"MR VICED HONEST / STEVE RICHMOND" Live Recitation

by Mike Daily

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	1.	"MR VICED HONEST / STEVE RICHMOND" Live Recitation 09:22	lyrics	download
	Mike Daily (holding up the back cover of Buk Scene 1): This is him in the early '70s. I'll never forget what he said to me in front of that house around 1993, and that's the beginning of this. "Morrison came here the same reason you did. The poetry." He awoke, he wrote. Opened the curtains. Watched 6 or 7 pelicans—graceful—sweeping over the Pacific. Terrific! he wrote. Why go anywhere? And he didn't. Save select cafés and the Methadone clinic. MR VICED HONEST He lived alone in a rent-controlled bungalow and wrote poems on an antique Smith-Corona. He drew poisonous arachnids on the backs of envelopes and scored dope. He was one of the most ignored poets in America according to the Los Angeles Free Press. Antonin Artaud meets Edgar Allan Poe in a morphine drip dream in distress. He had a Zapatista streetsweeper mustache, smoked crack in Pyrex glass, and signed books for all of his favorite waitresses and baristas. He fiended for one in particular from Sweden. He called himself a mistake, worse than an abortion, and reportedly got his first hit of acid from Jim Morrison. He said it was a purple wafer the size of a Life Savers. Should he break it in half? "No, man. Take the whole thing." They were less than friends, more than acquaintances, at UCLA then Jim got famous. What've you been doin'? Just makin' money. What've you been doin'? Just makin' music. What've you been doin'? Just makin' candles. What've you been doin'? He called himself a blunt instrument, worse than a candelabra, and reportedly got his fourth hit of acid from a psychedelic Sinatra. He said it was a sugar cube from a Woodstock guru. Should he break on through? "Nah, man. Go to the emergency room." They were less than friends, more than acquaintances, at UCLA then Jim got famous. What've you been doin'? Just makin' money. What've you been doin'? Just makin' music. What've you been doin'? Just makin' candles. What've you been doin'? And the lids he got from the shaman were not exactly chronic. MR VICED HONEST . . . stay alive. He had short-term memory loss and a long-reach stapler. He typed on the platen when he ran out of paper. He drew inspiration for his second publication from a fascist dictator who painted roses as a teenager. Schizoid is such a swinging way. He corresponded with William Wantling and went fishing on Convict Lake. He kept burning in water, drowning in flame. And he heard from Bukowski: ENDURANCE IS MORE IMPORTANT THAN TRUTH He learned from Bukowski: SOLITUDE IS KEY AVOID ALL GROUPS He discerned from Bukowski: DARK URINE MEANS NOT ENOUGH FLUIDS MR VICED HONEST. Stay alive. And Bukowski was enslaved by the left-hand margin, he raved. While he was F R E E to move about the page. Zig-zag. Stagger the lines. Return. Return. Return again and again and return again. Listen . . . Aphrodite suggested he try Psychiatry. The cure, not the practice. She had too many honeys, he had too many habits. He asked her back to his shack and she laughed at him. One night was enough on her king-size mattress. She met a musician and moved to Manhattan. Clean oven, dirty kitchen. Meat Poet, Steve Richmond. I know you disliked parties and postal holidays and Jack London's second wife. You said you slammed great novelists because you couldn't create what they did, and you were right. You said you could not yet describe the blackbird in the green tree and saw demons salute crows with bones for wings. Dear MR VICED HONEST, You had an aversion to Russian fur hats or at least one in particular from an American Poet, Beat Generation publisher, and proprietor of paperbacks on Columbus Ave. "listen" by Steve Richmond listen we sacrificed the fame stick to poetry make a move into prose and somehow we've lost that certain touch that shoe in my face it's the novelist's fame that short story writer is only a short story writer listen we stick to poetry we didn't want all that false publicity all that crap to build a legend listen we had a few hobbies [hobbies save our lives] we had a t.v. we had a record player we had a dozen healthy plants "listen" by Steve Richmond [(1976, Red Work, Black Widow)] MR VICED HONEST MR VICED HONEST MR VICED HONEST Superb! he wrote. He fed birds wild seed. When his washer broke, he filled it with dirt and planted a fern. He bet on boxing. Hagler over Hearns. Hagler won in the third. Marvelous! he wrote. He yearned for two paid weeks in Europe. But why go anywhere? His personal credo? Have no living heroes. Thanks for listening.

about

Mike Daily recited "MR VICED HONEST / STEVE RICHMOND" for Portland Aggressive: An Evening of Tough Love at Ella Street Social Club in Portland, Oregon, on May 28, 2009. "MR VICED HONEST" is an anagram of "STEVE RICHMOND."

credits

released May 28, 2009

Cover: Nathan Powell Design

Photo of Steve Richmond and Mike Daily at Richmond's house in Santa Monica, CA, by Kelly O'Donnell, 1994

"MR VICED HONEST / STEVE RICHMOND" Live Recitation (5/28/09) is on YouTube: youtu.be/yop5lN5q6nM

Watch the spoken word performance on YouTube: youtu.be/geOVdwafGk8

{RECITED WITHOUT READING)

"MR VICED HONEST / STEVE RICHMOND"

Mike Daily (holding up the back cover of Buk Scene 1): This is him in the early '70s. I'll never forget what he said to me in front of that house around 1993, and that's the beginning of this.

