disposable camera #37

More photos from my summer trip to Seattle.

Xo

Raton Rose


A few more Halloween treats

 

 

First things first my favorite crew of talented ladies back in Seattle just did yet another amazing photo shoot for Rookie Magazine. Theres a sneak peek below but check out the rest here!

 

 

 

 

Second…a sweet little vintage Halloween card.

 

 

 

 

 

 

And last of all some AMAZING vintage Halloween costumes.

 

 

 

 

Have a happy Halloween!!

 

 

XO

Raton Rose


Sea Town

Photos from my trip to Seattle this summer.

xo

Raton Rose


Photo Booth

With Echo

Xo

Raton Rose


Rose B. Grimm

Remember death when you look at me.

Remember death and you will see he is closer to you then me.

What has become of life when all I see is dark shadows of eternity?

There’s a soft tenderness in death’s foreverness.

Death is the only suitor who follows through making all his promises come true.

He seems a handsome man, a king of a strange enchanted land.

Are all the ghosts his brides?

Wearing white, queens ruling by his side…

I see death in every handsome man I see,

Am I merely pretending to be Persephone?

Xo

Raton Rose


Raton Rose


Flash Back : Summer of 2008

Things that come to mind…

Party spot: The Fur Den
Drink: Gin/Cooks Champagne
Smell: Dragons Blood
Song: To Fast For Love
Book: Peter Pan
Animal: Horse
Feeling: Raging Love


Raton Rose


Flash Back: Billy’s White Trash Hair Show

This was so much fun!! My dear friend Billy Bones other wise known as Mallory Fry had her very own hair salon for a time which she threw some pretty awesome hair shows for. First being the White Trash Hair Show!! It was such a blast we drank beer all night long, blacked out our teeth, got trashy and faked some pregnancies. The photos turned out fucking hilarious thanks to Keith Johnson who always does a lovely job capturing the ridiculous. Here are the ones I have left on my computer.

Enjoy…

Raton Rose


Boat Poem

A tender rendering of Jeronimo Whitemountain by Jade Carmen

Jeronimo Whitemountain is a grisly and tough old man whom I met at a fisherman bar in Seattle, which happens to be the grayest town on the west coast. He had just grabbed and thrown a man  by the collar of his shirt onto the floor, just after the man had poked fun at an accessory Jeronimo was wearing. The accessory he was wearing was the carcass of a wolf, from head to hind paw, which he fashioned as a shawl around his stout shoulders. Intrigued, I bought him a gin and asked him if he’d ever heard of Billy the Kid. We got to talking and after two more drinks he was spilling  his love  of Rimbaud into me. He told me of his years at sea and how most of his friends now sleep with the fish. I asked him if he ever considered writing a memoir about the ocean. He replied, ‘Memoirs are for pussies’  and after a few moments of silently staring into his empty glass, he said, ‘ I only ever wrote poetry and  I only ever loved Eleanor’. He then pulled out of a small briefcase a sheet of letter-stock with his name handsomely printed in royal blue ink on the top right corner. He held the sheet out for a moment in front of him, then handed it to me, rose from the barstool, and left without another word. As he bumblingly left the bar I noticed a thin stream of tears climbing down his face. I looked down at the faded sheet of letter-stock he had left me and this is what I read:

 

BOAT POEM/LETTER

For Eleanor From Jeronimo Whitemountain 

It’s strange, I know,
but sometimes I cherish the wind out here.
I consume my image of you, embracing its
grandeur in the pit of my stomach;
my salty dog-ette.
The wind growls some, its only folly being
the slight freeze that heckles the skin around
my trachea and turns the skin to
goose-flesh.

In the bowels of this sloop,
where my dollars are counted
in sea-life,
my waking hours prove a liminal  blur.
I recall a drunk January
with the stigma of snow…. &
we almost wound all the way down
into the icicle-ridden marina.

I remember always how un-remorseful
the sea can be
& falling in is forgetting everything,
toes gnawed on by the herring.
I wake up and reach for the shore
but it’s missing. I get up and tame my hungers
with a slim can of white-chunk tuna in water. That’s
all there is here.

I extend my heavy yearnings through
the sputter
of an aged udder. I know that I’m a hunter
only really visible in breaths but
I swear I’m still with you. I swear
over and over, rocking with this current
in twilights daze,
slaving to a net
slaving to a cage
slaving to a sinister crustacean.

Nestled between a crane and a cot
I imagine  myself a reptile
climbing up the mast
in reverence to your plea…
Ah, to crash into an
insurgence of leaves, burying
my frosty nose into your womanly pit;
this intrigues me, implementing
my scales on to yours. I will return soon,
a sack of marred bones, fiending a huddle
broken by sexual favors.
I will return more man than child.
I will return holding the dark waters
as my insufferable pet.

