The Co.

{THE COMPANY OF PEOPLE. I dare you to spend less than an hour here. Such a great representation of so many great people}

P.S New job starting tomorrow. Might be sporadic posting until the end of the weekend. We'll see...

LVII

All Year Long

One or Two or Three

{Thanks to a reminder HERE I spent some time recently on JODY ROGAC'S new site. So much great stuff (all the photos posted actually came from her BLOG). I've seen photos of hers pop up here and there for a while now. Always good}

And in somewhat related matters: Will someone please find and purchase for me ONE, or TWO OR THREE of these tshirts from DANA LEE?

Oh fuck it: THESE too.

Mt. Jade I Suppose

SEVEN INCHES.

{A GRAVE WITH NO NAME is a dude from London, or thereabouts, with awesome long "metal" hair, and a whole bunch of Weezer shirts. But he makes weird, spacey, fuzzy, lo-fi songs about depressing shit. I love depressing shit. Anyway, he just put out this Virtual 7" with MEAL DEAL, and it's really great}

Slow Process.

{Piece by piece, I'm still putting this THING together. Updating it as and when. At least with something new to look at.

You can now download the first S.C.P release, by Mr Michael Murphy HERE.

We've been talking recently about a follow-up too. So maybe towards the middle of winter...

Also: Some plans have changed. Some things have not worked out the way I intended. I'm trying not to be disheartened. You'll see. I'm sure by the end of the year. Anyway, like most endeavors in life, there are good reasons behind the good intentions. I have too many (of both) perhaps. Besides which some new opportunities have come up for future Sleeves releases over the last few weeks, the last couple of days, and as always I'll keep them, and you, and myself up to speed on here.

Thanks to everyone who's kept me on my toes with encouragement, advice, and inspiration over the last year or so}

Even In The End.

Even in the End
by Peter Sutherland

Letterpress printed.
Engravings by A&G, Los Angeles.
Black ink on 80lb. Finch Opaque Vellum paper.
6 x 9 inches. 24 pages.
Hand sewn binding.,Edition of 500 plus A.P.

Peter Sutherland and Gottlund Verlag are excited to announce a new collaboration in print - Even in the End. A slim edition of black and white images printed by hand from photo engraved copperplates.
The rugged nature of the book matches the wild and epic scale of the images. We have allowed in the printing and binding for any inconsistencies to present themselves as evidence of the process.

{The consistantly amazing output of Nicholas, and Gottlund Verlag never ceases to amaze me. Along with the AFOREMENTIONED Henry Roy book, this new release from Peter Sutherland looks fantastic. What a word. Fantastic}

This Changes Everything.

{Now and again, I'll get a random email out of the blue from somebody, maybe into what I'm doing, or into something similar. CHRIS TAYLOR (not of Grizzly Bear or any previous posts) set me an email yesterday, and I got to take a look at his work. Really great stuff. I told him, and don't mind repeating: He had me at the Sometimes I Wish We Were An Eagle cover photo}

Territorial.

{Good call MR BARBER. Two classics. KC and JR. Epic. Did that special edition 2 disc version of Bleach come out yet?}

P.S Screengrab -T Shirt Coming Soon? I mean: Never.

Goldshit.

{The BS REPORT. No idea who's behind this, but I know that it's good}

LVI

CANT/GHOSTS

GHOSTS by CANT.
B-Side HERE

{A new project from Chris Taylor of Grizzly Bear fame. Thanks to MIKE for the heads up on this. Can't help but think that SBN would make a great Terrible addition. Just Sayin'

Also the wonderful SAMANTHA WEST took a GREAT picture of Chris Taylor in the latest DOSSIER which I kept forgetting to mention on here.

Also: Extra points for the ABNER JAY REFERENCE}

Wanting.

{Patiently waiting the SECOND EDITION, now that the first has sold out. Sleeping.

THE RISEN TIDE OF SHIT AND FAILURE

"A small non definitive or comprehensive compendium of images lifted from 90's hardcore punk culture.

Second Edition Coming Soon.
2 color hand printed covers.
$6 postage paid in US"

BLACK TENT PRESS constantly blowing minds with their output. Always amazing, and I still can't get over THAT Pajo record}

Wondering.

