On The Road

On the Road. You can walk, drive or even lay on the road. Simply make certain it isn't alive to... Well I'll let you decide which road you want to go down and whether it's alive.  I'm going to be on the road in the next day or so to see something interesting, something fascinating and go somewhere I've never been before. All three. I'm excited. And I'm feeling dead tired but I'm hoping the adrenaline will kick in before I have to head out. Enjoy the story. I'll share another dream home soon. Kisses, m. 

Yellow Line - Tyler Shields c/o tylershields.com

Yellow. Yellow. Yellow. The black split in two by the divided bright line. Closer and closer. Frantically its pushing forward. Speeding engine roaring across the lines. Passing cars. Dodging bullets. Heartbeat pounds within a heavy chest. Radio sounds cut out as the approach draws nearer. Wires pass out of range in the night and there’s no more stops along this stretch. Last chance to turn back and every time its full throttle. 

The Long Stretch

(October 20, 2010)

As long as I can remember there have been men that crossed my way.

It’s been sometime since someone came along. Traveled through the dark night, bright day. Down this way. Down this stretch. The long stretch. Some travel beneath the stars in the darkness that blankets my roughened exterior with a coolness that never comes in the daylight warmth. The long stretch doesn’t beckon to them like it used to. Yet the call remains.

Any that cross close enough will hear it. The sound of my song. The song that leaves them wanting to find it. The one thing that can’t put a finger on, but once they’ve heard it can’t live without. And they’ll follow it. Follow it off into the end until it’s found. And they’re never lost for long once they’ve found it. Along this never-ending path that welcomes them.

Some that pass through know where they’re going but will never get there. Others don’t have a clue what they wanted when they stumbled down this stretch into nothing. That’s when it calls the strongest. The urge to take a turn off the map in the foreign direction you don’t know. It calls intensely. And that’s when they are mine. Some might think they’re run a little off course from the main road. They keep telling themselves that the road only looks like it keeps changing. Well if anyone ever crosses feeling while traveling down an unfamiliar stretch they might want to remember this one thing: You aren’t lost. The road isn’t where you think it is anymore. Once you’ve stepped one foot into these boundaries you no longer have a direction.

All directions ultimately converge upon one. And I am boundless. Long, dark and unending. The mass of my dark body is filled with faded pieces of discoloration from the unyielding sun. Parts of me are broken, yet remain strong and useful. Chunks lifted, pulled through the blackened gravel and unpaved holes compose my surface. Unreasoned patterns, breaks that show distinct mistreatment and neglect. But make no mistake those small pieces are merely a sum of my parts. The whole is intact.

Been here a long time. Longer than before they paved over me. Long before they had feet. Long before even they were here. The speeding demons. Four wheels charging across the plains harnessed by a fifth that governs the direction of the others. Behind the wheel and they think they’re still in control.

Man’s biggest problem is how he perceives the world around him. He likes to see things the way he thinks they are. How he thinks he controls them. Not how they really are. Sometimes I wonder if I were to bleed that I might feel the same way.

Listening to the sound of their flesh grating against my hardened surface as the gravel slices into soft tissues and tears towards the bones I wonder what it would feel like to bleed. Would it grant the key to understanding the passage of life and time like they do? Feeling the burning of skin as it pulls fresh from the interior layers beneath and the flow of life escapes. What understanding would the sensation of pain bring me? Bleeding out through remaining fleshy portions as a result of mortality. If this threshold of feeling is what lends their minds to believe in boundaries, I truly wonder if understanding will be enough. And if understanding what it means to be of the flesh would tame the insatiable urge to annihilate anything that crosses my stretch.

Alive through the moments of death that pass within my unending reach. Moments that will happen again and again. The shadows of the lost that edge closer and closer toward their destiny. All the while cracks that splinter across my wounded surface crave another taste. Waiting. For another taste of blood. Waiting. To be fulfilled by it. Calling out to the blood that comes. Waiting. For it to spill. Down. Down. Down. Deep into the fractures that lie of weakness in my hardened armor. Dripping. Crawling. Deep beneath the surface and drying. And the rain comes to wipe clean all traces of what’s come and gone across my boundless empire.

