Let It Go Let It Grow

I believe now my marriage is over.

Right now, man.

Well, that’s a Big Duh to the ’77. This is the phrase I use to describe chagrin, and more, at the hands of life these days. It declares success or disregards circumstance I should have seen coming, usually when I haven’t. Foremost is the overtness of the obvious. My marriage was a babysitting chore. We stayed together for the kids; y’know, ourselves. Losers. Talking over the music.

But life is like Clapton’s epic Layla, the studio version. The first time, ya don’ know the birds are coming. After that, you never forget halfway through to make sure to still be listening at the end. Sure, inevitably, the announcer guy lays in there just where ya’ don’t need him. Nowadays even the programmer dudes know, them birds, they got yer ear.

OK, so it’s the end. And I hear birds.

Yeah, a little birdie told me. That’s it.


RCW 9A.20.021

(1) Felony. Unless a different maximum sentence for a classified felony is specifically established by a statute of this state, no person convicted of a classified felony shall be punished by confinement or fine exceeding the following:

[ ... ]  (b) For a class B felony, by confinement in a state correctional institution for a term of ten years, or by a fine in an amount fixed by the court of twenty thousand dollars, or by both such confinement and fine.

      [ ... ] (4) This section applies to only those crimes committed on or after July 1, 1984.

Petitioner was born in May 1977
that gets her mother off the hook…

But, yeah. It’s true.
I’m loaded with rocket fuel!

Children are like those ubiquitous Burma Shave, just not sticking in the ground. They say something, it generally rhymes with the flow of justice and strength, assimilation and absorption and the like. They raise a voice above the din. That’s why elders always said “children should be seen and not heard.” They had a hankerin’ fer bending the truth, adults, when I was growing up, no doubt as had their forefathers and natures’ mothers before them. I don’t think we were the first generation ever saw ourselves as somehow above the fray of life’s conundrum. I do recall coming to understand the danger of not looking before you leap, and that kids recklessly think they are immune or immortal, even. I’ve lept and injured, we all have, but I am not wizened with age, just older, and the notion that immortality might somehow rescue us is not something reserved for children.

Abby is forever.

Abby is my child.

I am her father.

People tell me to flesh out the edges in my writing.

Sure, listen for the birds. They know better than we do.

But let it grow.

Steel Heidelberg Cans Of Love

of course the overnight

of course, overnight

I feel the need
to search my soul.

why might that be,
mister senor?

well, if ever
you loved me…
you’re searching yours

I took the time to feel for the door

I AM SOMETIMES QUITE fascinated by old maps of the hills south of Seattle, WA in the pacific northwest United States where mistersenor was juniored. This “Whatever Happened to McCallister Road?” evolved over many years. It didn’t have an answer for most of that time, but the story forged on and was solved, accidentally while looking at zoning maps of the area blah blah.

In such, I quieted a longing; I visited a remembrance.


a missing map entry

…story goes like this: it was a road that went from Renton up into the coal hills where I grew up where GUINEAS AND OTHER IMMIGRANTS wudda worked the mines. before that, even. but envision the post-war forties and burgeoning fifties, when all those ponds had odd names like Otter Lake and Mud Lake. Summer retreats for those in the know. The largest and most pristine jewel out in the meadows upon those hills, destined to become a City of Seattle watershed, survives to this day as Lake Youngs.


A lone two-lane blacktop the manner of transgression

McCallister was the name of the road. let’s admit: in our oddly feudal American ways, the name of the man no doubt. His fiefdom, owed to younger McCallister? …let’s just say the land was in his family. THOSE MEADOWS? he made them his. and then ours. you see, the road simply disappears from mapping circa 1955. Ten years after? Ginormous suburban planned communities.

