noa avishag schnall

last thursday ANA and i traversed all of la .
what a good sport that little lady is ! straight from her shoot with RONY, ANA came along for the shoot STAMP and i conceptualized for RUBY .

off we hustled downtown to the studio where GUISEPPE and NATE were ready to shoot .
after the final photo shoot of the day (and a brief visit from the cops), i had all the girls involved in the shoot put on the same neon pink matte lipstick we had RUBY wear, and had STAMP capture the moment .
from l-r: me, MELE, RUBY, ANA and ALEJANDRA

when RUBY directs

i’ve let you devour my innards so that not even i can make use of the leftover carrion .

tinko-in-milan

my good friend TINKO CZETWERTYNSKI took this shot outside of the grand hotel in milan, italy .
the ink color is great on her skin ,
and it’s all just so romantic .

check out the incredible photography and film service TINKO provides

CHARLOTTE and ANA, my newest french loves .

h-21, eye of dawn, margaretha zelle, MATA HARI
many were her names
the prototype of the femme fatale.

a kiss to her executioners
“harlot, yes, but traitor, never.”

mark mothersbaugh in one of my favorite photos .
perfectly encapsulating the disinterested gaze .
a musician’s true love, first and foremost, will always be music.

marias birthday

welcome home, MARIA
une partouze des mains

daughter of a ROTHSCHILD, and a member of the free french forces during WWII, baroness PANNONICA de KOENIGSWARTER was a patron of the new york jazz scene in the 1950s, as well as a confidant to its greatest musicians.
in two red leather HERMÈS notebooks, “NICA” transcribed the responses of three hundred jazz musicians to the same singular question, and included along with those often phonetically typed notes, a polaroid that she took herself .
thelonius x pannonica
all images courtesy of hermes.com
more: BLAKLEY, LOCKJAW & COLTRANE (3)

unintentional grocery store art
kinda like the visual equivalent of a JOHN UPDIKE short story.

the morning i got up to begin this book i coughed . something was coming out of my throat: it was strangling me . i broke the thread which held it and yanked it out . i went back to bed and said: i have just spat out my heart .

there is an instrument called the quena made of human bones . it owes its origin to the worship of an indian for his mistress . when she died he made a flute out of her bones . the quena has a more penetrating, more haunting sound than the ordinary flute .

those who write know the process . i thought of it as i was spitting out my heart .

only i do not wait for my love to die .
– ANAÏS NIN, house of incest