Blood Alley. Freeway of Flesh. Highway to Hell. Requiem Road.

In some parts of my boundless empire there’s been a name or two given to mark a few of the outstretching veins. They’ve seen their fair share of death. Life that travels on them and then spills into night without cause. It can be called many things but it don’t change what’ll happen if a desperate soul makes their way down one of these paths. And there’s nothing like a fresh soul waiting for life to show its value. Desperate for a change. Not caring where the call comes from next. With a small glimmer of hope that didn’t matter enough to expect something from.

Yellow. Yellow. Yellow. Lines divide up the center of two lane black. Chk. Chk. Check the lights in the darkness that reflects black. Lights on. Lights off. Flashing. Only black bounces back beyond that yellow line. The feelings of fear and apprehension come through loudly like a record player etching out a tune against a revving engine barreling down the stretch through the night. Behind the wheel sits desperation as the wheels keep spinning faster and faster like there’s no tomorrow and rightly so there isn’t. Brakes squeal with the sounds of panic. Even though there’s nothing coming for miles in both directions the sonic boom of impact will clap across the horizon with the intensity and magnitude of thunder. The shadow of darkness will once again coat the stretch in the silence of night. Chk. Chk. By the bright light of dawn remain the last sounds of the engine brought down to mere whisper. Somewhere beneath a twisted metal wreck sitting in front of the open horizon lies the last breath of bleeding desperation that tomorrow couldn’t wait for.

Where oh Where?

Where oh Where?

San Francisco Edition.

who's driving? Golden Gate. SF. 2007

Some places come and go and some never change. Have you ever been on the Golden Gate bridge?

Another week has come and gone.  And as this memorial day weekend winds down I’m reminded that weekends are the highpoint for most people. Some are at amazing BBQs while others are camping, some I’ve heard are even spending it by the pool. Live it up. You know the song… Everybody’s working for the weekend. You earned it. Enjoy.

Friday night’s all right for dancing while Saturday is for fighting? Not at all. It was Saturday on a night like this last weekend and that’s exactly what I was doing… DANCING.

Aphrodite.

Where oh where can you find yourself surrounded by a sea of amazingly hot men, watch a stage filled with scantily clad bodies move to pulsating rhythms in aerial formations, and listen to a vocal performance by one of the world’s most renowned fabulous Ms. M’s? At the stage show Aphrodite by none other than one of 

the originals, the undeniably amazing, Ms. Kylie Minogue.

Kylie came to San Francisco ready to set the town on fire and that she did. The stage presentation was pulled together by a theme of epic Greek proportions. A mock coliseum was filled with dancers, musicians, acrobats and costumes galore. 
The incomparable Ms. Minogue danced and sang her way 
into the hearts of every audience member. 

Between the many songs and light changes Kylie never missed a mark to provide a witty banter with her loving audience, going so far as to take a couple of song requests as well as thank her dancers and musicians for their extra efforts. Never a dull moment, the costume changes were a plenty, the hair and make-up was to die for and the eye candy on stage never went unnoticed. Overall the musical highlights for the evening had to be a cover of Eurythmics “Angel” that included a handful of dreamy man candy sent from heaven above, wings and all, a rocking version of “Can’t get you outta my head” and a devilishly seductive version of “Slow” among the many songs in the Kylie repertoire. And San Francisco remember this… YOUR DISCO NEEDS YOU!

Now you hear San Francisco, you think Ghiradelli Square, Golden Gate Bridge, Fisherman’s Warf and maybe bread bowl? What do I think? There’s more to be seen than the lights of Alcatraz. And seeing is exactly what I did last Sunday night.