‘lil k houses fer you and me.

i ught of all those teenage keggers

EDI.NOTE: in actuality, many years after discovering the 1955 Thomas Bros map contradicting previous editions, as early as 1964 maps trace subdivison roads masking McCallister Road from its’ origin at Phillip Arnold Park atop Renton Hill SE along the hillside in the Renton subdivision of Tiffany Park. Then, with the advent of the Fairwood community buildout mostly by Weyerhauser by way of Quadrant Homes in the mid-1970′s, we see the stubbing numerous times of the old roadbed along which Seattle’s city water has traveled for generations. It winds it’s way to the reservoir and brings back holy goodness. Still.

a sun that doesn’t want to set

it’s simply a truism. Cold Refreshment. Under
that bramble; it’s there. Thrown out the drop top
as he and his girl swallowed the last of it.

Steel Heidelberg Cans of Love.
All Over Them Hills…

Life is a series of timelines and circumstance. Think of it as a combination plate. I am alternately the happy man engaged in the delightful abandon of joyous love and a distanced father broken-hearted about the loss of my daughter from my life, like, all the time.

Much needed to be done.

It simply fell to us to do it.

yeah, memory serves. It’s the B-side to Wild Thing. figures

‘lil FYI if yer interested. I never finished college and while I was always engaged in life, i never aspired to anything. OK, maybe be on the radio. I love the idea of pushing it out there, and inevitably not really knowing if anyone is hearing those secret thoughts so rarely spoken, or whatever else drivel i spew.

(hey – maybe that’s why this blog is
something to me, when so little else is…

a magnificent purpose is ours every day for the taking

We truly had one then,
back in the infamous
hole in the ground,
remember? I do!

and we’re not dead.

So maybe again, someday.
no time like, wow. Now.

ain’t no room on board for the insincere

you’re my witness I’m your mutineer

Life. It’s Rather a Combination.

She Caught Me Off My Guard

original post from March 2013

I’m certain Sarah is OK. I met and deterred briefly from entanglements she suffered, this woman. I knew Sarah Rowland from February 1 – March 5 of 2013. Our relationship was not rooted in intimacy; she rather grew to despise me for brutal honesty that characterizes my retort to shortcomings rooted in addiction. She left with Blue-Eyed Mike.

looks like a 29 gauge from here.
with a viciousness, he says it, later. Meat Puppets.

But we do it the Vaselines way…

In the midst of a divorce from
young beautiful Kimberly nee Piteo
in 1987 I spent a brief time in the
standup comic circuit, appearing at
open mikes and traveling with wilburys…
so to speak

what say you fuzzy britches? genuine?

what say you fuzzy britches? genuine?

asian wilburys
that is

what the f*ck
say that for?

Lebowski was adamant

I’m not talking about
Chinamen building railroads



but i once told a joke THIS BIG. the literal wave of laughter captured my heart forever. I know the feeling. but it ain’t possible to bottle it. inject it. waves move. we’re stationary.

More on that in a minute

Blackburn, Lancashire in England became the first town to undertake the mass finger-printing of people following the murder of June Anne Devaney in May 1948. June Anne Devaney was a three year old patient at Queens Park Hospital when she was abducted from her cot and murdered in the hospital grounds on 15 May 1948. Fingerprints on a bottle underneath her cot led the police to fingerprint every male over the age of 16 who were present in Blackburn on 14 and 15 May 1948. After taking over 46,500 sets of fingerprints, a match was made with Peter Griffiths, a 22 year old ex-serviceman. Griffiths admitted his guilt and his trial ascertained if he was sane or not. After deliberating for 23 minutes, the jury found him sane and he was hanged at Liverpool Prison on Friday 19 November 1948. After his conviction, the police destroyed all fingerprints they had taken.

The coat of arms of the former Blackburn Borough Council has many distinctive emblems. The blazon of the arms is:

Argent a Fesse wavy Sable between three Bees volant proper on a Chief Vert a Bugle stringed Argent between two Fusils Or. On the crest, a Wreath of the Colours a Shuttle Or thereon a Dove wings elevated Argent and holding in the beak the Thread of the Shuttle reflexed over the back and an Olive Branch proper.


