3 Decades of Large Breasts: An American Obsession/Is she woman … or animal?/Fascination & Indifference
“Women are always complaining about men’s fascination with breasts. But what if men were absolutely indifferent to breasts? What would women do then with these things that serve one function once or twice in a lifetime, and the rest of the time are just in the way?”
Jonathan Carroll
Some call it the American obsession, but men everywhere recognize the hypnotic allure of a large and shapely breast. In The Big Book of Breasts, Dian Hanson explores the origins of mammary madness through three decades of natural big-breasted nudes. Starting with the World War II Bosom-Mania that spawned Russ Meyer, Howard Hughes’s The Outlaw and Frederick’s of Hollywood, Dian guides you over, around, and in between the dangerous curves of infamous models including Michelle Angelo, Candy Barr, Virginia Bell, Joan Brinkman, Lorraine Burnett, Lisa De Leeuw, Uschi Digard, Candye Kane, Jennie Lee, Sylvia McFarland, Margaret Middleton, Paula Page, June Palmer, Roberta Pedon, Rosina Revelle, Candy Samples, Tempest Storm, Linda West, June Wilkinson, Julie Wills, and dozens more, including Guinness World Record holder Norma Stitz, possessor of the World’s Largest Natural Breasts.
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Russ Meyer – Vixen
Is she woman … or animal?
Download Album Link: Russ Meyers ‘Vixen’ – Original Soundtrack
Jacques Henri Lartigue’s Parisian Women/Curves/Mae West & Edith Piaf
“Curves: The loveliest distance between two points.”
Mae West
Jacques Henri Lartigue (June 13, 1894 – September 12, 986) was a French photographer and painter.
Born in Courbevoie (a city outside of Paris) to a wealthy family, he is most famous for his stunning photos of automobile races, planes and fashionable Parisian women from the turn of the century.
Although Lartigue occasionally sold his pictures to the press and exhibited at the Galerie d’Orsay alongside Brassaï, Man Ray and Doisneau, his reputation as a photographer was not truly established until he was 69, with a retrospective at the Museum of Modern Art in New York and the publication of a portfolio in Life. He now added his father’s first name to his own surname, becoming Jacques Henri Lartigue. Worldwide fame came three years later with his first book, The Family Album, followed in 1970, by Diary of a Century, conceived by Richard Avedon. In 1975 he had his first French retrospective at the Musée des Arts Décoratifs in Paris. For the rest of his life, Lartigue was busy answering commissions from fashion and decoration magazines.
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Click on Link to Download Soundtrack: The Voice of the Sparrow – Edith Piaf
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Bad Girls of the 50s/All-night Joints & All-night Dames/That Cool Cat From Not That Far Back Wants Hotdogs
The TRUCKS that hi-ball thru the night!
The ALL-NIGHT joints of dames and java!
The rough-tough guys and wide-eyed Dolls who get their kicks from BENZEDRINE!
and saturday night drinks in bars where all the ladies bad dentistry/dolphin and tribal tattoos adorn tired flesh/dirty flat beers with the best company/but me on the sleazier side of drunk/watching karaoke kings and queens/once upon a time I was falling in love/now I’m only falling apart/as the doors lock and the kerry katona iceland treats come out on paper plates/tandoori chicken bites and soggy goujons/the dirtiest tapas you ever saw disappear with drained pints of stale lager/and we three slip away/a blur of taxi rides through the misty streets/into the a.m./where dark rooms shuffle a sinister cabaret of shemales/fags in drag/and a muted hard-on in my trousers/and I can hear the static noise of drunk in my ears/playground legends just tourists in this grim safari/too drunk to be disgusted or to get my dick sucked in the back room/she says she wants it rough/for me to pull her hair/and call her a dirty slut/but that nausea I can’t shake/like the dirt in my belly I can never throw up hard or deep enough to get out/and breakfast fried plantain with scrambled eggs and peppers/and that cool cat from not that far back/wants hot-dogs
so
we
throw
them
in
the
pan
too
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download soundtrack: The Fabulous Chordettes – The Chordettes
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Alfred Stieglitz Photographs of New York/Sometimes, every once in a while, I remember back to when I had you/Sippin’ at Bells
“I don’t really mind living like this. Quiet, not much to say. But, sometimes, every once in a while, I remember back to when I had you.”