Battlestar Galactica CockTailGate.

All this has happened before.

All this will happen again.

Where oh where do you find a barrage of Cylons pole dancing alongside a girl named Starbuck that has nothing to do with coffee while a robot tells you where to stick it cause she needs a little love? Well honey’s if you’ve been missing Battlestar Galactica since it went off the air, and the newly cancelled Caprica has you blue then you do what I did and head on down to Rebel in San Francisco and find yourself attending Battlstar Galactica CockTailGate. What is that Ms. M? Do pray tell us? Alright honeys, but consider yourselves warned this may be a whole lotta something to shake your something at. And I ain’t talking about tailfeathers. This party is 100%  incognito ala fabulous drag. And the Queens will make your silly little MAC make-up tricks look like high school Revlon. Rarely do I step out for the occasional Drag Show but since it was robots, sci-fi, hair and make-up oh my! Of course I had to attend.

CockTailGate is a recurring event that rotates from bar to club to bar to club throughout SF. The event is hosted the fabulous Suppositori Spelling and she holds her own with a hell of a lot of tongue and cheek. Perhaps more beautiful than the real thing. And a dream to talk to. Lovely show honey! Now the art of Drag. Typically the drag performer is a male to female transformation. However this particular occasion the crowd and the performers were mixed. A female to female cover of the infamous Starbuck. Loved her! Let me see, the night began with a mixer of true blue fans of BSG dressed with the replicated civies worn by the crew of Galatica. If you don’t know black and grey tanks alongside holsters and dog tags. The night was brief with around a half-dozen performances. The highlights involved  Caprica 6 undressing a very eager Mr. Baltar, and my favorite a scene played out with Starbuck, Apollo, and Caprica 6 that was acted out and lip serviced well. Traditionally I recommend you step out of the box and enjoy new things, especially cause you never know! But if CockTailGate sounds like it might ruffle your  feathers, make a quick rental of Priscilla, tune into Drag Race and see what goes into a show. It won’t hurt one bit and no one has to know. Kisses.

Back to another week. This week. On a personal note, I’m starting this week behind on many things. Life presented a snag in the fabric. A detail unseen and fortunately it wasn’t worse for the wear this round. There will come a moment soon when I will have to step back for a week. Right now I’m “doing” which is what I do best in any water landing.

San Francisco you are always a pleasure. If you’ve never spent a day in my city… give it a whirl. Be sure not to forget your heart when you visit. Unless you plan on returning. Where oh where will I be next?

Kisses. m.

Where oh Where?

Where oh where?

Where oh where could I find myself this week?

Sunday mornings are typically for brunches and discussion. After the morning chitter-chatter of Saturday Night’s events you’ll find yourself running into a person or two from the previous engagement between heading to meet up with the remaining usual characters for some mandatory window shopping before you finally end up visiting the family. However, this Sunday I found myself trekking down the state toward the lovely Los Angeles skyline to see… what else? Art.

Two galleries in a matter of hours…

Art in the Streets.

Graffiti in the Streets Gallery. LA. 2011.

Where can you find Keith Haring, Retna, Lee Quinones, Spike Jonze, Banksy, Shepard Fairey, in one place? At the MOCA. Primarily at The Geffen Contemporary at MOCA. Los Angeles’s version of the Modern Art museum is currently housing an exhibition that pays tribute for the rise of graffiti as an art form. This exhibition began its run April 17th and will continue until August 8th. I was informed that this is the first major historical exhibit encompassing street art and graffiti to be held in an American Museum. The focus here is on the origins of the style and how it has changed, evolved and merged with other cultures across the world over the course of time.

The exhibit is astounding and quite breathtaking to any admirer of the art in the street. Not only does the art demonstrate its significance in trends it shows how it has united itself in music, film, television, dance and culture. The overall exhibit remains a bit traditional in the sense of a museum. There are two floors that allow you to take in both the sheer scope of work on a ground level and an above deck level. Beneath the roof there are mock-ups from artists across the globe that chronicles the early beginnings of street art to the where it is now. Amid the visual encompassment of the street art you find yourself among film screenings, lectures, artist discussions related to the main event.

