There’s A Term For Anyone Who Gets My Work/Resemblance/Words/Whatever Tattooed

[ & that 'phrase that pays' is ]
“V.I.P., For Life“

pictured above :
about as obvious a reference can get
to Cottonmouth Kisses

[ If you don't own a copy by now?
I don't even know what's wrong with you... ]

Massive Thanks
to
ßite Me ßlair ♥ !

Honored :: & :: Appreciated

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One Post, Two Editorials, Three Dark Beauties…& You

Excerpts from “The Emperor’s Black Rose” by Gilles Et Dada

ENEMIES TURN TO LOVERS

LOVE ONES BECOME EXCUSES

DISTANCES SEEM LIKE REASONS

AND SNAKES CHANGE THEIR MASK FOR THE HUNTING SEASON

INTERPRETATIONS ARE MY NEW NIGHTMARE

STILL YOUR IMAGINATION MAKES ME MORE THAN JUST A MAN

I WON’T STOP, AND I WILL SAY IT ONCE AGAIN

FOR AS LONG AS YOU GIVE ME YOUR DREAMS

I WILL CONTINUE FILLING THE BLANKS

— Federico Cabrera

[ Initial Discovery via Fucking Young! ]

Photography & Post: Federico Cabrera

Styling: Jasmin Mishima

Hair & Make-Up: Marii Sadrak

Models: Anette M. & Eetu at Paparazzi

Assistance: Emma Hedenborg & Udi

& Next :

“Human Terror,” Featuring Mateusz—a.k.a. Matthew Budziak

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D*Face: When Art & Vandalism Meet In A Cement Kiss

I’ve always been fond of artists who bomb urban landscapes, or ‘drop’ their works—even & especially when
the artists continue these guerilla interactions with the public after achieving success [ a subjective term, I
realize: though in this instance, let's skip the philosophical shit & stick with a more universal meaning...
namely, that of monetary success &/or a sense of notoriety ]. One example that immediately comes to
mind is Shepard Fairey. Late one night back in 2004, while I was in New York during a promo tour
for the Pills, Thrills, Chills, and Heartache: Adventures in the First Person anthology, I was out,
lurking the East Village, doing a bit of my own sticky-vinyl [Ahem!] ‘beautification.’ Speaking,
you know, theoretically. I tend to aim high when engaging in such endeavors—meant both
literally & metaphorically, Jay Ess Why Kay—so the sound of my palm slapping metal [ the
back-side of a sign ] followed by a louder sound: that of my landing, visibly startled a
man who, incidentally, looked over the shoulder from his own activity: sticker-
plastering a pole. It was Shepard, out in the same 3 A.M.—doing his part to
to spread the message, so to speak—& we shared a chuckle of recognition.

Not because I’m some big-shot artist, obviously, but rather because I was a contributing editor for
Swindle magazine [ R.I.P. ] at the time. & here’s this guy—well, my boss, essentially—
& he’s out…Oh, I’m rambling. [ Besides, YouGetIt anyway, right? You.Get.It ]

London-based artist D*Face lists Fairey among his influences, which—on the tip of phenomenology,
billboard re-appropriation, & the mutual interest in California’s skateboard subculture—could be
considered a ‘given.’  Nonetheless, neither the antics of, nor the artwork produced by, D*Face
is derivative…at least not directly [ or rather: singularly ].

& from that mention of art & antics, let us hone our focus on
this bitchen custom-made tombstone:

Not a work to be taken lightly, huh?  [ Cue the canned laughter here, kplzthnx ]
Well, the eve of “Going Nowhere Fast”—D*Face’s solo show at the Corey Helford Gallery—
he did a drop at  2728 N. La Cienega Boulevard in Century City.

All 400 pounds.

You’re following me, right? He left this amazing art piece for display, there on the street—knowing full well
that [ hello! Voice of Adult Reason on Line One] it would only be a matter of time until someone
came along, &…[ as far as I'm concerned ] ’got lucky‘?