John Rosow/Michael Shannon
The Missing Person
Alfred Stieglitz (January 1, 1864 – July 13, 1946) was an American photographer and modern art promoter who was instrumental over his fifty-year career in making photography an accepted art form. In addition to his photography, Stieglitz is known for the New York art galleries that he ran in the early part of the 20th century, where he introduced many avant-garde European artists to the U.S. He was married to painter Georgia O’Keeffe.
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Blue Bird Legendary Savoy Sessions – Charlie Parker & Miles Davis
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Readers Wives Polaroids of the 70s/Milano Calibro 9/Cold Flesh the Colour of Potatoes
Make a date with the brassy brides of Britain
The altogether ruder readers’ wives
Who put down their needles and their knitting
At the doorway to our dismal daily lives
The fablon top scenarios of passion
Nipples peep through holes in leatherette
They seem to be saying in their fashion
‘I’m freezing Charlie – haven’t ya finished yet?’
Cold flesh the colour of potatoes
In an Instamatic living room of sin
All the required apparatus
Too bad they couldn’t fit her head in
In latex pyjamas with bananas going ape
Their identities are cunningly disguised
By a six-inch strip of insulation tape
Strategically stuck across their eyes
Wives from Inverness to inner London
Prettiness and pimples co-exist
Pictorially wife-swapping with someone
Who’s happily married to his wrist
John Cooper Clarke
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Milano Calibro 9
Milano calibro 9 is a poliziottesco film written and directed by the Italian crime film specialist Fernando Di Leo in 1972. The film is based on a novel of the same name written by Giorgio Scerbanenco. The soundtrack for the film, Preludio Tema Variazioni e Canzona, is a collaboration album between Luis Enriquez bacalov and the Italian progressive rock group Osanna.
download soundtrack: Milano Calibro 9 -Luis Enriquez Bacalov & Osanna
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I Surrender, Dear/Dead Hawks, Prohibited Sausage & Cuban Cigars/Was it really so long ago that you and I sat together having fun?
“You wake up one day and you’re an adult.
And all the people you were just dreaming about have gone and changed. So you shake the sleep-dust from your eyes and you say, was it really so long ago that you and I sat together having fun?
No, not so long ago.
But life goes by in the blink of an eye.
Sobriety after all this time isn’t all as bitter as I thought it would be.
Recently, for a second or two I almost felt like things were okay with the world. Strange to feel that way, when you know there are wars everywhere, everything’s going to hell in a hand basket.
But still I must admit, for a moment, I felt some kind of peace.”
Michael Shannon as John Rosow – The Missing Person
Taryn Simon lived in John F Kennedy International Airport from November 16 through November 20, 2009. JFK processes more international passengers than any other airport in the United States. Contraband includes photographs taken 24 hours a day of over 1000 items detained or seized from passengers and express mail entering the U.S. from abroad. Over five days, in both the U.S. Customs and Border Protection Federal Inspection Site and the U.S. Postal Service International Mail Facility, Simon documented items including counterfeit American Express travelers checks, overproof Jamaican rum, heroin, a dead hawk, an illegal Mexican passport, deer penis, purses made from endangered species, Cuban cigars, counterfeit Disney DVDs, khat, gold dust, GHB concealed as house cleaner, cow manure tooth powder, counterfeit Louis Vuitton bags, prohibited sausage, undeclared jewelry, steroids and an ostrich egg.