Upon entrance you find yourself looking directly at two vehicles covered from hood to trunk in painted paraphernalia. They lay straight in the middle of the exhibit. Along corridors you have paintings, sketches, and murals telling the story of their world. There is more to the look by the art of the street and there is so much more to be told from it. The significant story that can be seen by these varying styles is UNITY. Rarely do we see a united cause across any culture except in art.

Among the maze of rooms and hallways you find yourself immersed in sound as well as visual cues. Along a hallway a bank of mirrors are lined up with sprayed on messages. Upstairs photographic essays tell the tales of the earlier days of streets art. As art goers make their way through the maze of street arts best and brightest they are welcomed to a visual buffet. Some portions are complete homage to the street scene including alley ways, shop windows with complete interiors and replicas of vandals in action standing upon cars and ducking beneath trees. You can turn a corner to find yourself in a dark alley tagged complete with false front buildings, sleeping homeless man and flickering lights. Several artists came together to create scenes that are spread throughout the gallery.

Banksy. LA. 2011.

One might ask of the draw or appeal to visit such an exhibition. For me it was simple, I’ve been a strong admirer of street art and graffiti for nearly a decade. Upon hearing that Banksy was a part of this exhibition it became clear that I must attend. Personally I’ve never come face to face with his work and had always wanted to. After missing a gallery in the UK two years ago I’d always pressed that I might someday make the endeavor to see his work in some capacity. The MOCA showing gave me the opportunity to do so.

For others it almost seems educational if not mandatory that they visit a museum. Our perception of art is based in the knowledge that we have already created everything by traditional means and that is that. This idea seems restrictive. To embrace the beginnings of something new and undisciplined to our mind is to encourage our creative capacity to grow. It might seem biased to say that people neglect to realize how influenced our culture is by something such as graffiti. But they do. It is through our understanding of new art forms that will allow us to grow culturally as a combined people.

If it’s not your cup of tea to look at the influence of street art on our culture, I encourage you to at least step into a museum to understand the origins of art. Art affects politics, music, dance, television, film and life in more ways than seem relevant to mention. Art is a reflection of the times we live in.

Life is Not a Fairytale.

Where can you enjoy a glass of Unicorn tears, play ping pong ala Man Who Fell to Earth with a spaceman, and get a glitter kiss blown to you from a girl trapped across the void of the photographic frame? At the gallery of celebrity photographer Tyler Shields.

Quite frankly, life isn’t a fairytale. And this is the last place you should expect to find one. But don't be surprised if you find so much more than that. 

Life is Not a Fairytale. Tyler Shields. LA. 2011.

The man behind the camera has garnered a reputation for the eccentric with his avant-garde work that borrows influence substantially from pop culture. Much like Willy Wonka opening the gates to his factory, Shields opened the doors on his work and made it public for one day, May 8th minus the need for golden tickets. And much to my own admission I was intrigued and equally excited when the announcement for a public gallery came up as I’ve been an admirer of Shields work for a few years now.

Like many photographers and artists, [among my favorites Avedon, Warhol, LaChapelle] the need to see the work up close is very necessary. You can visit the artist’s website at anytime, www.tylershields.com but to be honest that never comes close to what it’s like to look at the photography in person. However on this particular instance it happened to be more than simply photography on display. Videos, artwork, a bit of performance art, and a blood creation comprised the gallery.