{HISHAM AKIRA BHAROOCHA. New Website}

T2

{I've wanted a Contax T3 for a long time. Then a friend of mine came into a T2 he kindly lent me for a while. I took it to the Highline Park on a nice afternoon last week, and tested out a couple of films}

House Of The Devil

{This was PERFECT Halloween viewing. Dude went all out making a legit early 80's horror movie. Satanism. Weird panning. Lunar Eclipses. Cheesy titles. Walkmans. Surprise Deaths. Carving Knives. Scary phone calls. Comedy. Pizza. Dance Routines. Pentagrams. Just fully immersing himself in the genre. Even down to the opening credits, and the perfect poster campaigns}

{VII}

The bars close at three a.m on Saturday nights so I go home about 3:45 after eating breakfast at Riker's on the corner of Christopher Street and Seventh Avenue. I dropped the News and Mirror on the couch and peeled off my seersucker coat and dropped it on top of them. I was going straight to bed.

At this point, the buzzer rang. It's a loud buzzer that goes through you so I ran over quick to push the button and release the outside door. Then I took my coat off the couch and hung it over a chair so no one would sit on it, and I put the papers in a drawer. I wanted to be sure they would be there when I woke up in the morning. Then I went over and opened the door. I timed it just right so that they didn't get a chance to knock.

Four people came into the room. Now I'll tell you in a general way who those people were and what they looked like since the story is mostly about two of them.

Phillip Tourian is seventeen years old, half Turkish and half American. He has a choice of several names but prefers Tourain, His father goes under the name of Rogers. Curly black hair falls over his forehead, his skin is very pale, and he has green eyes. He was sitting down in the most comfortable chair with his leg over the arm before the others were all in the room.

This Phillip is the kind of boy literary fags write sonnets to, which start out, "O raven-haired Grecian lad..." He was wearing a pair of very dirty slacks and a khaki shirt with the sleeves rolled up showing hard muscular forearms.

Ramsey Allen is an impressive-looking gray-haired man of forty or so, tall and a little flabby. He looks like a down-at-the-heels actor, or someone who used to be somebody. Also he is a southerner and claims to be of a good family, like all southerners. He is a very intelligent guy but you wouldn't know it to see him now. He is so stuck on Phillip he is hovering over him like a shy vulture, with a foolish sloppy grin on his face.

Al is one of the best guys I know, and you couldn't find better company. And Phillip is all right too. But when they get together something happens, and they form a combination which gets on everybody's nerves.

Agnes O'Rourke has an ugly Irish face and close-cropped black hair, and she always wears pants. She is straightforward, manly, and reliable. Mike Ryko is a nineteen-year-old, red haired Finn, sort of a merchant seaman dressed in dirty khaki.

Well, that's all there were, the four of them, and Agnes held up a bottle.

{From And The Hippos Were Boiled In Their Tanks, by William S. Burroughs and Jack Kerouac}

And The Hippo's Were Boiled In Their Tanks.

{Just finished this. A two afternoon read. And good too. Especially if you live in, or are familiar with New York. Makes you want to be a sailor. Or hard drinker. Or just wear Khakis around town.

Written just following, and based upon, the murder of David Kammerer by Lucien Carr, it has remained unpublished for years. It's pretty much the earliest work of either author, and each takes turns narrating chapters; Burroughs as Will Denninson, and Kerouac as Mike Ryko.

Burroughs wasn't ever interested in publishing it, and following his death his estate was unable to get it out there, due to friendships and legal wranglings with Lucien Carr. Who obviously wasn't too keen on it being put into print considering he had spent the rest of his release from jail trying to put the whole thing behind him. Interestingly Kerouac and Burroughs were also both arrested following the murder, for not informing the police. Burroughs posted bail, Kerouac stayed behind bars (his father refusing to post for him) until he could marry Edie Parker, while in jail, and have her family bail him out.

Following Carr's death in 2005, Penguin released the first edition last year, with Grove Press publishing the US version.

Highly recommended}

Half The Evening.

It's 5 O'clock; almost dark out. You'd had trouble finding the keys you dropped, on the stoop, amongst the leaves blown over the steps from the trees beside the house. Not eaten a thing, all day long. Just coffee. A bag of pretzels, or something like them. So you make a bowl of cereal, only there's no milk. Or rather there's only skimmed, half-fat milk. And you suppose that's fine. If you don't mind the taste of cereal in water. Which you do, but your pour the bowl anyway. You put your jacket on the back of the sofa. And the dog comes out; from the bedroom, from his bed, and jumps up; curls up in the corner, head against the arm; taking up most of the seating. Sighs. And you take off your shoes, and sit next to the dog. And you have on wool socks. And it's Halloween. Which you hate. Or rather: are growing less impressed by each year.

