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.

crossroads

where's the place you can say you've seen heaven? i mean, you can't be all that cynical...there's gotta be a spot that just made sense to you. the andean crests of south america? the utopian environment of tibet? the hometown bbq's of your youth?

i've had about two dozen moments in my life that i can say i've felt real peace. i keep searchin' and there's so much that gives me a real passivity here on earth. i go back to a moment i witnessed a year ago. my stepfather was bein' teased by my family. he was surrounded by his wife, stepchildren, and grandkids. playin' with the grandkids a bit, they went runnin' around and started screamin'. my mom shot a sarcastic note to everyone, "probably can't wait to get some peace when you get up to heaven." we laughed and the moment passed. my stepfather smiled and quietly nodded. he spoke to himself while lookin' at his grandkids and i believe i was the only one that heard these words expressed so calmly, "no need. i'm already there."

enough to make a brother weep, right? i started thinkin' about my moments and sometimes find myself watchin' a three's company rerun, don knotts doin' his thing. and there i go. "no need. i'm already there."

mendoza, argentina, 2006

mr. mark didn't cry just there. it's mad dusty in here, yo. that's all.

cession at da doghillee

if all dogs go to heaven, do we have to pick it up there too?

even in the former soviet bloc you can't get away from it, son.

prague, czech republic, 2009

mr. mark is thinkin' that everyone's poop gets picked up in heaven. even pavarotti's.

peaceful journey

i finally figured out that kids are a way of acceptin' death. i mean, it's the one way to ensure your legacy and feel like you left somethin' behind. and there's an ethereal quality in knowin' that.

i would, however, have my kids sign contracts to ensure that they don't fuck up my legacy. like, no branch davidian style theatrics, no franchises developed that sell burgers, yogurt, or tacos that have zany spanglish names, and absolutely no pictures of them in tevas or birkenstocks. unless i have jesus as a child. and as a latin, that may be a possibility.

brooklyn, ny, 2003

mr. mark would like to talk to bruni about what disco smelled like.

put your head out

amazing the fazes we go through in our teens- underground music...lying...vandalism...suicide attempts...

the source, 1992

mr. mark thinks parking garages are an adult way of rekindling that last option.

come an' get your soul fooood

they say that your life flashes before your eyes before you die. i wonder if you revisit what led up to your death. if you're gunned down on the block, do you see all the things that led to your life as a crack dealer? if you die of respiratory problems, do you analyze the fumes in the factory that you worked in for 43 years? if you have a heart attack at the age of 33, and 473 pounds, do you revisit those 3 three gallons of coke, the 10 strips of bacon, and the various pounds of fried potatoes, dough, and red meat that you ate daily? if food is comfort, do you neglect to blame it for your death?

i guess if you're eating a hamburger on krispy kreme buns for breakfast your brain probably isn't working anyway.

sioux falls, sd, 2006

mr. mark wonders if cannibals view food as comfort.

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.

down with the king

i'm still not over this. we shared the same birthday too. he seemed like a sweet guy and shit.

death is a lumbering beast, yo.  he looks like a toupée.

village voice, 2002

mr. mark is available as a backup, dmc & run. just puttin' that out there.

basic instructions before leaving earth

what kind of legacy do you want to leave? perhaps the meaning of life revolves around that pursuit. we all want to remembered for somethin'. here's your moment, jeff.

washington post, 2007

mr. mark still cries when he watches the last scene of ikiru.

make 'em say hug

'cause every thug needs a no limit shoulder to cry on.

the source, 1999

crosstown beef is the basis of hip hop. let's move towards local greens in the millennium, y'all.

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.

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.