The Latin motto of the town is Arte et Labore, correctly translated as “by art and by labour” but often translated as “by skill and hardwork”.


Quick shout out. like i do i know
coat of arms? Hello Kitty!
rosie tran duh dot com comedic genius and box lunch extraordinaire

she says “I’m goin’ places, boys!” indeed! …It’s the inimitable ROSIE TRAN dot com duh!! comedic genius / box lunch extraordinaire

my long-ago acquaintance Rosie Tran

friend of the Yoshi Didn’t Podcast
cuz that man does as we all know

Rosie Tran has cajun in her
or so i heard… also, she’s funny
and witty. one fine bento nuff said

1st ever blog banner

OK let’s just finish
with the fascinating huh
Sunday history lesson.

Blackburn was recorded in the Domesday Book as Blacheborne in 1086. The origins of the name are uncertain. It has been suggested that it may be a combination of an Old English word for bleach, together with a form of the word “burn”, meaning stream, and may be associated with a bleaching process. Alternatively, the name of the town may simply mean “black burn”, or “black stream”. Blackburn is located where a Roman military road crossed the river Blakewater. The road linked Bremetennacum Veteranorum (Ribchester) and Mamucium (a major Roman fort that occupied Castlefield in Manchester). The route of the road passed east of Blackburn Cathedral and probably crossed the river in the Salford neighbourhood just east of the town centre. It is not clear whether the road predated the settlement.

Blackburn is mentioned in the Beatles’ song “A Day in the Life”. An article in the Daily Mail about a plan to fill potholes in the town caught John Lennon’s eye as he was writing the song, giving birth to the lyric “I read the news today, oh boy / 4,000 holes in Blackburn, Lancashire / And though the holes were rather small / They had to count them all / Now they know how many holes it takes to fill the Albert Hall.

but there’s similitude in there somewhere…

thankfully, FEB is a reeeelly short month

genuine beauty

genuine beauty

yes this is
the same woman.

no i agree.
it is inexplicable


uhhh, not.

Polly wants…. errrr, a cracker

Cobain can give you the long version
she asked me to untie her
she’s even bein’ nice fer a few

polly said. she’s just as bored as me.

it amazes me. the will of instinct.

got some rope. haven’t told.

Vicissitudes of Bau Bau


This just happened.


I HAD THE sketchy how for who what when and where was in my head; the why sorta presents itself in the doing.

But this just just happened.


I stopped the automobiles’ reverse immediately.

Turned out it was his hand on the trunk.

The innovations of reverse gear white lights
marking an oncoming vehicle traveling in
reverse, standard and required a half century
or more, saved his ass. Literally saved this man
from being impaled under a 2003 TOYOTA COROLLA LS.

He lept from harms’ way. Who ruined that phrase?

JEEZ!!!!! he exclaimed.
He was ten feet past my car.

I was feverishly rolling down the window.
Oh, DUDE! I DIDN’T SEE YOU! I was plaintive.

ORDINARILY THE ANGER would not have subsided. In point of fact he protested once more, but my continued heartfelt horror at what had nearly happened on my watch (hand on gear) that this man had been forced to flee a specific danger and felt fear for a moment was clearly prescient to him by my tone, my urgency, and what then followed, it somehow got through to him.

Uhhhh, he was listening.

I meant it.

IT’S NICE WHEN SOMEONE ASKS THAT. And means it. you’ll find it is self-fulfilling, i.e. it feels good to truly inquire. we all have dangers we walk around with, in fear of, desperately trying to solve or subside, sometimes failing. Many among us injure others amongst themselves, every day. Many many babes are unwanted.

Waht? Why? I dunno.

I really don’t know.

