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Denver: Fast Geek Press Publishes Wild-Eyed Ode to City

A linocut by Charly Fasano of the Brown Palace.

The book cover of "Denver," a drunken ode to the city.

A linocut by Charly Fasano of downtown Denver.

A linocut by Charly Fasano of the Satire Lounge.

A linocut by Charly Fasano of Bar Bar.

Poet Ken Arkind and linocut artist Charly Fasano have published Denver, a  poetic, booze-soaked odyssey through our fair city. They've got a full slate of events through the weekend, including exhibitions, readings and a concert.
Denver "is a bar by bar, neighborhood by neighborhood walk of triggered memories and self-destruction," according to a press release from the publisher behind the chapbook, Fast Geek Press. The alternately funny, profane and brutal book-length poem captures the wayward soul of the city after one too many beers. Okay, maybe a few more than one.

Co-creators slam poet Ken Arkind wrote the words and jack-of-every-imaginable-artistic-trade Charly "the city mouse" Fasano created the linocut prints that accompany them. Fasano carved blocks of linoleum composite into linocuts that depict a motley crew of Denver's best dives. "It's not woodblock printing," he says. "You carve it, ink it up and place paper on top of it."

The finished product has two narratives, adds Fasano. "Kenny has his story and I have my story. They work against each other in a wonderful way."

Arkind and Fasano are doing a four-night book-release blowout spanning Capitol Hill to Baker from March 29 to April 1. It starts with an exhibition of Fasano's linocuts  at Fast Geek Boutique, 321 W. 11th Ave., and a show headlined by Mr. Pacman at the Hi-Dive, 7 S. Broadway, on Fri. March 29; readings at the Deer Pile, 206 E. 13th Ave., and Mutiny Information Cafe, 2 S. Broadway, and 3 Kings Tavern, 60 S Broadway, on March 30, March 31 and April 1 respectively.

The book is available online here.


Bar Bar pulsing like an epileptic heart-rate
glasses breaking like gunshots
there's a dog on the pool table
the band's too drunk to play
and there's more smoke than a Teller County forest fire,
but when all the bartenders are under age, who gives a shit.

Across town in the Baker district,
black scarfed hipsters talk about social network avatars,
as though they come from a big town,
and the band's not too drunk to play but the club's 
too crowded to dance,
so the kids just set themselves on fire
and spread their ashes across the floor.

Read more articles by Eric Peterson.

Eric is a Denver-based tech writer and guidebook wiz. Contact him here.
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