Ah yes. A familiar sting.

I keep saying to myself that one day, one time, one person, one life, I will not feel this sting anymore.

But I end up with the blood.

With the sharpness.

With the shame.

With the sadness.

It's always the same. Knowing that I'm the worst.

Knowing that I'm not. That it is just a voice that makes me feel this way. A voice I've heard since I was a child.

I'm sure it will get better. After all, I've been through this before. But at this time I feel a bit more clobbered than I have before as I didn't expect it, no, not nearly as much as I had before.

Oh well.


Tomorrow is another day.

Gil Scott-Heron

I just found out that Gil Scott-Heron has passed. I still occasionally listen to this and get chills at how powerful his words were.

The Revolution Will Not Be Televised

You will not be able to stay home, brother.

You will not be able to plug in, turn on and cop out.

You will not be able to lose yourself on skag and skip,

Skip out for beer during commercials,

Because the revolution will not be televised.

The revolution will not be televised.

The revolution will not be brought to you by Xerox

In 4 parts without commercial interruptions.

The revolution will not show you pictures of Nixon

blowing a bugle and leading a charge by John

Mitchell, General Abrams and Spiro Agnew to eat

hog maws confiscated from a Harlem sanctuary.

The revolution will not be televised.

The revolution will not be brought to you by the

Schaefer Award Theatre and will not star Natalie

Woods and Steve McQueen or Bullwinkle and Julia.

The revolution will not give your mouth sex appeal.

The revolution will not get rid of the nubs.

The revolution will not make you look five pounds

thinner, because the revolution will not be televised, Brother.

There will be no pictures of you and Willie May

pushing that shopping cart down the block on the dead run,

or trying to slide that color television into a stolen ambulance.

NBC will not be able predict the winner at 8:32

or report from 29 districts.

The revolution will not be televised.

There will be no pictures of pigs shooting down

brothers in the instant replay.

There will be no pictures of pigs shooting down

brothers in the instant replay.

There will be no pictures of Whitney Young being

run out of Harlem on a rail with a brand new process.

There will be no slow motion or still life of Roy

Wilkens strolling through Watts in a Red, Black and

Green liberation jumpsuit that he had been saving

For just the proper occasion.

Green Acres, The Beverly Hillbillies, and Hooterville

Junction will no longer be so damned relevant, and

women will not care if Dick finally gets down with

Jane on Search for Tomorrow because Black people

will be in the street looking for a brighter day.

The revolution will not be televised.

There will be no highlights on the eleven o'clock

news and no pictures of hairy armed women

liberationists and Jackie Onassis blowing her nose.

The theme song will not be written by Jim Webb,

Francis Scott Key, nor sung by Glen Campbell, Tom

Jones, Johnny Cash, Englebert Humperdink, or the Rare Earth.

The revolution will not be televised.

The revolution will not be right back after a message

bbout a white tornado, white lightning, or white people.

You will not have to worry about a dove in your

bedroom, a tiger in your tank, or the giant in your toilet bowl.

The revolution will not go better with Coke.

The revolution will not fight the germs that may cause bad breath.

The revolution will put you in the driver's seat.

The revolution will not be televised, will not be televised,

will not be televised, will not be televised.

The revolution will be no re-run brothers;

The revolution will be live.

My Pilum is harder than Your Sternum

It's true. 

You may feel like you have the ultimate shield, covering your heart with bony armor; cold and encasing the sensitive organ from the frightening possibility. 

The possibility of exposure. 

Of warmth. 

Of pain. 

Pain which came before. Again and again with each man you cracked your ribs open to so he could gently kiss, he instead bit. Some with betrayal. Some with indifference. Some with lies. Every time with poison. 

So you carefully constructed your defenses; a ziggurat of bone and thorns. Impenetrable to everyone who tried to touch you again. 

But you haven't met me. 

I see the great treasure inside of the sealed walls and I know that I must convince you that I will not try to possess it or damage it, but to open it to my exposed self as well. To merge and create instead of pillaging and salting the earth of where it rests. 

So I take this javelin. Sharp in it's intent. Straight in it's determination. Balanced perfectly in it's truth. 

I stand tall

I draw my arm back

And I let my pilum fly

Shatter

Izakaiya

Beer

Savory meats on a stick

Couples chatting. Some of the men obviously trying to impress their dates. Some of the women not falling for their attempts at bullshit. Other couples enjoying the mood and the wrinkles in the corners of their love's eyes as they smile and laugh.






I notice an older man sitting by himself, enjoying his snack and observations of the younger people.


I notice that he sees the same thing I do when he spies me.

We both nod, take a sip of beer, and enjoy The Beatles as they play over the speakers.