-j



Guns n Roses 18th Birthday Party

Its been forever since I did a party post…in fact I believe I only ever did one. For those of you who didn’t read that post, I have decided to share some photos and stories from the wild parties in Seattle back in the day.

My 18th Birthday and the Guns and Roses party was a night to remember, or forget….if you were drinking as much as I. For me it started early on in the day getting ready at my friend’s house. I had just come back from SF where I scored an amazing pair of fake snake-skin pants that actually looked pretty real. I got all Axled out and then went to watch my high schools play. My friend Billy Bones picked me up after with her sweet motorcycle. We made a make shift seat on the back for me and we speed off into the night. It was a long and exhilarating ride to the party which was deep in Rainer beach. As we pulled up in front of the house she revved the engine and the crowd outside turned and looked at us as we dismounted in a hair metal disarray.

The party was already pretty packed, which impressed me seeing as it was far away from anything else. I had really wanted to drink night train that night, but hadn’t thought of it enough in advance so I settled with champagne and vodka instead. I was highly entertained seeing all of the outfits my friends where wearing who had dressed up. There was a general agreement that everyone looked hotter all trashed out. The bands began playing, sadly I don’t remember the first two bands names but they where good.

The party broke to a whole new thresh hold of insanity once Sioux City Pete and The Beggars started to play. Their dark and heavy rock n’ roll was all we needed to let go. We were packed into a small basement dancing and sweating as one huge crowed, arms around each other and smiles across our faces.

Whenever The Beggars played back in the day it usually involved the crowed getting partially naked. I believe Lexi the guitarist at the time would slip out of her little black dress into her bar and underwear and then Pete would take his shirt off and yell into the crowd how hot it was and that everyone should get naked!! There was always a pack of us girls who would shed our shirts in an instant, the boys so inspired would soon follow. It was all a mass of messy fun seeing as a fucking pipe broke during the set, flooding the floor with water. We didn’t care though, we kept on dancing and rocking.

After the show was over I became aware that my snake-skin pants had indeed decided to shed their skin, and that there was a big split up the back of my ass. I figured it was probably time to head home after that but first I crawled through the grass in the back yard laughing and telling my best friend Echo that I was a tiger…I hope no one besides her saw….

The next morning I woke up and went to get dressed and couldn’t find my shirt anywhere. All of a sudden a cloud of doom appeared over my head. I called up my friend Gretchen asking “Um…did I leave the party with a shirt on last night?” She laughed and said “No. You did not.” I was pretty embarrassed that I had apparently just run around the party in my bra and GnR jacket for an hour or so after the band had finished playing. I waited in dread of the photos that would turn up and see how absolutely wasted I would look in them. Luckily Keith Johnson is an amazing photographer and only put the good ones up. All and all it was pretty hair metal even if it wasn’t my usual behavior.

Raton Rose


Fragment, Pt.5

Again arrived quickly and returned as promised. Words vaporized into the pink room air as my thoughts were intoxicated with your presence.

Fragment is a variety of photo and pocket journal musings.
The following were taken on two disposable cameras, developed 2/22/12.

The most colorful man, Frank Correa

Nails at Linda's Tavern with my favorite story teller.

My "waiter" on Christmas day at the establishment formerly known as Turf. He said it was cheaper to go down the street and buy multiple glasses at the drugstore instead of buying a pair with his prescription.

Christmas in Seattle

Every holiday, (Thanksgiving and Christmas) when barely any other coffee shops in my neighborhood are open, I go to the Monorail Espresso. I'm always greeted by this warm and cheerful face.

Don't forget to look up, you never know what you might find.

Hazy window views through the looking glass.

Anna came for a visit during winter break. Her and Tennessee were putting on their shoes for a drunken adventure in search of Subway. I don't think they ever made it out the door because we had a pizza party that may or may not have been accompanied by dancing.

Snow Day in the International District.

Jackie & Judy - Snow Day

Met this cute Snow Man outside Bauhaus after picking up a cup of coffee.

The Courtyard in my building: beautiful, for all seasons.

Pavel, Ozma, Elfy & Frank

flowers & snow

Johnny wearing my duffle coat on a snowy day.

Chrissie, Krilly & Amanda at Bowiemas

The hostest with the mostest, Miss Rose. (Sounds more like, missing, Rose.) We danced a short dance before she ran back into the crowded mess of champagne, glitter and glam.

Stalking Kirra

I admire a woman that can expose her breasts with hot pink x's in public.

The lovely Ursula Rose with Tennessee.

Chrissie White, photographer and fun time party girl.

For endless laughs and someone to share the peace pipe with, call Claire.

A man of many disguises.

Apparently, Olivia caught whatever the guy standing next to her had in his eye.

Matt & Luke.

Sarah & Kirra

Bright colored high heels? Yes, please.

We gathered in a small pack and set forth to a party that I can hardly remember.

good night.


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