HE WAS BACKPACKING FROM the bus, 73 Ravenna Ave, a working man solving his conundrum. As I happened upon him and then of course when I presented a new one. He was a goner but for THE LIGHTS. It is Quite The Quick Maneuver pulling out into the brief pause in traffic and shoving it back into slot permitted to park along the thoroughfare; what person walking by would ever think to anticipate a car waiting, waiting, when finally airborne would abruptly stop and reverse. The lights shining WHITE were like that odd sound we all know from A TRUCK BACKING UP.


Anyway, as I again apologized now profusely, lamely even, he laughed finally and continued onward north. He had but one thing to say as he turned, slight wave of his hand meant maybe to reassure me. dunno.


oh, you’re watching
on channel 6422.
Cool. Never mind.


“Bau bau,” she said.

Two times. she said it twice.

Kids love me. They’re drawn to me only cuz they are. I could break it down for you, your protestations notwithstanding. Can i get a word in edgewise? Kids adore me because I look at them. When I am consciously aware of a fracture of a 22% angle of a child’s gaze toward me, I’m too close. That’s not nice. But I don’t back away. I bend down. I kneel at their foot. I continue my gaze. I have trouble listening to anyone, sure, but not so much to kids. They enthrall me. I don’t know if any of you dear raiders recall, but I recall I was a child once. And all this is a lot scarier as we get older, so to see the innocence in a child is to reflect your own precious innocence. I endure to protect, cherish and influence the upbringing of my child. Circumstances require my forbearance that vitriol, vicissitudes in dissolution bled ad nauseum will not taint us.

Kiddo has a dad. That’s all I know.

In hindsight, persons momentarily polyamorous or redundant, an act inevitably begun in a simple tryst, find the base reason is not uniquely one of the power or sexual release of the experience; these aspects are moot. In a metaphoric sense, like the act itself, it’s what you do wit’ it. Continued selfish and selfless infidelity conscripts one into a life devoid of those things most of us maintain every day as a matter of cultural decorum; to overcome one must remember and return to a mentality that the point is to survive. Emotionally survive amidst a wasteland. Apply ones’ self and become functional, responsible, effectual, less metaphoric and more literal but to my mind, liberal. This despite a new life beyond hypocrites brandishing intemperance and banishing all sinners from their kingdom, This alongside a graveyard preened daily in living color to upset the child further. I couldn’t sexually survive without trust. Confidence. Understanding. Education. Patience. Honesty.

And i don’t see faith or forgiveness in there either.

Kinda sucks.

I’m sure right there in the DSM bullshit they shovel their Big Pharma with is a condition, “dude who writes apology letter when divorcing” so simply call this a public acknowledgement.

Poor taste I’ve never been accused of… SNAP!
Seattle c.1974

Seattle c.1974



I was not quite eleven on May 4, 1970. Gov James Rhodes conscripts some young men. As National Guard members,they are in full battle regalia. They are sent to the college campus of Kent State University in Kent. Ohio. They shoot randomly across acres of the campus. Bullets falling harmlessly, the tactic being one of using these reports, the magazines of bullets flying hundreds of meters across the rolling hills of Ohio, sent as a message buttressing indefensible positions.

Yes, both the war and these young mens’ acts.

shudda been done long ago

Some of these bullets struck students.
Every person that day was impacted,
our lives jarred. This was the manner chosen
to bring harmony back to the campus of
college kids, many of whom at the time
faced literal conscription into horrors
embattled eight thousand miles away.
Most every American knew of families
torn apart by deaths and senseless brutality.

Then they witnessed.

I told my dad. Dint’ know if he saw.

That was a long time ago…


and the why kinda presents itself in the doing

This Week In Facebook Lore IV

Here now we pause momentarily and attempt to recapture the lustre and the sepulcher that represent the natural order of things. I dunno always why the pain and tribulation has to be wrought, or why the rose turns to bloom and withers. Withers?

I’m more Stevie Wonder

I could be a broken man… but here i am

or here Stevie made an appearance so you get Dick Cavett looking very 1968

but this is what’s been up. You know, with the wither. whatever.