A good night to smoothly let you know

"You are getting older"

Location:Geary Blvd,San Francisco,United States

Clean cut

Rick's is a barber shop on Geary that Juan Puente turned me on to. It's the kind of place that used to be ubiquitous, but is slowly disappearing: a place to get a good, basic men's haircut for a fair price.

Rick himself clips, cuts, edge shaves, and then shoulder massages you for $12. The place is incredibly minimalist; a fading hand-written sign stating the prices, 4 waiting chairs, 2 barber chairs, and an oldies station playing. There is always a few magazines and today's paper there, waiting to be lazily flipped through as you wait your turn.

There is an inherent, simple masculinity about Rick's. Occasional chatter in either English or Tagalog is heard, but it's very no-nonsense, and never loud.

I'm glad to have been shown a small oasis of an older time so close to where I live.

Location:Geary Blvd,San Francisco,United States

不思議

As you can see in this photo, the area I live near gets very foggy. It's part of the nature of San Francisco and one of the main pieces if nostalgia that I have in my memories that I can revisit not just by reminiscing, but by just taking a short drive (or a long walk) to the beach.

What I love about the fog is that it suddenly wraps everything in a veil of mystery, and forces you to heighten your senses. Suddenly things seem strangely brighter because every small piece of light reflects off of the fog, but it's more difficult to see things. Sounds seem to amplify. The cold and wet exaggerate the scent of the world.

The Japanese word for mysterious is "fushigi", and it's one that somehow pleases me in a way that makes no real sense, but I like it nonetheless.

This is my Fushigi City.

And I love it.

Location:Point Lobos Ave,San Francisco,United States

An exciting evening

Small defeat

I woke up at 5am again. Cats trilling, foghorns mooing in the distance.
After a bit I got excited for the possibility of getting a small breakfast and then getting a haircut at Ricks.

Then I realized.

"Fuck. It's Sunday"

Many things on my mind

Will update soon as I'm getting older. Here's a photo.

As the world turns

I will still plug in here once in a while, I've just been ridiculously busy lately. Here's a photo of Dexter in the meantime.

'shanghai' kate hellenbrand and her continuous lies

It's been brought to my attention that kate hellenbrand, former girlfriend of my teacher Mike Malone, has started blogging and ranting about how my father and Mike have stolen the legacy of Sailor Jerry (which she claims to rightfully own) and have completely sold out and left Jerry's wife penniless.

Now, back in the day when Jerry passed, he left instructions for his wife to sell his shop and all his art to either Zeke Owen, Mike Malone, or my father, Don Ed Talbot Hardy (actually his given name... he doesn't have any 'monkiers' nor go by "Don" as in mafia don, as kate claimes), and if none of them were interested in it, to actually BURN all of it.

At the time, Zeke had a successful shop in San Diego and my father was finally living his dream at the time of working in Japan, so neither of them could buy the shop, but Mike, working at the time for Zeke, realized that this was a great opportunity and made the big move to Honolulu.

Now you have to realize that Jerry's widow got paid a very, very good sum of money (especially for 1973 dollars) from Mike for the shop and all of the artwork that went with it. Since it was a large amount of money, it even took Mike a good deal of time to pay it completely. When he did finally give Louise the final payment, he was given even more artwork. All of this art would have been BURNED. Lost forever. Louise got paid, Mike got ownership of the Jerry legacy, and kept it alive. NOT kate, who STILL claims to have tattooed under Jerry (the only woman who Jerry had tattoo in his shop was Micky Uma, who Jerry had called his 'new apprentice' to my father and Mike to rib them... you can see in a famous photo of Jerry a sign he made that said "Beauty and the Beast Tattoo" as a joke... Jerry was always fond of the idea of having a good looking girl in the shop to attract more sailors), which is a total fabrication. Although she was Mike's girlfriend at the time, she did not work at Jerry's shop at all.

Later when Mike and kate broke up, she took it upon herself to take a large amount of Jerry's art, stencils, and photos from Mike. She has since then laid claim to Mike's story of being Jerry's golden child and said that these items, which she has been selling for quite some time, as rightfully hers. Mike had just let her have these items for years, not even bothering with her in a fit of disgust. It wasn't until years later he even eluded to her being a thief and taking his life story to make her own 'road to glory'.