Going into the Pharmacy around the corner, picking up a prescription she needs for the following morning, and the place is filled with dickheads in Werewolf masks. Not the kids so much, but full-grown adults dressed as goblins, or robots, or Al Roker, or something. And you've noticed, maybe only so much in the last few years, but when it comes to dressing up for Halloween most girls like to go as sluts. Or cats. Or at the very best: Slutty Cats. Tails in the air. And although you do not dress up, you have standards, and wonder why there are so many fucking Mickey Mouse ears, and cardboard Transformers, and even some guy dressed as an Ear. Maybe you don't get it. Maybe it's a riot amongst their friends. Probably not. Regardless, you have standards, and the fact is: It's Halloween. Go as something dead. Doesn't matter what it is, what you want to be, just be dead. You'd like to go as a cowgirl? Boring, but okay fine. Go as a dead one. Going in drag? A dead Tranny then. A cat? For fuckssake; if you must, but at least one that's been hit by the bus.

You've been thinking, despite it all, that maybe you should work on some kind of Cat Roadkill costume. Just to make a point. But you know it will go over the heads. You know you won't bother.

There were two witches, and Britney Spears as a Skinhead, in the tampon aisle for chrissakes.

The cereal bowl in the sink, you take a beer from the fridge, and open the screen to the fire escape. The heating is back on, but it's unseasonably warm, so you'd like to take a few minutes of fresh air before the sun goes down. You're out there for maybe five minutes, before the first drops begin down your face; filling your open pores with rain. Which is probably, according to most everyone in the 90's, toxic. Pores which have opened from the heat of the sweat-box apartment. And maybe the milk, if milk opens your pores.

"Watch for a man with pock marks. That's holes. In the face. Call this number immediately"

You think about the news. Laugh a little.

And then: you take the beer back inside, and into the bathroom. Running the taps warm, shaving your face and finishing the second half of the bottle. You take another from the fridge and into a hot shower. Washing the grease from your hair. Washing the dirt from your nails. Washing the milk from your chin. You'll be leaving soon; cashing a check- for barely anything worth your while- on your way to meet her, and a friend. Heading to a film. It's the most you can muster: A horror movie on Halloween.

Fall Walking.

{Yesterday was the perfect weather. I could live every day like that. Anyway, if you know me, or were to ask me, you'd know that I'm not the biggest fan of Williamsburg. However, a later afternoon walk in the lower ends, or I suppose northern ends- the few blocks closest to the water, closer to the Hasidic Jewish communities- offers a different perspective of the neighborhood. Wow, you prentious prick. Anyway, on my way from Fort Greene to North 11th I stumbled on two amazing finds, both new to me, and both the very best of what they offer: LUDDITE and BAKERI.

LUDDITE has a really amazing, well curated, selection of furniture and found objects (coming from a guy who's spent the last 4 years immersed in a very similar environment) while BAKERI had the best coffee and the most amazing pastry, I've had in a long long time. And a great, homely, well thought out space too. Community Tables.

I never used to drink coffee. A stressful summer turned me into an addict.

Oh and the pastry? I don't remember what it's called, but if you go with me sometime, I'll make sure you get it}

Well.

{Hey Blogger, I like your new NavBar. And that you can change fonts easily now. Not that I ever do, or think I will ever feel the need to. And the other stuff you fixed too. Thanks for that}

LV

{I guess I felt like we needed some colour around here. As Still As A River Could Be}

HRNG

{A nice little INTERVIEW with Henry Roy, by Nicholas Gottlund}

Farewell My Friends of Friends.

{Two amazing looking new books from FAREWELL. Hyunjin Kim and Noriko Takazaw}

Also.

{Have you seen THIS yet? I gave up waiting, and calling in favours, and just did it myself using THIS. No shame in my game. Which is awesome. I have no idea what I'm doing, and this is only the rough outline of what it will be, but as I learn more, it will become more. Or less. Depending}

In Addition.

WHERE IS IT? Anyone seen the new issue here in New York? Or the new HOBO for that matter?

{P.S. More legitimate content coming very soon}

Keeping The Theme Going.

{Three favourites for very different reasons}

Wheel A' Fortune

{Aforementioned GONZ SHOW}

LIV

{VI}

The largest ocean in the world starts or ends at Monterey, California. It depends on what language you are speaking. My friend's wife had just left him. She walked right out the door and didn't even say goodbye. We went and got two fifths of port and headed for the Pacific.

It's an old song that's been played on all the juke boxes in America. The song has been around so long that it's been recorded on the very dust of America and it has settled on everything and changed chairs and cars and toys and lamps and windows into billions of phonographs to play that song back into the ear of our broken heart.

We sat down on a small corner-like beach surrounded by big granite rocks and the hugeness of the Pacific Ocean with all its vocabularies.

