KFAT 92.9 FM Anchorage

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knocks the shotgun out the way, and does the same thing. So he’s sittin’ like this, look at this bear. He does not go back. Well, he goes back. First, he goes out and gets a bazooka, puts the bazooka on his shoulder. He walks out there, the bear comes up, taps him on the shoulders and says… you don’t come here. (chuckling) (clock ticking) (♪ music continues) (grunts) (indistinct chatter) (♪ music continues) (chatter continues) (birdsong) (exhales deeply) I like how you smell when you come home at night. What do I smell like? Mmm. You smell faintly of… of beer. Mmm. (♪ instrumental music) (birdsong) (clinking) (♪ music continues) (engine rumbling) (♪ music continues) (male student) How do you say his name again? It’s like Gae-tan… – (female student) It’s Gaetano Bresci. That sounds interesting. Yeah, he, um, he co-founded this anarchist newspaper here in Paterson, but it was in Italian, um, called La Questione Sociale. – La Questione Sociale. Yeah. (female student) He was born in Italy, but he lived here. He was a weaver, an anarchist weaver. This was in the s. And at that time in Italy, people were starving. When they demonstrated, this Italian general had them fired upon with, like, muskets and cannons, which, of course, resulted in a bloody massacre with, like, a hundred people dead. (male student) Was Gaetano Bresci there? (female student) No, he was here in Paterson. But when he heard that the King of Italy, King Umberto the First, decorated this general for bravely defending his royal house, Gaetano Bresci went over to Italy somehow and he shot Umberto the First four times with a revolver. (male student) Whoa. Did they kill Bresci? (female student) No, they captured him and they put him on trial with, like, a famous anarchist lawyer and everything. But since there was no capital punishment in Italy at that time, like , I mean… nor is there now. You can’t be a member of the European Union if you practise capital punishment, of course. Yeah, not like here. Yeah. Anyway, they sent Gaetano Bresci to, like, this prison island where they put all the other anarchists, and after, like, a year, he was found dead in his prison cell. (male student) Murdered? (female student) Well, yeah, most likely by the guards. But, there’s a possibility that he committed suicide. Whoa, Gaetano Bresci. Do you think there are any other anarchists still around in Paterson? You mean besides us? Not likely. (male student) Hey, what time is your first class? (female student) It’s at :. Wanna grab a coffee? Sure. (beeps) (♪ instrumental music) Glow. When I wake up earlier than you, and you are turned to face me, face on the pillow and hair spread around, I take a chance and stare at you, amazed in love and afraid that you might open your eyes and have the daylights scared out of you. But maybe with the daylights gone, you’d see how much my chest and head implode for you, their voices trapped inside like unborn children fearing they will never see the light of day. The opening in the wall now dimly glows, it’s rainy, blue and grey. I tie my shoes and go downstairs to put the coffee on. (♪ music continues) (engine rumbling) It’s all warmed up for you, Donny. All used up’s more like it. You OK? Well, since you asked, no, not really. My mother-in-law is moving in. The cat got diagnosed with cat diabetes. And the medicine, you know, it’s all so expensive. And now, my daughter started taking violin lessons and I’m losing my mind with the sound of that. What can I say, Paterson? Oh, sorry. Oh, just my burden, I guess. My particular burden. OK. I’ll see you tomorrow. (indistinct chatter) (birdsong) (indistinct chatter) Excuse me. Are you OK here, all alone? I’m fine. I’m just waiting for my mom and my sister. She’s upstairs, in that building over there. Do you mind if I sit down till your mom comes down? Sure. Yeah? Yeah. Are you a bus driver? Yeah. Do you ever drive one of those accordion buses? Articulated. Accordion. No, I just drive the regular ones. Did you ever drive a fire truck? No, just, uh, buses and cars, and, uh, I drove a big truck a few times, but, uh, that’s it. Are you, uh, interested in poetry? Uh, actually, I am, kind of. Really? Yeah. I write poetry. I keep it all in this notebook. Secret notebook. Oh, you’re a poet. Yeah. That’s great. Would you like to hear one? Sure, sure. It doesn’t really rhyme, though. That’s OK. I kind of like them better when they don’t. Yeah, me too. OK. This one’s called “Water Falls”. Two words, though, like that. “Water Falls”, OK. (Young girl) OK. “Water Falls”. “Water falls from the bright air. “It falls like hair, “falling across a young girl’s shoulders. “Water falls, “making pools in the asphalt, “dirty mirrors with clouds and buildings inside. “It falls on the roof of my house. “It falls on my mother, and on my hair. “Most people call it rain.” That’s a beautiful poem. You really liked it? Yeah, I really do. I think it’s beautiful. “Water Falls”. Thank you. It doesn’t rhyme exactly. No, but the first two lines do, in a nice way. And some nice little internal rhymes too, I think. Internal rhymes. Oh, my mom’s done.



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