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Download Soundtrack: Brilliant Corners – Thelonious Monk
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The Deserving World/Guillotines & Firing Squads/A Straight Hit Like Sì-Wŭ-Liù
“Console yourself by remembering that the world doesn’t deserve your affection”
Arthur Schopenhauer
frigid fingers held to the naked light bulb of the lamp for heat/these are frozen days/with prickly heat from space heaters/you run for 40 seconds under the duvet as coins slip through the gaps in the floorboards and the blinds/and for those who sit in large warm houses/with piles of superfluous things/complaining/poor me/like an obese man crying into his ice cream about his weight problem/I want to open his skull with a claw hammer/and their dismal holidays bourgeois versions of package holidays to Greece and Spain/complaining about the service and food/buying tat and crap/disenchanted dinners in tourist haunts/tiny bottles of soap and shampoo never touched/sipping on 3 euro coca-cola from the mini-bar/fenced off from the locals/unaware of who is the animals/and such long noses to look down/and cleaners to tidy their mess/to sweep their floors and polish their shit from porcelain/and wash their sheets/and dust their huge televisions/there is a parallel between the silt and the cream/a species imploding/to rub my arms with gasoline until I gleam/and these are the sentiments of genocide/of bitterness and disenchantment/and I dream of a primitive world
of guillotines
and
firing
squads
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Download soundtrack: 4,5,6 – Kool G Rap
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Ancient Mexican Culture/Tres Leches/Where’s Your Gat Gringo?
“You ain’t a killer, you still learnin how to walk/From New York to Cali all the real niggaz carry chalk/Mark you for death, won’t even talk that East and West crap/From Watts to Lefrak, it ain’t where you’re from it’s where’s your gat.”
Big Punisher
excerpt and images from the new york times
Ruben E Reyes is Mexican. He was raised in Mexico City. But some of the indigenous Tarahumara people of northern Mexico had a word for him when he first traveled among them in 2002. The word was “gringo.”
“I was never called that before,” Mr. Reyes, 31, recalled recently.
Though his father’s family had come from an area about 50 miles away, Mr. Reyes was an outsider in the Copper Canyon, among the mountains of the Sierra Madre Occidental. He found the Tarahumara, who are known for their running prowess, living lives not wholly unlike their ancestors centuries ago, who fled to these elevations from the Spanish.
“They still had their own culture,” Mr. Reyes said. “It wasn’t Mexicanized.”
However, by the time he returned for several months in 2009 to photograph, Mr. Reyes saw signs of a cultural shift among the Tarahumara (also known as the Rarámuri). Men who had previously worn loincloths now wore jeans. Children, most of them now in school, were speaking Spanish, while their grandparents spoke only Tarahumara. People were leaving the canyon to seek work in the cities. Yet, at the same time, Mr. Reyes found many traditional religious practices still being maintained, alongside Catholic observances.
His black-and-white, medium-format photographs have a timelessness of their own, as if they had been taken a century ago. But this wasn’t the result of some conscious aesthetic strategy. “This is just the way I photograph,” Mr. Reyes said.
He currently works as a freelance photographer in Cincinnati, where he lives with his wife, Jamie, and their newborn daughter. That’s a long way from Copper Canyon.
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Soundtrack: Capital Punishment – Big Pun
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Korean War Photographs/Revelations/Military Science & War by Proxy
“I know not with what weapons World War III will be fought, but World War IV will be fought with sticks and stones”
Albert Einstein
North and South Korea were sponsored by external powers, thus facilitating the war’s metamorphosis from a civil war to a proxy war between powers involved in the larger Cold War. From a military science perspective, the Korean War combined strategies and tactics of World War I and World War II—swift infantry attacks followed by air bombing raids. The initial mobile campaign transitioned to trench warfare, lasting from July 1951 until the 1953 border stalemate and armistice though minor outbreaks of fighting continue to the present day.
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Part of the imposing New York crew Monsta Island Czars, Megalon (a.k.a. Tommy Gunn a.k.a. the Black Jeezus of Rap) first gained recognition with his early Fondle ‘Em single “”One In A Million”” b/w “”Peace to the Homeless,”” as well as a show-stealing appearance on MF DOOM’s classic Operation: Doomsday. Flexing an intimidating, lightning-fast delivery paired with graphic lyrics focused primarily on narcotics conspiracy and bloodstained sidewalks, he’s one of the most popular members of the M.I.C. Though legal situations delayed its release, A Penny for Your Thoughts is nonetheless a great first album, loaded with illicit verses and dark, dramatic beatscapes provided by in-house producer X-Ray da Mindbenda.