We were listening to rock and roll on his transistor radio and somberly drinking port. We were both in despair. I didn't know what he was going to do with the rest of his life either.

I took another sip of port. The Beach Boys were singing a song about California girls on the radio. They liked them.

His eyes were wet wounded rugs.

Like some kind of strange vacuum cleaner I tried to console him. I recited some old litanies that you say to people when you try to help their broken hearts, but words can't help at all.

It's just the sound of another human voice that makes the only difference. There's nothing you're ever going to say that's going to make anybody happy when they're feeling shitty about losing somebody that they love.

Finally he set fire to the radio. He piled some paper around it. He struck a match to the paper. We sat there watching it. I had never seen anybody set fire to a radio before.

As the radio gently burned away, the flames began to affect the songs that we were listening to. A record that was #1 on the Top 40 suddenly dropped to #13 inside of itself. A song that was #9 became #27 in the middle of a chorus about loving somebody. They tumbled in popularity like broken birds. Then it was too late for all of them.

{"Pacific Radio Fire", from Revenge of The Lawn, Stories 1962-1970 by Richard Brautigan}

My favourite book of all time. Perhaps

God Is A Word, And The Argument Ends There.

{Jook Yung}

** Sorry for the typo. Just noticed today.

LIII

HOBO ROY.

{HOBO MAGAZINE have a new website up and running, and a new issue that just came out. Always amazing. Anyway, thanks to the new site I got to stumble across some of the features from their older issues; like several amazing HENRY ROY photo journals}

Round n' Round

Round N' Round
At FRANKLIN PARRASCH GALLERY
Oct 16th - Nov 28th 2009

"Franklin Parrasch Gallery is pleased to present Round N' Round – an exhibition which includes the premier of a new film and sculpture, as well as drawings, poems and correspondences by Mark Gonzales. Gonzales, who has been skateboarding professionally since he was a teenager is a prime mover in bringing the inherently improvisational, free-ranging attitude manifested in skateboarding's engagement with the built and graphic environment to a wider audience. Gonzales's work has been exhibited internationally, and his skating has been documented by Spike Jonze among other filmmakers."

A CATALOG will also be available for $20.

I'll be going. Probably. Thanks Babe.

LII

Brion Nuda Rosch

{HERE & HERE}

Well.

{JUST HURRY UP ALREADY}

INVENTORY.

{One of the OLD daily updaters, got a NEW name and fresh look. Print magazine coming soon too. Check it out if you get a second, and care about what you wear. Good dudes are behind this}

The Executioner's Song

HTXIII

{A lot of time spent looking through windows. Hospitals or otherwise}

Haw-Lines

{Anyone else frequently get this when they check HAW-LIN? Anyone else get frustrated they can't see an update, but also stoked on the weird random art? Just me then}

Young Dreamer.

She’s a difficult little fucker. Forever swimming in circles. Not eating. Not doing much. She’s temperamental at best. Flakey. Running late. Or more so: making me, making us, late. Forever leaving her things around the place. Water splashed across the tile. She’s not the most hygienic. Not that I mind too much, I’m just saying. She frequently forgets where she left the things that she leaves lying around, or hides beneath the sofa. She searches them out, barks at me, orders me around: find them, find them! She’s a restless sleeper. Wakes us both up in the night. Walks around in circles; muttering to herself is the best way to describe it. Gets us up: Will you make me some food? Please. An early start to the day, and yet: still we’re rushing. We need to go out before we go out, we have things to buy, things to stock up on, things she needs. We’ve got a laundry list. She howls at me: But why? She doesn’t understand why we have to go to dinner in the first place. Why we have to meet these people, make small talk. We could be at home, she thinks. We could at least leave a light on. She’s forever sulking; head buried in her shoulder; an uncomfortable position, I think, but she seems happy lying like that. She cocks her head at me. She raises an eyebrow. And when we leave, and head towards the train, and leave her behind, she will nonchalantly rise from the bed, stretch her hind legs, walk casually to the bathroom and piss all over the old grain sack we use as a matt.

Nobel.

{Really? I mean, give the man a break/chance}

HTXII

HTXI

{With a little Austin too}

P.S. Note RUSHMORE ACADEMY third from bottom

Films.

{I just got 5 rolls of film back from the last month or so. Onslaught coming}

Down Or Out

Michael Kennedy.

{Pass Port To Trespass}

Always Worth a Look.

PS.

{Anyone have any idea why Blogger keeps pixelating (a word?) the shit out of almost every photo I post? It's starting to really bum me out.

In other news: Fuck Blogger}

Wash Out

{Don't expect too much to happen. Or you could just listen THIS WAY}

More, of some, HERE.

LI