire. As J-V states on the title page: This zine is made from 100% recyclable folk material (gossip, exaggerations, jokes, heroes, bastards, beasts, the living & the dead). And you can hear all that, feel all that in these poems. These are no dry abstractions to be read once and set aside, these poems are fucking living things, they are the kind of poems that make you want to pace around like a caged panther, they are the kind of poems you want to read aloud to anyone within earshot. Hell, they are the kind of poems you want to sing aloud, because they are ballads, because they are torches, because they lift off the page like songs, wild anthems of lives lived that are like jazz and folk and blues and punk all rolled up together, like if Eric Dolphy and Bob Dylan and Howlin’ Wolf and the Ramones had a lovechild and that lovechild wrote poetry. Fuck. Okay, listen to me: there’s hard stuff in here but there is also hope, these poems have the heartbreak and the glory, sometimes both in the same poem. And if these poems are songs and the zine is an album, then let’s say this zine is in heavy rotation for me right now. I’m reading these ballads over and over, tattooing them on my brain. If you care at all about poetry, or seriously even if you aren’t normally into poetry but you wanna read something that is real and furiously alive, get Torch Ballads. (Buy the zine here; visit J-V Greco’s blog here.)

So rad of Rust Belt Jessie to write about Torch Ballads after picking one up at Chicago Zine Fest, and to write about it like an album because if you read the Reckless Chants zines or Sonnet Reducer it’s vodka clear how passionate about music RBJ is. I mean, the other day was posted my absolute favorite Thurston Moore song, 'Psychic Hearts' (which is some droned-out angsty noise coincidence, no?), and then here’s this sick B&W photo. Hell’s yes!

rustbeltjessie:

Torch Ballads, by John-Vincent Greco.

I read J-V Greco’s other poetry zine, Death in a Rifle Garden, last summer, and I dug it, for sure, but this one…let’s just say it’s appropriate that it’s titled Torch Ballads because it made my heart, my brain, and my nerve endings feel on fire. As J-V states on the title page: This zine is made from 100% recyclable folk material (gossip, exaggerations, jokes, heroes, bastards, beasts, the living & the dead). And you can hear all that, feel all that in these poems. These are no dry abstractions to be read once and set aside, these poems are fucking living things, they are the kind of poems that make you want to pace around like a caged panther, they are the kind of poems you want to read aloud to anyone within earshot. Hell, they are the kind of poems you want to sing aloud, because they are ballads, because they are torches, because they lift off the page like songs, wild anthems of lives lived that are like jazz and folk and blues and punk all rolled up together, like if Eric Dolphy and Bob Dylan and Howlin’ Wolf and the Ramones had a lovechild and that lovechild wrote poetry. Fuck. Okay, listen to me: there’s hard stuff in here but there is also hope, these poems have the heartbreak and the glory, sometimes both in the same poem. And if these poems are songs and the zine is an album, then let’s say this zine is in heavy rotation for me right now. I’m reading these ballads over and over, tattooing them on my brain. If you care at all about poetry, or seriously even if you aren’t normally into poetry but you wanna read something that is real and furiously alive, get Torch Ballads. (Buy the zine here; visit J-V Greco’s blog here.)

So rad of Rust Belt Jessie to write about Torch Ballads after picking one up at Chicago Zine Fest, and to write about it like an album because if you read the Reckless Chants zines or Sonnet Reducer it’s vodka clear how passionate about music RBJ is. I mean, the other day was posted my absolute favorite Thurston Moore song, 'Psychic Hearts' (which is some droned-out angsty noise coincidence, no?), and then here’s this sick B&W photo. Hell’s yes!

Zine Write-Ups From Zee Wishy-Washy #6

image

These 3 zines are part of the SuperTrooper series by my friend Angela Supertrooper. Well, actually 2 of them are, the puppy on the right is a one-off called ‘Das Rheingold’ that is my favorite and takes place in Korea. I think Das Rheingold is/was a piece of music by Wagner, and that inspired the story of the zine, which is fiction, and involves a couple that seduces an older journalist in town from London. Angela writes very explicitly, but also with depth and has a dry sense of humor that I really get a kick out. She can really stare you down and make the weak-gutted ones flinch. We went to this reading at The Squat last month and there was a guy reading his kind of pretentious over-the-top sex ego poetry and we were drinking and started heckling him, and then Angela played up his ego by like pretending to worship his sex poetry real loudly, in a When Harry Met Sally scene kind of way, and I watched this guy turn into a little giggling dollop of jelly right on the stage. It was impressive. A dot Supertrooper.

The zines in the SuperTrooper series (I believe there are 8 issues) are very text heavy, illustrated by the author, and themed: #8 is about hotels and it’s written in these great little vignettes; #6 is like a young adult fantasy story. I want to read them all but these are all I have so far.  

That’s it for Zine Write-Ups from Zee Wishy-Washy for now. Thanks for reading, and more importantly thanks for making things, writing zines. People read em, we do.

Zine Write-Ups From Zee Wishy-Washy #5

image

Julia Fuckin’ Eff! (drops bullhorn, storms out of stuffy art symposium)

This zine is raw. I really liked it. I don’t know a lot of writers with the range to come up with poems as varied as ‘Rib of Adam’ ‘XXX’ and ‘Stomach Ache’, but damn you read Wastelands and it’s impressive how these moods and feelings and smart observations and toughness and tenderness can come out of the same person. And the words are wasps. In a plastic bag. In your dreams. Like you’ll dream these bags of words, and they’ll chase you, they’ll sting. 

**Sidenote* can you believe bees killed MacCauley Culkin in that movie My Girl? That was sad as fuck**

If you can’t tell from this batch of write-ups, I mostly like zines where someone is going through an experience, living it; correspondence from the front line. Wastelands is no exception even though it’s poems, especially because it’s poems, It shows life on the road, trucker life, truckstop life, anxiety, mind-numbing american landscape travel, missing someone at home, missing something in someone. What I liked the most about this zine is how it opens with a poem called ‘Archetypes’ about ex lovers that I think people can relate to (archetypes, duh), but then later on there will be poems like ‘Coweredly Lyin’ and ‘Little/Big’ that are like inside jokes, that I don’t fully understand, that the reader can’t really fully understand because they are the author’s, and those 2 are my favorite. 

I look forward to reading more. Order through Julia Eff’s online store