Entrance is greeted by a spaceman dancing through street along with his own space theme. Once inside you’re looking to the left at a cow in a stall mooing with words EAT ME painted on. Standing next door in another stall is a pile of bright yellow barrels painted with toxic waste symbols. Look head on and lift your eyes to find yourself staring at a giant teddy bear hanging and holding a whip while three lovely masked nudes look down from the wall. The sheer scope and size of the photograph murals are jaw dropping in person. Among the smaller pieces there are a dozen or more large mural sized pieces that fully grab your attention. And of course free with entry limited edition poster prints are handed out like a door prize that you might receive at the Fillmore West after a concert. An idea that is indeed very rockstar as opposed to photographer which speaks for itself.

The Blood Painting. Tyler Shields. LA. 2011.

Move a little more into the scene and you’re greeted by the Pièce de résistance: The Blood Painting. I’ve mentally realized that its a tribute to the artist' friends while watching the “making of” video. It’s truly a love letter to those who donated as it could not be created without their gift of blood. The donators look a bit squeamish as they are drained for art in the video but the piece is given life through their small sacrifice. Although I’m uncertain of the artist’s plans for the piece, it would be nice to see its proceeds go towards a charitable cause.

Should you find yourself thirsty while visiting the factory there are water dispensers complete with bottles of refreshments. One contains Unicorn tears and the other Vampire tears. Have a drink? Pick your poison. Although I doubt either is poison.

As you find yourself winding around the mayhem of imagery there is a ping pong table along with spaceman playing, a room of videos streaming and music that seems as though it never stops. The artist’s taste in music is demonstrated in his video portraits, which on display they run silently with the eeriness of an old film against a metallic wall. The videos are predominantly unreleased material weaved with the usual suspects. Anyone thinking they’ve seen it all. Think again. When you almost want it to end the reel keeps going. I spent in excess of 25 minutes waiting for it to restart. It did not.

Shields photography is a hit and miss cohesive collection that is uniformly spread in large across two rooms at the gallery. There are mostly individual pieces on display. The “never before seen” imagery rests alongside the general standards that Shields belts out on his website regularly. However there are a few collections that fit together nicely. Aside from the B/W masked nudes one includes a bizarre Batman, Superman, Catwoman threesome that looks like fun for some on a Saturday night. Another includes a vampire Lindsay Lohan complete with victim and fellow vampire Michael Trevino hanging on the wall above a red lined wooden coffin. Among the pieces that stand out for myself… Zachary Quinto being dragged through the dirt, Lyndsy Fonseca dancing amid a wind farm, the trio of B/W masked ladies (large), Stop Wasting Time (large) and of course Life is Not a Fairytale (large)…  just to name a few.

Overall Shields has created a world that steps beyond the ordinary in his first public gallery. None of which could be possible without the hard work the artist dedicates and the commitment of the people in his photos. A few pieces ask you to entertain the notion that the images can reach out and pull you in. And for the moment you do. You let them tell you their story while you stand in awe. One of my favorite quotes of Shields, “your imagination can only run wild if you let it” and in this instance I think that’s exactly what the artist has done to the best end result.

As an artist slash photographer Shields has definitely made his own mark in the visual world and will now continue to push the envelope with work in television and film. It will be impressive to see what comes next from Tyler Shields.

My advice? Next time you find the factory open without a golden ticket, go and see for yourself. It won’t be a waste of time. And as long as you aren’t expecting to find a fairytale there you won’t be disappointed.

Needless to say LA was lovely and Sunday was a fun-fun day, in a manner of speaking. My eyebrows are raised thinking… Where oh where will I be next?

kisses.

 m.

Have… will travel?

Have… will travel?

Have need… will travel? The road trip season has begun. And as most of my friends know I LOVE TO DRIVE!

Lost Hwy 99. Night. 2011.

Night is pretty interesting driving as you can see.

Have camera will travel? YES. More than anything I do love my field trips with the camera. As of late I do not have a camera but I still love to play nonetheless. For the moment my IPhone has been exceptionally friendly. And as you can see I thought why not share another behind the wheel shot. I do love shooting from that perspective.

