punks jump up to get beat down

my best fighting moments came before the age of six. i took down nicolas b., the kindergarten bully. he's was raggin' on everybody, i mean he was callin' for a beatdown. my mom helped me strategize and told me to tell sucka his shoes was untied. bama fell for it (even though he was wearing cowboy boots). on chincoteague island a year later i threw down some mandarin style moves on some perps who wouldn't let me help build their sand castles. like the great master she was, my mom watched and nodded.

my days are now more peaceful, but i'm always ready for those that forget to pick up their canine's poop in the park near my house. that's just inconsiderate, dog.

madrid, spain, 1985

mr. mark would also like to warn those who don't put on their turn signal.

treat 'em right

got beef? haven't had too much in my life, but there were some close calls. first real nasty one was in sixth grade. shakina was new to the school and mouthy as a lopez. got in my face and started making fun of my shoes (which she had a right to, since they were really red and had velcro). she walked away, but not far enough to miss "bitch" slip out of my mouth. oops. kinda the wrong thing to do. ms. mouthy had some fists and a few older brothers who were two steps shy of juvie. teachers got us into our class before heads started ringing and i didn't get too far before i heard "my brothers and i are gonna fuck you up after school." oops, again. made it to my bus without being seen and kept a low profile for awhile. when i finally ran into shakina at school, she offered me some gum and asked if was gonna hang out with everybody at the party that weekend. oops? no, she meant it. i don't know what to take from this, happiness or sadness? happy that she saw the real me and showed me respect for standing up for myself or the fact that that "bitch" was just a long line of labels which she would accept for the rest of her life. wonder where she is now. i'd let her know i just didn't know how to tell her she was pretty.

i'd call her "lady" if i ever saw her again.

cabin john middle school, 1991

mr. mark thinks velcro and sunny d could stop world wars.

microphone friend

it's so easy to convince kids to do anything. it's called bargaining, yo.

copacabana, bolivia, 2006

mr. mark trades garbage pail kids to get his car washed.

parents, just don't. understand?

what did your parents try to get you into as a kid? they come up with all kinds of shit that they think you'd be into, ya feel me? my mom felt that sports was the missing link in my life. poor mom, stuck with this fey son who had to be coerced into enjoying athletics (or maybe it was 'cause i called it "field goal ballet"). i think ma wanted to make sure i didn't live ma vie en rose. as a result, she'd meet with athletes, get autographs, but nothing seemed to take. but look ma...over 20 years later, i still have this card from the illustrious art monk from our local 'skins. as a result, i love soccer.

mother's have assiduous motives that you don't appreciate until later and shit.

washington, d.c., 1987

mr. mark's could maybe tackle your mom, if prompted.

afro connections at a hi 5

'member how people used to say "jewfro?" that was funny, never. keep the hair. drop the jokes. they're tired.

9021fro isn't bad though. i mean, thfrough.

esquire, 1994

mr. mark would also like to ban snoop from being snoop for awhile. you're tired, son.

award tour

big up's...props...we all need recognition and shit. my biggest moment came one year ago where one of those claw grabbing machines at a denny's in harve de grace presented a challenge. you know the kind...you put in a quarter and move the claw to grab a stuffed animal or something made in china. the dark knight was in there and i had to prove it to myself. three quarters, some skillful maneuvering, and it was mine. i even saw the staff give a quiet nod. besides that and this award (rightfully earned), you'd say my life is sad. but, i ain't reachin' for pieces of paper, gold statues, or stichery from china to validate me. there's somethin' called a hug and a smile which i get pretty often. it makes my soul shine and shit. and no award can outgloss that, son.

hugs are life's way of validating you. they also get you closer to boobies.

potomac, md, 1988

mr. mark does sleep with the dark knight next to him and requires the glow of a night light.

burn, hollywood, burn

don't know if i can say it much better than this. just stopped trusting morgan freeman being more than a conduit for white guilt in any movie i see him in. let a brother figure out some brother shit in a movie, yo.

montreal mirror, 2000

now if you need a latin to assuage your guilt, mr. mark is available for that. "i make jou feel so goood in jour heart, señor," he says while dusting off his sombrero.

the rep grows bigga

what would the romans have done if they had digital cameras? what about genghis khan? leif ericson? what kind of documentation would we have had? age automatically adds something. the vintage pix are all about "crew stylin'." ain't even tryin', just doin'. even when we try to get a rep with the photographic image it can't mess with the posse effect of stone faces and sepia from years back. but who knows, maybe the romans would've inundated us with thousands of pix of them celebrating with their girlfriends over martinis and "oh god...yeah...that one where marci fell down...and oh yeah, the one where we're all in the picture clinking our glasses...and the ones where we're dancing because 'livin' on a prayer' came on"...without even the common decency to edit them before putting them on facebook. fucking romans, yo.

while this pic may not be in my lifetime, fella in the middle was. spawned me in '79 and thank god there ain't no "stylin'" pix of that, son.

puerto rico, 1950

for once, mr. mark would like to be invited to have martinis.

hip hop from mom's basement

life is 3% luck, 45% showing up, and 52% managerial. movement is caused when you get up and show your face. the rest falls in when you do the paper work. wonder why you still see shitty movies, watch bad television, and hear wack music? how many bosses have you had that you'd consider "bright?" 90% of people can't function with the 97% of effort that's needed. especially artists, yo. what a sensitive bunch. suckas can work a canvas, but most turn jello when they have to represent themselves, pay a bill, or leave for sunlight. that's why we're stuck with business mindedness in life, yo. and a lot of the good stuff will stay underground until artists can find a way to leave their basement and say "i am....oh, god i'm not ready for this." maybe just the "i am" part. don't worry, that was just the postman. it's gonna be alright, dog.
after saying all of this, there are times when the art should stay in the basement. rather, it should die there.

potomac, md, 1994

daisy fuentes? mr. mark is deeply ashamed. deeply.

you can't stop the prophet

the guy could be blue. nobody knows fo sho. he could also be double headed with no body. i ain't puttin' anything past him. maybe he just floats. jc seems like a pretty interestin' joe.

maybe they ran out of blonde paint.

chile, 2006

mr. mark's favorite color is blue. how coincidental and shit.