Download Soundtrack: Penny for your Thoughts – Megalon
Buddy Esquire & Phase 2/Graves in the Snow/Old School Flyers
where junkies prowI, where the tigers growI... in search of that much-needed bIow. Where winos cringe on a canned-heat binge... and find their graves in the snow. Russell Stevens Jr. / John Hull
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download the soundtrack:
Long Live the Kane – Big Daddy Kane
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Vintage Steroscopic Nudes/It’s On/Peacocks & Lillies
“Remember that the most beautiful things in the world are the most useless; peacocks and lilies for instance.”
John Ruskin
Download Soundtrack: Its On (187um Killa) – Eazy E
If you enjoy this album please obtain a legal copy.
America in Color/Dry Lightning/Ambitions of Poverty
“I worked my way up from nothing to a state of extreme poverty.”
Groucho Marx
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download soundtrack: Ghost of Tom Joad – Bruce Springsteen
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Pakistan Taliban/I Get My Thang In Action/The Nature of Man
“Men are at war with each other because each man is at war with himself.”
Francis Meehan
Soundtrack: Tical – Method Man
If you enjoy this album please obtain a legal copy
Gray Vegetation/The Terran Trade Authority/The Extra Inch I Was Denied
“Soon silence will have passed into legend. Man has turned his back on silence. Day after day he invents machines and devices that increase noise and distract humanity from the essence of life, contemplation, meditation…tooting, howling, screeching, booming, crashing, whistling, grinding, and trilling bolster his ego. His anxiety subsides. His inhuman void spreads monstrously like a gray vegetation.”
Jean Arp
and I discovered these books in my childhood new-age library/attached to the protestant church and dentist in town/showing the death of glamour and gold/where we met and played as scouts/fist fights and wrestling I preferrd to football and marching/I allways loved to climb trees/now I get scared/and piles of tin-tin and asterix/led in bed before you knew how fucked the world was/where the only terror was glue sniffers at the park and gas-heads/pre 90s recession/when the world felt like a static safe place/and homes were for forever/and time just ticked on/and Victorian England was terrifying in books and oliver twist/and sibling fights/lego and star wars toys that were better than the films could ever be/forts and bases/before poverty and plain spaghetti every night/maybe an omelette/think I could have grown an extra inch of cock had I not been starved for protein as a child/and when this happenned obsessed with vietnam and don mccullin/I built VC traps/to protect myself/panji stakes and trip wires/the moment of realsation and terror that the world was unstable and cold/that it was your enemy and set on destroying you
never
leaves
me
like
a
rape
victims
memories
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download soundtrack: little johnny from the hospital – company flow
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pulp porn novella covers/hot dogs and rams/fela kuti
and these pulp porno novella covers so obscene in terms of their cover art and titles/had to edit the collection and remove the more sinister titles/and who the fuck whacked off to these?/and who the fuck illustrated the covers?/and the titles; The Gay Trap, Moms Donkey Urge and Mom Loves Hot Dogs/these were the tamer titles that I found/that didn’t include rape, cannibalism or torture/so next time you walk down the street and smile at a stranger/answer the door/or sit next to someone on the bus/look at them real close/they could be hot for the ram, a queer daddy or a pussy puncher.
and the morning spent frozen in this city I missed all weekend in Copenhagen/whose 7-11 stores remind me of america/but too cold for a slushy/hung over in hotel rooms/hotdogs and beer/wandered empty misty streets and docks/bow-tie and braces/blowing in my hands rubbing my numb nose/shearling and fur/on return went straight for caribbean food at Kay-Kays/duvet on the couch/laptop out/grape soda/watched elite force and quay brothers/but tonight i’ll cook thai/lime leaves and fish sauce/shut out the world/have some tom-fappery to interracial amateur housewives and shemales on wide 6
and
warm
these
frozen
mits
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download soundtrack: zombie – fela kuti
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Why Me and Greta Sleep in Separate Beds/In A Cadillac With Susan/Postcards from MGM
“every time you see a beautiful woman, just remember,
somebody got tired of her”
Clarence Sinclair Bull was born in Michigan but spent most of his life in Hollywood where he died in 1979. He was hired by movie mogul Sam Goldwyn in 1920 to photograph publicity stills of the studio’s stars. Four years later, when Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer was founded, Bull was appointed as the head of their stills department where he remained throughout his career. During that time he took portraits of the most celebrated Hollywood film stars, however, he is particularly known for his photographs fo Greta Garbo who was almost exclusively photographed by Bull from 1921 to 1941.