"Morrison came here the same reason you did. The poetry."

He awoke, he wrote. Opened the curtains. Watched 6 or 7 pelicans—graceful—sweeping over the Pacific. Terrific! he wrote. Why go anywhere? And he didn't. Save select cafés and the Methadone clinic.

MR VICED HONEST

He lived alone in a rent-controlled bungalow and wrote poems on an antique Smith-Corona. He drew poisonous arachnids on the backs of envelopes and scored dope.

He was one of the most ignored poets in America according to the Los Angeles Free Press. Antonin Artaud meets Edgar Allan Poe in a morphine drip dream in distress.

He had a Zapatista streetsweeper mustache, smoked crack in Pyrex glass, and signed books for all of his favorite waitresses and baristas. He fiended for one in particular from Sweden.

He called himself a mistake, worse than an abortion, and reportedly got his first hit of acid from Jim Morrison. He said it was a purple wafer the size of a Life Savers. Should he break it in half?

"No, man. Take the whole thing."

They were less than friends, more than acquaintances, at UCLA then Jim got famous. What've you been doin'? Just makin' money. What've you been doin'? Just makin' music. What've you been doin'? Just makin' candles. What've you been doin'?

He called himself a blunt instrument, worse than a candelabra, and reportedly got his fourth hit of acid from a psychedelic Sinatra. He said it was a sugar cube from a Woodstock guru. Should he break on through?

"Nah, man. Go to the emergency room."

They were less than friends, more than acquaintances, at UCLA then Jim got famous. What've you been doin'? Just makin' money. What've you been doin'? Just makin' music. What've you been doin'? Just makin' candles. What've you been doin'?

And the lids he got from the shaman were not exactly chronic.

MR VICED HONEST . . . stay alive.

He had short-term memory loss and a long-reach stapler.

He typed on the platen when he ran out of paper.

He drew inspiration for his second publication from a fascist dictator who painted roses as a teenager.

Schizoid is such a swinging way.

He corresponded with William Wantling and went fishing on Convict Lake.

He kept burning in water, drowning in flame.

And he heard from Bukowski:

ENDURANCE IS MORE
IMPORTANT THAN TRUTH

He learned from Bukowski:

SOLITUDE IS KEY
AVOID ALL GROUPS

He discerned from Bukowski:

DARK URINE MEANS
NOT ENOUGH FLUIDS

MR VICED HONEST. Stay alive.

And Bukowski was enslaved by the left-hand margin, he raved. While he was F R E E to move about the page. Zig-zag. Stagger the lines. Return. Return. Return again and again and return again.

Listen . . .

Aphrodite suggested he try Psychiatry. The cure, not the practice. She had too many honeys, he had too many habits. He asked her back to his shack and she laughed at him. One night was enough on her king-size mattress. She met a musician and moved to Manhattan.

Clean oven, dirty kitchen.
Meat Poet, Steve Richmond.

I know you disliked parties and postal holidays and Jack London's second wife.

You said you slammed great novelists because you couldn't create what they did, and you were right.

You said you could not yet describe the blackbird in the green tree and saw demons salute crows with bones for wings.

Dear MR VICED HONEST,

You had an aversion to Russian fur hats. Or at least one in particular from an American Poet, Beat Generation publisher, and proprietor of paperbacks on Columbus Ave.

"listen"
by Steve Richmond

listen we sacrificed the fame
stick to poetry
make a move into prose
and somehow we've lost
that certain touch

that shoe in my face
it's the novelist's fame
that short story writer
is only a short
story writer

listen we stick to poetry
we didn't want all that
false publicity
all that crap to build a
legend

listen we had a few hobbies
[hobbies save our lives]
we had a t.v.
we had a record player
we had
a dozen healthy plants

"listen"
by Steve Richmond
[(1976, Red Work, Black Widow)]

MR VICED HONEST

MR VICED HONEST

MR VICED HONEST

Superb! he wrote. He fed birds wild seed. When his washer broke, he filled it with dirt and planted a fern.

He bet on boxing. Hagler over Hearns. Hagler won in the third. Marvelous! he wrote.

He yearned for two paid weeks in Europe.

But why go anywhere?

His personal credo? Have no living heroes.

Thanks for listening.

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about

Mike Daily Oregon

Mike Daily is an author, journalist, zinemaker, and co-founder of the Plywood Hoods Freestyle BMX Trick Team. Daily's new novel, Moon Babes of Bicycle City (4/3/20, "Second Printing Forever") is available now from Amazon.