Who exactly does Seattle think She is, anyway?

On the heels of only the second major sports championship in the cities’ history, not counting the Stanley Cup-winning Metropolitans c. early 1900′s?

Not a punk, fer once. Our fair seafronting maiden



daughter Abigail Rose

daughter Abigail Rose

I believe the artist within emerges at will.

Now I have proof.

I spoke with Abby.
We met for a moment.
I never felt so happy
and so sad
at once.

I best hold my tongue

I’m the monolith along the Granite Sepulcher, inert, long-straddled and securely held. It’s a cold side of the piece. She is incontrovertibly bled of and by her mother. The connection most prominent, though, is that she is of The Sun, and hers is the most brilliant of lustre as Red Hearts descend to her.

Magnificent. c. 2009

Magnificence In The Meadow

Magnificence In The Meadow


I’m mostly up Getchell.

Not that it’s yer bizness. It’s my life. Finally.

Great late lunch. Engaging leftovers, I salvaged these wacky sliced chicken breast with crunchy REAL BACON on a mountainous roll, lettuce tomato blah blah…

and fresh popovers made by The Illustrious Lovely herself. We thought they’d pop over but then they just popped over and we popped them.


look inside, girl



newest latest… so you can watch the road

The illustrious and beautiful Ms Kelly Shibari and my good friend and newly-fathering compadre Brandon Iron were working a rudimentary math equation… when the brilliance and simplicity simply melted away all concern.


Buddhist rule re: Worrying.
Like · · Promote · Share

Larry Hillman, Joey Beretta and Brandon Iron like this.

Joey Beretta: Or, as Mickey Rivers once put it: “Ain’t no sense worryin’ about the things you got control over, ’cause if you got control over ‘em, ain’t no sense worryin’. And ain’t no sense worryin’ about the things you don’t got control over, ’cause if you don’t got control over ‘em, ain’t no sense worryin’.”
February 9 at 6:04pm ·
Keith Calandra: slide in, dust off… we all know in our hearts whether we’re safe… or out.
February 9 at 6:23pm ·

Thxxx as always my fine bro’s n sis’s

Groucho said it worst

Outside of a dog, a book is a man’s best friend. Inside of a dog it’s too dark to read.


Keith Calandra
February 3
Philip Seymour Hoffman death

Heroin Kills.

The saddest part of the death of Philip Seymour Hoffman is the unspoken, the unknown and never conquered. The debilitation of the man, the loss of purpose that occurs with addiction to opiates, all the unmade and incomplete, the sadness that accompanies such junkiedom; these are the ‘deaths’ unmourned.

No one knows how the spiral went. The man was iconic; he mustta’ had peeps who loved him, and he them. He must’of done or acquired his heroin with or through someone, equally broken no doubt. The idea is anathema to most of us, though, to stick our nose in someone elses bizness. We are repulsed and saddened by weakness, vulnerability; some could in retrospect not forgive him such indulgences. While I’ve come to understand self-flagellating brutalities and their measure is not my bane, i can draw only one sad conclusion and it falls to Heller, Arkin and Buck Henrys 50 year aged script:

Help the Bombardier! I’m the Bombardier!!

Then help him! Help him!

Ya gotta help yerself.

So sad, when it runs dry, such a lovely meander that was Hoffman.


Live and learn. we seek ecstasy.

But I remember Bobby Orr flying…

just after series-clincher 1970. tripped over Blues skater; forever airborne in my mind

just after series-clincher 1970. tripped over Blues skater; forever airborne in my mind

ya gotta really want it.

Can’t fool a Bruin.

BRUIN PRIDE around the office

BRUIN PRIDE around the office

can i change up the tunes, though?

Stevie waddn’t reeelly me. I’m more
uhhhh, well, y’all know me by now…

that’s right, a human package of dynamite.
A legend in his own time.