As has been cited, he also did two drops the night prior.

★ ☆ ★ Hollywood Boulevard, Walk of Fame ★ ☆ ★

Here’s a shot as the infrastructure of GENIUS is assembled:

A tombstone

at the star of one ‘Charlie Sheen.’

†ꝉ†

Is that excellent, or is that friggin’ excellent?

The other grave-marker?

This beaut, at the Santa Monica pier:

I can’t help but wonder where they are,
who has them now…

Did any of the individuals who ‘liberated’ the tombstones realize what they were taking?

If not, in what ways do you think their attachment to the objects might change
upon learning they’re worth something more than cool points
among the neighborhood kids?

¤ O R ¤

If so—meaning, if whomever [ allegedly ] happened to find this piece of  ’found’ art is familiar with
the work of D*Face, do you think he/she was all “Jackpot!” about it?

Said another way:

This person wouldn’t technically be stealing, so shouldn’t we expect him or her to come forth?

In this city where it’s not just about Keeping-Up-With-The-Proverbial-Joneses
but rather eclipsing them, the ascent to superstardom [ in theory ] so incandescent…
Doesn’t  it seem incongruous for us not to have heard from a single one of these fortuitous beings?

AAAAAAAAAAH,   I T ‘S   A L L   G O T   M E   J U S T   S O

I’ve spent hours on-line today, click-&-scrolling my way through re-blog after re-blog after re-blog
regarding the [ so-called ] drop; ditto, same re: last night’s opening…opening… opening

& find it suspect that in all this media coverage,
there’s an irrefutable gap between what journalist Amy Duran [ via Juxtapoz digital, April 9th]
describes having taken place the eve of April 8th, in her statement

“Considering that both the Santa Monica Beach and the Charlie Sheen tombstone had been removed so
quickly I suggest making you[r] way out to see this piece in person before it’s gone.”

& coverage of the exhibition itself, which Jack In Shows [ via Daily Du Jour ] summates
“included a D*Face Oscar appearance, two of his new tombstone pieces,
three ‘dead’ celebrity impersonators…”

Mmm-hrmm.

I’ve been wrong before, yet still—I’m of the mind that more than one form of the ⟣faux⟢ went on
in this scenario.

Mr. Dean Stockton, a.k.a. D*Face?  Seems to me that what he schemed is the opposite
of a ‘drop’…as in: “catch” would be a more appropriate term.

My theory: he used two gravestones, not three, & just “happened” to conveniently bring a writer along
for the ride.  The result?  Insta-PR, no need to add water. Unless, of course, a person
wanted to scrub clean the carbon stains from the night before…

[ photo submission I received after posting a frustrated tweet ]

Apparently, this image was captured while waiting in line for the opening: April 9, 2011

For the sake of clarity, please allow me to reiterate:
What I’ve presented is a theory, based entirely on speculation.
I was not present for any of the aforementioned events; hence,
none of my conjecture should be treated as fact.

However, within the scope of this hypothesis, I’ve gotta say: the name of D*Face’s show
resonates with new meaning, all things considered.

But why wouldn’t it?

The gravestones—testaments to bad behavior, on which ”Going Nowhere Fast” was inscribed—went
[ well...] nowhere in this staged guerilla act, the [ theoretical ] Drop-Without-A-Drop.

I mean, when media is the medium an artist chooses to
make A Statement About The Media & A Celebrity-Obsessed Society—
yet that artist is playing the role of a guerilla artist; is “pretending to be” rather than being…

It’s fucking ‘meta’: yeah, sure

Yet at the core of it all?  Chicanery, being ‘on the grift’?
Is a material-obsessed society really being challenged,
or the challenge really how much monetary gain can be filched from it?

All I have are questions.

But after reading over a hundred blogs with the same regurgitated, rarely & barely re-worded praise
I wonder: Am I the only one?

