High Contrast Grey.

While in Billings I took my sister to see Henry Rollins do some of his stand up/spoken word. First row center balcony. He seemed to not talk about politics, or go off on Bush as much as I have seen before, but then again it was Billings Montana, so perhaps it was just a factor of playing to the crowd. I did really enjoy how he ended his show in saying that this is a new century and we, as people, need to get out and see the world so we might stop bombing everyone.

I just spent about the last two weeks hanging out at my parent’s place in Billings. It always seems hard to find things to do there. But at least this time I didn’t get called faggot from passing cars every time I decided to go for a walk. Then again I didn’t really walk much this time visiting. I finally got to see my sister play her clarinet at some school concert. When I moved out she had just got her clarinet so I would be hearing squeaks and squawks from her bedroom and this was quite the change. The first song she played was “Hitler has only got one ball” and I muttered along with the lyrics, or at least the first two lines that I could remember since when I hear it in pop culture it usually doesn’t make it past the first two lines. I asked Taryn when she was done if her band teacher also taught her the lyrics to that song and she just looked at me bewildered. Since my roommate moved back home for the summer (and potentially moving out all together meaning university ho

Ah, it was a fine night, a warm night, a wine-drinking night, a moony night, and a night to hug your girl and talk and spit and be heavengoing. This we did. Jack Kerouac On the Road

French underworld tattoos at the turn of the century. The man sports a tattooed mustache intended to foil the prohibition of facial hair in the Foreign Legion. The World of Tattoo by Maarten Hesselt van Dinter. I can only dream of being anywhere near that combination of badass and crazy. Though at that point the Foreign Legion was probably still the best place for criminals to get their record cleaned so perhaps he is as well quite legitimately scary upon all of that. I find myself flipping back to this page time and time again to romanticize the French underground from around 1900. Give him an accordion, a beret, and some braces. Prostitutes who could easily kill you if you ever come up short and tattoo the names of their ‘actual’ lovers between their breasts, close to their heart. Tattoo ‘Je mother fucking t’aime’ in a tattoo cursive along my collar bones.

I don’t like flash very much, but I think that if I develop this as a lithograph that it will help counteract. I think that I will compile some of my already compiled pictures of accordions and bohemian kids for developing. Perhaps Cassandra on the porch can be put into a Nat Sherman fag box as an old pocket photo box. Meh, I really just need to get this done and over with and stop trying to over think the assignment.

I can’t seem to think up ideas for the upcoming final for my alternative process photography class. So, self portrait with my old mustache drawn back on it seems it may be (while listening to Doctor Who radio shows).. Then again that might just be me finishing off two bottles of white wine from the salmon and French lentil dinner that I made Stephanie and myself last night.. Time to probably throw in my accordion, and perhaps my new pipe I got cheap yesterday from the antique store just down the way from Stephanie’s place.