Have gun will travel? Not exactly. Never. As a woman that sometimes travels alone I might feel the need to protect myself but I don’t or plan to tote around a gun. Now I do carry a few accoutrements for my trips but none of which could be mistaken as weaponry. Lately, I’ve had to keep a handy box cutter in my purse to fill in for a pocket knife in a couple instances. Cutting out the wire in your bra can be tricky, necessary in a pinch and a long story that I shall have to share one day. Any ladies ever have to do that? If you have then you know what I mean when I say “tricky.”

Have love will travel? Actually yes I have once or twice in the distant past played that mutual game of commuting for the affection of someone. Last time I checked a few people out there have done that thing too. Some like to fly instead of drive. There’s nothing wrong with those people. Let them be. It takes work to keep a relationship together and I love to see people trying with each other. Anyway I’m always willing to travel for the love of music. And over the course of the last four months, I’ve been lucky enough to do so.

It has been a very excellent year this far. The trips have gotten bigger and will continue to grow. Thus far I’ve lovingly dubbed it the “year of the show” because it’s been nonstop since January kicked off.

Blaqk Audio. January 2011.

I’ve talked with a few of my friends and they’ve told me their plans for hitting the road this year. Some will go here. Others will go there. Some will take a train. Others will take a plane. On a boat? But will it float? Oh dear. Hmm… Have any hitting the road trip plans? Come on now, everyone needs a least one adventure.

-kisses. m.

Going.

Imaginary Trails. 2009

Going.

Something about going reminds me that I’m about to do something again. It’s never the same thing but my mind only fills in the blanks to make it appear so. It makes no difference what or how it goes only that it will go because I choose to. People like to complicate things by making their comings and goings so much more difficult than they are.

It isn’t complicated.

You go or you stay.

See…

Easy.

Go.

Stay.

Today I’m going.  

I’m going because they said there will be blood.

It’s art, it's a gallery, but there will be blood.

The blood will be there and they will call it art.

I’m not exactly sure about whose blood only that it will be there.

And somewhere inside my mind I know that I want to see the blood.

You can pretend you don’t want to see the blood, but you do.

You watch the tube and wish for more blood. You do.

They shoot each other and you want more. 

Operations and more.

Explosions. More.

Can’t get enough of it.

Enough what?

Blood.

Because there will be blood I’m also told there might be fainting.

I won’t be fainting. I want to the see the blood.

There’s a woman that sits next to me on the same date every two months apart who donates blood and she always faints after. She says it’s the color of the stuff. I think about the last time the woman fainted before I think about the color of blood and realize that it’s blue before it’s out and it’s only red until it dries.

While I wonder about the color of blood I also wonder about the kind of people who are there looking like I’m looking at the blood. I have no expectations, but I wonder what will they think of when they’re looking?

Will they be hungry?
Will they be satisfied?

Will it be like the tube and wishing for more?

What will they want when there’s not enough blood?

And then I think about me…

Will I have...

Wants?

Needs?

Satisfaction?

Expectations or not…

Maybe it won’t be enough?

Maybe I’ll wish for more?

Or will I faint like the woman with the color of her blood?

All of that aside. There will be blood. And that’s why I’m going.

-m

No need to panic.

No need to panic.

Down. Down. Down.

The plane isn’t quite pointed into a direct nosedive towards the ground. The pressure in the cabin is still at a comfortable level while the screams of panic fill the air. Luggage falls from the overhead compartments out onto the aisles.

Finding my seating for the five hour flight wasn’t half as hard as the trip to the airport. Shoving past row after row of empty seats with my tiny carry-on bag, until hitting a wall of oversized body mass. A large man stands between me and my assigned number. Seated below the giant rests a smaller man sipping a diet coke while watching the show. Hefts of weight press against a seat as the unnaturally immense person attempts to stow his bag overhead. Double checking my ticket I’m reassured, knowing my seat is at least three more rows behind this three-ring circus oddity. Politely I excuse myself from the intriguing spectacle and take a seat accordingly along the aisle.

