"gotta learn to live with-"

did they know what they were doing? it's amazin' how infallible they seem to us when we're young. but as you live and deal with regrets and an amazin' ability to still fuck things up at a post-adolescent age, you realize that those two were just mortals. they made mistakes too. they had poor wardrobe choices. they tripped down stairs. they ran over you with a bike at the age of five and decided to get drunk on christmas eve and forget to put presents downstairs. and for all of you, there remains that one consistent bond- the scapegoat that is a sibling. just as your angelic habits would never allow you to do something, it was always your poor sibling who would pee in the closet 'cause they were too lazy to walk to the bathroom at night. and just as your parents were too immortal to ever wrong, it was your poor sibling who gave you salmonella with undercooked chicken for christmas.

as for the "only child's" and their parents, i hope you all had that imaginary friend. i really do.

nyc, 1975

mr. mark still blames siblings for not becoming a doctor.

reflections

it reverses as we get older, doesn't it? i don't know how many younga pictures of me i grabbed and threw in a drawer whenever i had a tenderoni over during my teen years. actually not too many since i didn't have many honeys come over during my teen years...but i practiced.

regard to the less, mom spent much of my childhood with a camera locked on me. must not have been too different from your youth. i don't know why the look of a child in a bathtub doesn't disturb parents...they just keep snappin' away. collections and collections of me. not that i ain't flattered, but when the sausage starts out as a slice of salami, you don't need a visual recollection of the journey.

nowadays, the parents are the kids. you take care of 'em and there you are with the camera clickin' away.

mom cookin' thanksgiving feast. -snap-
mom playin' with grandkids. -snap-
mom asleep in waiting room while elderly hubby is operated on. -snap-

wait. gettin' old's kinda sad and scary. maybe she don't want that recollected to her.

washington hospital center, 2008

mr. mark will never get old 'cause goonies don't die.

regulators

there's an age that you reach where your some of your artistic tastes match your parents. and that ain't too bad. gotta admit that there are some mature pieces that you couldn't fully appreciate when you were fillin' in your peach fuzz with a sharpie. i gotta tip my hat for keepin' me informed about mr. blades...

however, there are artistic choices that you make as an adult that even your parents prove their weight in cool. a david cassidy collection? even my parents would've chased me outta hill valley.

san juan, puerto rico, 2009

mr. mark and steely dan. don't hurt him.

faces

we hear about opposites attracting. we hear about similarities attracting. what happens when partners physically look alike? i saw this one couple recently that looked like brother and sister. i would've figured they were until i saw their hands in eachothers back pockets grabbing a little muffin squeeze. different strokes, but if you're looking for intimacy that is a mirror reflection, isn't it cheaper buy yourself a shish taouk, say some vain words, and grab your knob at home? oh, mr. mark, who are you to comment on love? but, it just bothers me, yo. like in this creepy, angelina jolie way. did we all forget about that, by the way? she looked like she was nailin' her brother for awhile and then had her boobies all up in billy bob's mittens. we're forgettin' some weird things about her, peoples...

don't call me out on jealousy either. i'd freely admit if i had the likes for ms. aj. now, ms. katheryn winslet. that's one brit i'd throw a shot in even if it was in the family.

damn, yo. i've said too much again.

la paz, bolivia, 2006

mr. mark would never like to be invited to the house of yes.

Episode 5- Movies & Boobies

Hip Hop From Mom's Basement- Movies & Boobies from Mr. Mark on Vimeo.

you can't spell mammaries without mama.

Episode 4- Paternity Testin'

Hip Hop From Mom's Basement- Paternity Testin' from Mr. Mark on Vimeo.

Mr. Mark do it better than Povich.

untitled

this one's for you, dad.

r.d. pagán, jr. 1/7/28-5/2/93

madrid, spain, 1985

mr. mark had to come from somewhere.

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.

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.

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.

you talk too much

what's the biggest cancer existing in our world today?  imma tell ya...it's called foot in mouth disease and it ruins relationships, job, and general communication levels the world over.  i'm a nervous wreck around the general public. and i've offended most when all i'm aimin' for is love, dog.    

i was working at a transitional homeless shelter years back.  i had to grab a family for an ap photo shoot about homeless families in the district.  ms. richards was in her late 40's with four wonderful daughters living wit' her in the building.  they were consecutive in age, 13-16, brand new and i was tryin' to 'member everyone's faces and names.  i was running through the building lookin' for the girls.  found one.  found two. couldn't locate the otha two, or maybe i did? i couldn't tell 'cause there were new kids all around mingling with one anotha.  i ran back to ms. richards and asked her if she'd seen 'em.  

"nah."

"dang, y'all look alike to me."

now, what meant to come out of my mouth was "your daughter's look exactly like their mother and since they're so close in age, they resemble quadruplets."

it wasn't takin'.  arms were crossed and she shot me that angled look joining her expression of "don't lie to me, boy."

it got worse.

"i mean, your young daughters are so beautiful, but pure.  i mean they've got personalities, not like they're pure.  they're virginal, i'm sure, but they've got attitude.  you know, nice with attitude.  a personality."

i now have to wear a sign, saying "i'm sorry black america."

but when you dig your grave, there's always someone who's dug one deeper.  this sign will always cure those wounds.  

uyuni, bolivia, 2006

mr. mark you thinks is beautiful too in a way that is not too demanding on your sexual preferences or qualifications of gender specifications.  

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.  

it's just begun

here's where it all started going wrong...

darnestown, md, 1990

mr. mark still looks in the mirror expecting to see a dark man.