That WAC Ain’t Anne Bancroft

there 'tween CARNAL KNOWLEDGE and THE GRADUATE in the legacy that is the 50yr MIKE NICHOLS discography

‘tween CARNAL KNOWLEDGE and THE GRADUATE in the legacy that is a 50yr MIKE NICHOLS discography

I have stood mute. But I have a lot to say.

Just not now.

Big roundhouse in for strike one.

Not to malign, but…
no use talkin’ to myself.


Here’s six-plus minutes strong; the year? 1970. Heller‘s book was co-written for the screen by Buck Henry. Mike Nichols’ two-year honing of the script with the actor brought this acerbic tone. While I’ve always been a fan of Buck Henry, it has to be admitted he has time and again brought the most unlikeable of characters to life.

Verdict? Buck Henry kicks ass. Again.

Oranges. From Marrakesh.

Catch-22 is a satirical and historical novel by the American author Joseph Heller. He began writing it in 1953, and the novel was first published in 1961. It is set during World War II and is frequently cited as one of the great literary works of the twentieth century. It uses a distinctive non-chronological third person omniscient narration, describing events from myriad points of view and out of sequence; the narrative continually returns or catches up to an intricate plotline.

The novel follows Captain John Yossarian, a U.S. Army Air Forces B-25 bombardier. Most of the events in the book occur while the fictional 256th squadron are based on the island of Pianosa, in the Mediterranean Sea west of Italy. The novel books the experiences of Yossarian and other airmen, and their attempts to keep their sanity in order to fulfill their service requirements, so that they can return home. The phrase “Catch-22″, “a problematic situation for which the only solution is denied by a circumstance inherent in the problem or by a rule,” has entered the English language.

…intelligence reports indicate that you shouldn’t have to worry about flack and that kinda stuff. We were hoping for some new recon photos on enemy strength in that area. Unfortunately they haven’t arrived but as I always say, no news is good news. Umm, a lot of you may ask yourselves… how come we’re out to destroy a town that has no industry, no enemy bases, no strategic value to anyone.

no strategic value to any one…

a big cut…hammered hard down the third base line, foul…  and here comes the home plate umpire out from behind the plate now, stopping play… that 2/2 pitch there will just have to keep… rain coming down harder now. So we’ll stop once more here.

My soon-to-be ex-wife made it clear to me. Merely to win.

Just enjoy the scenery fer’ once, mister

My loving partner understands the gentle nature of humankind is to thrive in a setting upon which some foundation of trust and compassion has been built. I would no sooner look to another to take another breath than I would for cold comfort. Teri Anne has the most heartfelt of empathy, having lived in the depths of broken, sad relations and still raised damn fine children.

Damn fine.

Someday I will see my daughter again. Someday this cloud of innuendo and open deceit used to obtain my exclusion from her life will be defeated.

Even if it’s of no strategic value to anyone.

That is all.
I have found love. No more need be said.

my manner of transcendence. Let me rephrase.

Once I had love. It was a gas.


timeless beauty Anne Bancroft

timeless beauty Anne Bancroft

Anne Bancroft always said of all the men who pursued her, the affable and idiosyncratic Mel Brooks became her lifelong companion due to a simple element his wooing of her contained: he made her laugh.

But right now I’m trying to work.

True. I relish sex. But I appreciate whimsy.
I am determined to envelope this world.
Whack it, hard. And leave a mark.

Shoot me.

Or Somewhere The Same

FROM 2012

i have interviews and photos of street people going back to my first efforts in the city c 2005. here i combine these with a review of a great classic reissue with a little knowledge laying on ya once in a lifetime Venus transit

Note my darling daughter and Teri Anne meet for the first time as Ms. Lee’s second grade class preparation had been completed. It was a real group effort; Daddy lumbering. But not tending to overreact.

we’ve only just begun to live
homeless, proud, betrothed

homeless, proud, betrothed

BOOKENDED by twined beauty and facsimile, on occasion I glance back in fondness.