Descent steepens into a arc of collision increasing with momentum.

Three dozen oxygen masks descend from the heavens onto the passengers. Malfunctioning equipment drops masks sparsely throughout the cabin leaving seats without. On either side of me, there are tears of terror, and rushes of anger from frantic people. Three rows up the giant and his small companion have opened up a suitcase to remove an unusual object. Shiny. Metallic.

Blue-eyed blonde bombshell located on either side of the plane. One in front of my aisle carries the floatation device like a hand grenade. Her fake smile wears the face the same way a mask hides a secret. Tan skin matches the color of her dyed alligator come-fuck-me pumps. Silicone breasts permeate the plunging neckline of the unnaturally snug-ugly uniform. I’m certain she could float without assistance in the event of a water landing. Miss Fake America explains the process of locating and pressuring the device before moving onto the oxygen mask and finishing up the presentation with the finesse of a Game Show hostess, she points to indicate the nearest emergency exits. Both bombshells retreat back to their assigned seating. Aisles are clear in preparation to take off.

A pause for a brief moment of clarity. An instant when the plane dives straight downward then rights itself and you aren’t falling fast anymore, but this isn’t that moment. We’re still spiraling out of control at an angle of guided descent.

The seat buckle sign goes off once the plane has reached its optimal flight elevation. In front of me, a small girl stands upon the seat and turns backwards. As she looks downward I can see a dozen freckles across the small face. Adjacent to our seating, a woman calmly takes a puff from her inhaler. Blondes in ugly tight skirts began to distribute unhealthy choices in nutrition. The woman takes a small plastic cup vodka martini and a sandwich. I opt for water and leave the food alone.

Terminal Velocity is the point when there is no going back. We haven’t reached that moment.

According to the voice over the intercom, this is just a spot of turbulence and ''it will all be over soon enough.' Not soon enough, as the pair standing several rows forward work diligently amid the moving sea of chaos. That shiny assembled device begins to match the make of a homemade AK-47 with a pretty diamond like grip.

Whenever you watch a movie about an airplane there’s a moment when someone needs a doctor for an emergency. You think, ‘that will never happen in real life’, until it does. Seated next to me the asthmatic woman has keeled over onto the floor prompting the two inept stewardesses to scramble through the cabin asking for a doctor. Row after row begins the indiscreet search for medical assistance. This incites a small crowd around the body. I’m wiggling in my aisle seat attempting to keep a barrier between me and the busy-bodies. One by one they bend down to look at her twisted face. Someone mentions that she is still breathing. Captain’s voice comes on the intercom and issues a statement sending everyone back to their seats unless they are medically trained. Once the sea parts, two large men and a stethoscope accompany the unconscious asthmatic to the back of the cabin.

Uncontrolled descent steadies out into a balanced line. A temporary balance as the air shifts outside the plane.

Unstable craftsmanship no longer resembles a piece of metal. Attached to the diamond like grip is another bar. The device now a deadly framework. Shiny. Weightless. The busied pair seems to slowly halt production of their equipment as the seated begin to calm adjusting to the bumpy ride.

“Parsley,” explains the stewardess to a passenger two rows behind me. She’s been giving row by row answers about the situation. “She was allergic to the parsley in the sandwich. But she will be ok.”

The pair of circus refugees has nearly completed the complex framework. Attached to metallic body is a scope of a sort. Something that can guide or target. The device rests mid-aisle.

Shake. Tremor. Dip. Turbulence is the least of the worries. The giant and small man, take to the aisles with the oversized instrument of intimidation. Shakedown of the entire flight manifest.

“Jewelry and wallets please.”

Indicator sounds surround as the ‘fasten your seatbelt’ logo lights up. Voice reaches out to explain the uncomfortable chaos. Not without its dramatic moment the flight has now hit a bit of weather. Remain seated indicates the voice as a man gets up and runs through the aisle towards the restrooms. Liberating himself from the overwhelming situation at hand. The two bombshells move stealthily to stop the madness and re-seat the man as the sound loudly breaks through the chaos. Almost instantly the plane plummets downward.