Whatever your take, D*Face is a fascinating subject about whom
the following additional reading I recommend:

[ Liz Ohnasien's interview with D*Face : L.A. Weekly ]

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Saturday Night: I’ll Be Bouncing Off The Satellites, Into Your Living Rooms

…or wherever it is the telly’s located.
[ Assuming, that is, that you own one! ]

&
jumping right in on that tip

[ the one by which I'm putting the ass in "assumption," yes ]

I dare say:
perhaps you recognize the following image, credited to a certain ‘Dirk Mai‘

[ Make-Up by Stacey Hummell ]

Yeah, you know, the one in which I’m all gussied-up in the grand regalia of Mildred von Hildegard’s
highly-coveted [ & oft-imitated ] line of conceptual bespoke brilliance
known as ‘Mother of London‘
[ ...? ]

Well,
the photo shoot was captured on film—
namely, the latest documentary by Christopher Hines
entitled

[ pictured: musician & model Quentin Elias ]

The Adonis Factor

&

After a wildly successful round
in the festival circuit,
it’s slotted to premiere at 8 PM

tonight

on MTV Network’s Logo

Synopsis:

“Chiseled bodies, flawless skin, sculpted jawlines. At a time when popular culture objectifies men
more than ever, it’s hard for them to avoid the pressure to possess such physical traits.
In his follow-up to The Butch Factor, director Christopher Hines exposes how far
some will go to attain the ‘Adonis Factor’—the kind of god-like
masculine beauty only seen in ancient Greek sculptures.

Hines takes viewers on an eye-opening journey through circuit parties, gay porn, and [ AHEM! ]
avant-garde fashion photo shoots, all of which promote their own kinds of idealized physiques.
By capturing a diverse range of voices—from those who dedicate their lives to the pursuit of
mainstream male beauty, to those who openly spurn it—The Adonis Factor ultimately
poses the question: does a man’s fixation on body image make him any happier?”

[  via Breaking Glass distribution  ]

Promotional Trailer:

[ Purchase : DVD ]

What
T H E Y  Say :

“More than ever, we live in a body conscious world, one where images of the male body are targeted at you
24/7.  No wonder then that many men, both gay and straight, find themselves unhappy with their body
image, opting to go to various lengths, some extreme, in the pursuit of their ideal of physical perfection.

Yet in an increasingly superficial society, one where your look may well shape, if not define you, is this
any surprise? Indeed as one participant in this thought-provoking documentary from writer, producer
and director Christopher Hines put it, “how I look has made my experience of being a gay man, the
better” and here cue more parties, more sex, more friends. Yet life is a lot more complicated, as
Hines sets out to show, along the way taking into account the thoughts of dermatologists,
doctors, psychologists and sexologists, to plastic surgeons kept busy with never-ending
requests for face lifts to pec implants.

Yet whilst surgically enhanced male beauty comes with a price tag attached to it, others things in life
arrive with alarming side effects. For here Hines charts not just the use of illegal growth hormones
and steroid abuse, but shocking slimming disorders that see twink styled teens resorting to aerobic
bulimia, literally working off everything they eat, as opposed to throwing the calories up, just to
stay thin beyond thin. All of which brings to mind the question of what has society become,
when the pressure to fit in results with many playing Russian Roulette with their health?”

[ In Conclusion ]

“Filled with more buffed-to-perfection muscular studs than what you can shake a waxing strip at…” [ L O V E ! ]
Hines “deliver[s] an eye-opening insight into the yin and yang of the gay world.”

[ David Hall, Gay Celluloid ]

&
Hey ma!
C H E C K    I T   O U T

One that mentions me,
e v e n :

“…Willowy model Clint Catalyst (with a marvelous makeup sequence that magically employs
loose chains and spray paint to conjure up a compelling cover visage) has moved miles away
from the persecution of small-town bigotry to moulding his admiration for the likes of
David Bowie into a personal statement that can be truly savoured.

