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.

'96 année érotique

foreign exchange students. not sure if i need to apologize for this, but they were the first i went after. actually, all the otha grrrls was first, until i realized that it's hard to turn someone down when you don't speak the language. when my muscle flexing didn't translate, i went to the cine. we was mad close to a french invasion in the 90's. and for real, would that have been a bad thing?
julie delpy was girl next door, when the girl next door was that foreign exchange student who still knew more about what to do in town, and was a constant source of imported gauloises.
emmauelle béart. angelina jolie? get the fuck outta here. yo, béart was doing it before you, grrrl. better lips and better pathos. jolie's the type of woman who sleeps with eye wraparounds, forcibly on her back, while she shoos brad away for disturbing the type of sleep prescribed by her inside source at W magazine for removing "unwanted streesful lines caused by bad spiritosis." béart squirms and screams in her sleep, waking up to have a cigarette, saying "fuck, that was goood."
finally, still jonesin' to see ms. deneuve get the props that she deserves stateside, especially after catching her do the lesbian bit in les voleurs in '96. keep agin' mama. still goin' strong givin' pride to older women, if only they'd give her the juice she deserves...

esquire, '96

mr. mark hopes charlotte gainsbourg responds to his fan mail at some point.

ladies love cool james

what lady out there doesn't like a cat who can dance? it's a tough world out there when that ain't impressive no more. my mom was always awed.

1994, my mom and i had our issues. she was a widow and taking care of a confused, hormonal, pissed off, fatherless 15 year old. so, what happens when the grief prevents you from talking, and your son isn't about to admit to stealing your victoria's secret catalogues? you don't talk. you take your son to see james brown. in the future, there will be this communicative device called a blog, which your son will use to write "thanks, mom."

mothers are natures way of birthing you. they also put bandaids on shit when you fall.

upper marlboro, maryland, 1994

mr. mark still has no idea why the catalogues disappeared, but misses the second skin satin collection.

damn it feels good to be a malfaiteur

love is patience. love is honor. and no other honor holds truer than accompanyin' your boyfriend on valentine's day to see the ill nana of french gangsta flicks. of course, if she hadn't gone then i would've just written "bitch."

ladies, you do a lot for us sometimes.

nyc, 2003

mr. mark would still like to be alain delon when he grows up. or an unfiltered cigarette.

make the music wit' yo' mouth

these boy bands come and go.  but i'm waiting for the real research to go into these things.  yo, with the right minds we can investigate social norms and shit.  in 50 years maybe we'll realize that women have a hard time in adult relationships because they fantasized so much about gay men in their youth.  

entertainment weekly, 1999

mr. mark never got a callback.  

don daddy

missing fathers do their bit when they come around.  maybe a guilty conscience.  when my dad did it, he did it big.  at 13, he asked where in the world i'd like to- 

"jamaica, pop."

kept his word and we went.  i got away with that shit, yo.  pop bringing me to jamaica.  besides getting island diarrhea, buying a machete, 2am phone calls from island janes, and a young friend who liked to sing ritchie valens songs, i was all about picking up tracks to bring stateside.  not like i was a producer, i just liked my walkman more than clean underwear. walking into a store, "mark, what music would you-"

"all of this," as i pointed to a rack of tapes.

spoiled again with 6 tapes of unreleased stateside hype.  i was popular in my head for a long time after that.  every parent does their thing in tryin' to show love to their kid.  my dad had his moments.  i don't have any photos from this caribbean excursion, but i still have ninjaman.

i think he had a feeling about some other stuff, too.  dad died 9 months later.

jamaica, 1992

mr. mark still thinks he's popular.  ninjaman tells him so.  

come clean

i like that seinfeld cat.  my girl and i were gonna go see him.  took a read of this promotional piece in the local paper.  i got a little suspect when i spotted the bottom left photo.  i had a feeling they were gonna pull a kamp krusty on us.  

montreal, quebec, 2001

as a result, mr. mark is no longer with that girl.  she was a faker too.