No one saw what was coming. Someone should have told him to cooperate. Should have handed over the goods instead of running. No one could imagine a bullet escaping out of aircraft would cause that damage. Stray fragment ricocheting off the wing sending the number two engine out of commission. Actions and reactions, hurling the plane out of control into a sharp descent.

“No need for panic.” This is the part where you start confessing sins to your God. Asking for salvation. Making those phone calls. Telling your loved ones the truth. Perhaps the end is upon you as the plane descends down. “Remain seated. It’s going to be a bumpy ride.”

This was pretty much created on my 12-hr? flight to Spain last year. There’s never really been an appropriate moment to put it up. Everytime I’d wanted to… someone I knew was on a plane. Should have been up Last July. But… one friend was flying in from France while another was headed out to New York. And that would’ve been in very bad taste. Anyhow, my flight has been delayed which couldn’t be better timing as now I can pull together an ensemble for the occasion. Lovely. Enjoy? m.

ALL IS NOT LOST!

HWY 5. California. 2009.


Struggling with a small case of writers block and feelings that come from the writing. I used to think it was the solitude that catches up with you. And I'm back onto some subject matter that I don't like working with, which after this no more of that. It's funny what pushes ones buttons, I've found mine. At least I know my threshold now. Well, I decided to get some air yesterday which turned out to be me getting lost at some point. That was fine by me because there was never a dull moment. Being moi, of course there were a few interesting moments. This picture happen to be one of them. I driving, mentally taking apart the story and just as I was in the middle of thinking 'what comes next' in the story, there it was: 'ALL IS NOT LOST IF SOMETHING FLOPS! Of course I turned the car around to get the picture. It gave me a laugh. Its an ad for a farmer's market or dairy called 'FLOPPY'. But in retrospect for me the universe has a sense of humor. What I got from it: If whatever happens next is a complete failure, it's not the end; Don't give up. Anyhow as soon as I finish this last tale, something will go up. Actually there may be something else instead. Don't hold me to it. m.

* Like my dirty lens?

lights 2.

lights. more...


Madrid, Spain. 2009.



Madrid, Spain. 2009.



Madrid, Spain. 2009.



Lights. These are more lights... On another note. I'm not working on more darkness right now. That's a lie, I am. I'm always working on something incredibly interesting. But the pieces I'm most excited about, are not the typical brand I've been known for. It's hard to imagine that, but you'll see. M.

lights

lights.


Madrid, Spain. 2009.



Madrid, Spain. 2009.



Madrid, Spain. 2009.



Madrid, Spain. 2009.



Lights. These are not the installation of a brilliant artist. Very simply, they're just lights. They are incredibly beautiful to me. Well the story is this.... We went to some very amazing museums and art galleries when I was in Spain and France. Sometimes I found that the most interesting things to behold were not the pieces of art. So while my personal tour guide and my good friend were chatting it up... I was not looking at the art. Obviously. Oh yes, this is in MADRID. M.

The Music 29.

Street Musicians.


Madrid, Spain. 2009.



Madrid, Spain. 2009.




Madrid, Spain. 2009.



Barcelona, Spain. 2009.


On the trip there was a lot of little things I decided to snap up. We came across many street performers. The musicians being my favorites of course. I guess I've been stingy with my pics. There will be more... eventually when I choose to share. For now this is some of my collection of street performers. M.

Hello Chanel.

Coco before Chanel (2009)

This is the trailer for the new movie about Coco Chanel. I was so excited to find out about this. Especially in Paris. There were posters all over the city. I love Audrey Tatou, wonderful actress. I was completely heartbroken to find out that it will be released April 22nd and I won't be in Paris to see it. Guess I'll have to wait until it comes out here. m.