By journey’s end, there is much hope that the queer amongst us will be accepted first by themselves, then
by their peers and finally by the world at large. As commentator-comedian Bruce Vilanch points out,
the ultimate male physique has been deified and envied since the original Olympics,
where competitors never had to struggle into skimpy spandex.”

[ James Wegg Review ]

[ Laughter over the thought of me in spandex; fond affections for the JWR—ditto, Canadians in general ]

& with
Full Disclosure
of the Short Notice
Given:

The Adonis Factor Airs Again
☆ ★ ☆ on Tuesday, April 5th at 11:30 A.M. [ Eastern Standard Time ] ☆ ★ ☆

[ schedule/listing ]

[ model/actor Anderson Davis , one of the film's interview subjects ]

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Because We Ain’t Simple And Love Ain’t Simple

TWO FREAKS IN A MEAN GOD’S SWEATY FIST

next morning over grits and aspirin
i remembered          jack oh shit honey
i can’t believe i fuckin did that
convulsive recall cut through whiskey obscurity
like the knife
my knife in my hand and jack grinnin it off       just us
friday night drunk again except i was pitbull furied
about a blank spot
i was holdin’ up steel to my lover
i was serious
what do you mean he asked me at the table
so i had to say before god and my coffee
i threatened to cut you last night didn’t i man
more sorries and panicky lovetalk started runnin out of me
until the grin came back        he said oh
that’s right    i’d forgotten all about it      he held that little smile
so long i wanted to scream motherfucker but  i started cryin
instead
he’d been as loaded as me        didn’t know what issue
brought together me and him and the knife and something mad
enough to shank eight years of us
somethin that backed down when he just said
you know sparrow if i felt like it
i could get really pissed of about this            the movie stopped
there for both of us
he was holdin me while i came apart again
me and him know each other clear
to the marrowbones and black mirrors by now
me and him go on anyway
eight years or twenty thousand
sparrow and jack is the road we’re goin down
without a simple love poem in sight
because we ain’t simple and
love ain’t simple
love has vicious motherfucker midnights curled up waitin in it
like when we were naked makin war words
about how if
ordinary common people are shit and i hate everyone
i must hate him too
right then i did but he was the one
who said i hate you first and got up to leave
i gave him my back like the finger      told him thanks
for tellin me one piece of truth tonight anyway
and i would have said more but he kicked me off the bed
before i could and if love was somethin simple
it would have busted like a wine bottle right there
it took us two days to cry about it together
but that man has hands that make me forget sometimes
how much i hate my body
that man can keep tellin’ me after the first thousand
times i told him that was a
goddamn lie
that man is as smart as me and too weird to ever be boring
with his head full of politics and priestcraft and philosophical
terrors
he can tell me about because i’ve got em too
me and him know each other all right
it’s our damnation to
it’s our damnation to know that hate walks beside love
like a shadow that has teeth
it’s our damnation each to live in the other’s
valley of flames
because our demons are crazy drunk
on love for each other
the same way we are
two freaks in a mean god’s sweaty fist
it’s our damnation practiced to perfection
we’ve done it for years
we’ve done it for lifetimes and some of ‘em ended like this
could have
but we keep comin’ back
we’ve got stuff that ruins us for anyone else
we need each other’s weirdness and rage like dope
it ain’t simple           it’s got thorns
it’s got roots that wrap around bones and boulders
all the way to the heart of the earth
sparrow and jack is the road we’re goin’ down
together in this poem
this car with the back seat full of monsters
that were always driving drunk
the hit of murder keeps us awake for the ride
sparrow and jack it the road that starts and ends
in the worlds we have where the other one is the only man alive
and those are worlds
big enough for all the pain we throw around
because we’re men and we can’t help it
all we can do is wrap our arms around love
even and especially when it smells like shit and looks like
the black sponge soaked in blood at
the center of trust’s shattered bones
and around each other after the storms die down

—Sparrow 13 Laughingwand

from Hell Soup: The Collected Writings [ Manic D ]

*Please note: some line breaks “auto-corrected” by WordPress.
[ Apologies, Apologies ]

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