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download the soundtrack:
Nighthawks at the Diner – Tom Waits
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Pakistan Circus/The Nonexistent/Argos and Mr. Frosty
By believing passionately in something that still does not exist, we create it. The nonexistent is whatever we have not sufficiently desired.
Franz Kafka
and my parents never took me to the circus/or bought me a mr frosty/but I had buckaroo and operation/which is more than the ethiopian kids in live aid had/as they never knew it was christmas/ but I still wanted these things/and remember when everything you could every want in the world could be found in argos/board games/transformers/robots/lego/and its so cold today, even in bed/ I wish I could sleep a thousand years/and wake up as dust/and there was a kid who came to our school/with air max III/and other cool shit/and cable tv/and poisoned our minds/ to be hungry for things that existed outside the argos world/and we became devils/seduced with new things/and one night at camp we had a fight/and I beat him/but it was a pyric victory/because I still wanted to be him/ later on I heard he burnt his brain cells out on acid/much the same as me/but instead of becoming paranoid, bi-polar and manic like me,
he
just
turned
into
a
dribbling
retard
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download the soundtrack:
circus faux prez beats – odd nosdam
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Annie Get Your Gun/Cannibal Holocaust/Night of the Wang
and the porn then was visceral, all meat and potatoes with a side order of meat/todays filth so clinical with rubbery cold flesh, astro glide, the smell of bleached surfaces and antibacterial hand gel/there is no vaginal discharge, stray hairs, wet pussys, just cold lube smeared on cold thighs sickly sweet/a machine pumping out dilated cunts and viagra engorged wangs.
and they asked buttman in a documentary about his fixation with anal, and he said that it was because it was ‘real’ that you get a ‘real’ reaction from the actress/and I like that, porn thats ‘real’/and rocco siffredi still holds the fort down/no antibacterial hand gel or viagra there/the last great porn auteur/dirty anal kelly in rome part 2 his citizen kane.
and I heard about a cocktail, called a mexican hooker, that consists of tequila, tuna brine and tabasco/and thought it sounded quite good/and talking of mexican hookers, if they all looked like jessica alba in the killer inside me/I’d be continually broke/and they don’t understand that casey affleck is the physically small, appearingly mild mannered psychopath that jim thompson captured and characterised in a lot of his books/and played it perfectly.
so enjoy the tattered magazine covers/ranging from sinister to hillarious/with wild typographic design/and semen glazed laminate/and the riz ortolani soundtrack/ecclectic sounds that somehow are never disjointed/so go get your gun and lets christen this evening
the
night
of
the
wang
soundtrack: Cannibal Holocaust – Riz Ortolani
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Antique Porn/Who would you fuck?/A basement apartment in Cohoes
“The universe is a big place, perhaps the biggest.”
Kilgore Trout
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and it was a toss up between a collection of all those sticky sickly color climax magazine covers where the penises and vaginas all look red raw or these dusty old antique porn images/but it was my mood/and I was drawn to the breasts/the slightly sagging honesty of them/the backgrounds/shoes/and frilly things/lingerie from the the schizophrenic shufflings of a time machine with a mechanical hard-on/their expressions/the accessibility of their imperfection/and the regular beauty we get today so homogenous/with trimmed clams/and dull visits to the gym/the war on cellulite/and the ladies seem cool with it/cool that their bodies are so random and different/and so sexualised because of this/and I want something tangible/something real/ to eat the type of pussy you need to wipe your mouth with the back of your hand when shes done/all these ladies come hard all shaking thighs around your ears/no theatrics/and it makes me think of Kilgore Trout/and Ghostface/and ODB/wide open beavers/but the question is/not about the scattered time periods
but who
would
you
fuck?
soundtrack: Supreme Clientele – Ghostface Killah
if you enjoy this album please purchase a legal copy
Nostalgia/Beasley Street/Wonder Years
direction: camera pulls away from the american dream in the shape of a heavily finned 1960 chevrolet impala col. tasco turquoise poly and pans the neat suburban streets as Kevin Arnold finger-bangs Winnie on cunt smeared naugahyde upholstery the colour of gingivitis.
