Laughing hysterically, the poems of Beat editor Randall Karlen Rogers wander suddenly around social, religious, poetic, chemically dependent, and flat-out nonsensical subjects. With a vivacious yet cynical charm, these poems stand in your face and scream for you to share in the pleasure that created them. Despite their energy, they do not avoid horror or biting satire, punching through serious issues as if punching through something really easily punched through.Randall says, "I was born in 1961, the second by two years of two brothers. I grew into a small but strong young lad, and I especially excelled at swimming. At eleven years of age I won four gold medals in the regional junior Olympics. Then I turned twelve and my swimming career was over. I was small and when I moved in the higher aged boys bracket I could not compete with the size of the fourteen year olds. I was a loser. I lost interest in swimming and snow-skiing and turned my interest to writing and to books. I tried to read the classics. I wrote stream of consciousness pieces in school notebooks and whipped off odd stories about a man with legs of dry spaghetti and a potato for a body and other bloody horror stories. I was going to college, seemingly for ages, and though I first started at the University of Minnesota studying journalism (couldn't pass the typing or English test to get in) I would up at the University of South Dakota studying History, and getting my degree there.
"In the thirty or so years since then, I haven't done much of nothing." Now, he can be reached at email@example.com.
Randall's works here at Unlikely Stories are:
Morphine and Straight Alcohol
Fucker's got tits
Cheese box head
Mystic's Last Dance