2012 brought great hubbub as Venus transited the face of the Sun.

By standards of the universe it is not rare, this event.

We live amidst immutable wonders.

heavenly bodies

A Rare Transit Exactly On Time. As If.

A Rare Transit Exactly On Time. As If.

As time inevitably narrows each of us

we bear witness to forever shunted, abandoned alternate futures. We see the frames slow. Witness the object gracefully passing. Here, eternally it seems, The Sun despite it’s browbeating omnipotence doesn’t stand a chance against such majestic beauty as is Venus.

Next time. hit ‘em up style, 105 years or so.

Mark it, Dude.

no time is better than now




THESE YEOMAN EFFORTS contributed by Steve Morowitz’ D-Pix crew are at length one great success. Grand, even. As a well-placed entreaty it arrives a fun, happy tune we can hum. Such refreshing winsomeness is a grand revisiting. It bears witness to the adult trade surviving and thriving in halcyon days. Scores of lesser, obscure gems not yet invigorated thusly hope to resonate with the Raincoater crowd (wear it proudly). Studied efforts, thought taboo but largely unsung, lead to the unearthing of treasure. This adaptation of Shaw’s universal text remains highly viewable and appealling to broader audiences. Devoted labors to this end have long been the hallmark of Distribpix commitment to excellence. That the visionary Radley Metzger balanced career efforts in places of the brightest illumination, while kindred with us pervs in the Valley is arousing.

Yes, of sentiment.

The Opening Of Misty Beethoven was Radley Metzger’s adaptation of Geo. Bernard Shaw’s Pygmalion, previously brought to the screen as My Fair Lady. Delight, dear raiders, in the effervescent Misty Beethoven as interpreted by Miss Constance Money, an Everett, WA engenue (Sue Jensen) at once a NYC fashion model before distinguishing herself here. This alongside a career role throughout by Jamie Gillis as her nefarious protagonist; she rises from lowly station of street walking whore to eminence in the fine social circles of the Pigalle.

Pigalle (French pronunciation: [piɡal]) is an district in Paris centered around the Place Pigalle on the border between the 9th and 18th arrondissements. It is named after the sculptor Jean-Baptiste Pigalle (1714–1785).

Pigalle is famous for being a tourist district, with many sex shops on Place Pigalle and the main boulevards and prostitutes operating in the side streets. The neighborhood’s raunchy reputation led to its World War II nickname of “Pig Alley” by Allied soldiers. The Divan du Monde and the Moulin Rouge, a world-famous cabaret, are both located in Pigalle. Henri Toulouse-Lautrec‘s studio was here. Artists such as Pablo Picasso, Vincent van Gogh, and Maurice Neumont also once lived here. The works of artist Salvador Dalí can be seen at the nearby Espace Dalí. It was also the home of the Grand Guignol theatre, which closed in 1962. However, the theatre itself still stands. The Musée de l’érotisme (Museum of Eroticism) can also be found here.

are you with me, Dr Wu?

are you with me, Dr Wu?

Pigalle. A manner of discourse offered by the French that for once, geez, go figure is easily translated by all, spoken universally.

The essential “Paris by Night”.

Here, women (and men) ply wares openly with relative auspicion. Place Pigalle has been long immortalized on stage and screen as home to Paris’ most famous adult cabaret’ of topless and nude exhibitions.

EDI.NOTE: subject study candidate

“Dude,” she says… “It’s like this. yer askin’ ’bout first time mainlinin’?”
“anyone’ll say if yer a chick it’s yer boyfriend or yer best friend. always.”


AUDREY. rare soul among us

AUDREY c.2012 rare soul among us

Santa Cruz Proud DC HARD

if you live in this world you’re feelin’ the change of the guard


there on the screen… a man with a dream


Distribpix should meet their goal, no problem.

Call it pent up demand.