The first John Cooper Clarke record I ever heard was through an old Garard record player I’d salvaged from a skip, I was 14 years old and the record was Snap/Crackle/Bop. I carried the miraculously still-pristine deck with frozen fingers miles home, hooked it up and played Blonde on Blonde, Swordfishtrombones, Hot Rats and Snap/Crackle/Bop. This was when cds were a massive luxury; there were no downloads or streamed music; instead I had a pile of TDK90s with painfully handwritten tracklists, a couple of CDs and pre-recorded tapes.
Snap/Crackle/Bop has, since that first listen, continued to be an all-time favourite. In addition to the rest of the his body of work, Snap/Crackle/Bop is a testament to his virtuosity at manipulating the english language to paint poignant images, characters and scenes, that are simultaneously bleak, fascinating, hilarious and disturbing.
And I find myself at the bitter end of many an evening, at the Stephen Hawking end of the charm spectrum, flacid, liquor filled and sexually disinterested, trying to convince a random transexual or obese beauty queen that they should buy a John Cooper Clarke album as soon as they can, and that its probably not wise to take me home,
as
I
can
never
live
up
to
how
sexy
and enigmatic
I appear
when
I’m
drunk.
Below is a link to Snap/Crackle/Bop, if you enjoy the album, please purchase an original copy.
Beasley Street
by John Cooper Clarke
Far from crazy pavements –
the taste of silver spoons
A clinical arrangement
on a dirty afternoon
Where the fecal germs of Mr Freud
are rendered obsolete
The legal term is null and void
In the case of Beasley Street
In the cheap seats where murder breeds
Somebody is out of breath
Sleep is a luxury they don’t need
– a sneak preview of death
Belladonna is your flower
Manslaughter your meat
Spend a year in a couple of hours
On the edge of Beasley Street
Where the action isn’t
That’s where it is
State your position
Vacancies exist
In an X-certificate exercise
Ex-servicemen excrete
Keith Joseph smiles and a baby dies
In a box on Beasley Street
From the boarding houses and the bedsits
Full of accidents and fleas
Somebody gets it
Where the missing persons freeze
Wearing dead men’s overcoats
You can’t see their feet
A riff joint shuts – opens up
Right down on Beasley Street
Cars collide, colours clash
disaster movie stuff
For a man with a Fu Manchu moustache
Revenge is not enough
There’s a dead canary on a swivel seat
There’s a rainbow in the road
Meanwhile on Beasley Street
Silence is the code
Hot beneath the collar
an inspector calls
Where the perishing stink of squalor
impregnates the walls
the rats have all got rickets
they spit through broken teeth
The name of the game is not cricket
Caught out on Beasley Street
The hipster and his hired hat
Drive a borrowed car
Yellow socks and a pink cravat
Nothing La-di-dah
OAP, mother to be
Watch the three-piece suite
When shit-stoppered drains
and crocodile skis
are seen on Beasley Street
The kingdom of the blind
a one-eyed man is king
Beauty problems are redefined
the doorbells do not ring
A lightbulb bursts like a blister
the only form of heat
here a fellow sells his sister
down the river on Beasley Street
The boys are on the wagon
The girls are on the shelf
Their common problem is
that they’re not someone else
The dirt blows out
The dust blows in
You can’t keep it neat
It’s a fully furnished dustbin,
Sixteen Beasley Street
Vince the ageing savage
Betrays no kind of life
but the smell of yesterday’s cabbage
and the ghost of last year’s wife
through a constant haze
of deodorant sprays
he says retreat
Alsations dog the dirty days
down the middle of Beasley Street
People turn to poison
Quick as lager turns to piss
Sweethearts are physically sick
every time they kiss.
It’s a sociologist’s paradise
each day repeats
On easy, cheesy, greasy, queasy
beastly Beasley Street
Eyes dead as vicious fish
Look around for laughs
If I could have just one wish
I would be a photograph
on a permanent Monday morning
Get lost or fall asleep
When the yellow cats are yawning
Around the back of Beasley Street
Piano Necktie 