Now that Mike has been gone for two years, I can only assume that she feels that the coast is clear for her to start spewing further lies and insults. Somehow she figures that Mike and my father screwed Louise since some of the Jerry art is now being used on clothing and rum. Mike and my father became the sole owners of Jerry's artwork after Louise sold it (Mike had sold a good amount of Jerry's artwork to my father). It would have been burned and lost forever otherwise. Mike decided to make some money off of the artwork, first by partnering with my father to make the Sailor Jerry flash books (which are still used by tattoo artists around the world) and then later partnering with the clothing company that still produces the Sailor Jerry line of clothing. The clothing company made a deal with the liquor producers who make the rum, which apparently is a world-wide smash hit. Recently the liquor company bought out the rights completely, and my father and the executors of Mike's estate got paid in a settlement, which was from I understand, not a huge sum. Mike had been selling Jerry's original art for years, which was just as much of his right as licensing it as he had purchased it in full from Louise years earlier. That's the end of the story.

It's very sad that kate still tries to tell the world her lies. I don't know if it is jealousy that she takes stabs at my father and Mike or dementia. Nonetheless, she wraps herself in a disguise of false sainthood making claims that she is trying to right wrongs. Nothing could be further from the truth.

I tried to comment on one of kate's myspace blogs where she is throwing her garbage against the wall, but she only allows comments to go through that she sees fit, which makes it look like she has a great cheerleading squad. Oh well.

Anyway, here's the letter that Louise sent Paul when she was looking for Mike or Zeke to sell off the shop. Make of it what you will.




Last minute addition: I realized that her nickname 'shanghai' is very appropriate considering what she did to Mike's life story.

NEW LIFE COMING!

Well, here we go. After 17 years of tattooing, and 11 years of living here in beautiful Minnesota, it is time for a change once more.

Recently, when Amy & I were in Honolulu for Mike's memorial, my father and I had a long talk about the current situation with him, Tattoo City, and all the crazy business around the Ed Hardy brand and the time and effort that goes into keeping it up and running. What was finally revealed to me is that because of all these tasks, my father has had NO time to actually do the things he enjoys, such as create art for art's sake. This, coupled with the elephant in the room of all of us not getting any younger, has necessitated the fact that it is time for me to move back to my hometown of San Francisco and help in the family business.

So as of September of this year, Amy & I will be moving to San Francisco and starting over. This is a huge task, as living away from California for 17 years has allowed me, the ultimate pack rat, to accumulate a lifetime's worth of books, art, memorabilia, and assorted crap, as well as all of Amy's and our furniture, a car, and two annoying cats. Add to the fact that Amy has barely ever seen San Francisco let alone spent any time there makes this a stressful but at the same time we look forward to the challenges this will bring.

I want to say that leaving is bittersweet. Working at the Aloha Monkey in Burnsville has been a great experience and has really recharged my batteries. Josh Arment, Marx Barry, Josh Edwards, Kyle Franklin, Ryan Malone, Tara Boyd, Will Vinge, and all the rest of the regulars and extended family have made me love tattooing again, giving me a new lease on life. I cannot stress enough how much I owe this crew.

I cannot forget the crews of Uptown Tattoo as well, who took me in when I was at a real low point due to personal problems. Nic, Jon, Tom, and Brandon were essential to putting a lot of my life into perspective and made me realize what I was and what I wasn't; and to make sure I knew that what I put into this craft is what I can get from it as well. I thank them all!

And of course, I have to thank David Dettloff and the crew of the Ink Lab, who took me into the Minnesota Fold back in 1998. When I moved here from Hawaii, David helped me to realize that this state is fantastic, and that there is a lot of greatness where I expected nothing more than "you betcha" and hot dish. The crew of the Ink Lab are still friends, and I have to say thanks to Charlie, Kryss, Daniel, and all the help over the years for putting up with my crap.

So it will be a busy and hectic summer for Amy & I, and hopefully we'll see everyone as much as we can before our big move. I'll keep further news coming.

ADVENTURE HO!

- Doug Hardy

Soon: a move to a 'new' shop

Aloha all... I've used this greeting for years. It began back when I moved to Honolulu to take my apprenticeship with Mike Malone at China Sea Tattoo. I thought that it was kind of corny, a throwback to a time when Hawaii was considered someplace so exotic that "Aloha" was used in music that beckoned to a far away place. Eventually it became a greeting that I use without ironic corniness, and now it seems that it will become a part of my vocabulary yet again.

Working at Uptown Tattoo has been very eye-opening to me. The crew there (Nic, Jon, Tom and Brandon) are all very driven, and it shows in their amazing work. They have all taught me a lot more about art and tattooing that made me think in ways that I didn't always do before. I'm extremely grateful towards them, but in the end we all realized that I'm not a custom-only shop tattooist.

I was taught in a street shop. One of the best in the country, by one of the best street shop tattooists in the world. I learned the trade, the talk, the way to keep people interested and to discern the people who are wanting to actually get tattooed from the people who are just fucking off. This is a world that I came to love very much, an instantaneous decision that alters the lives of those involved. Nothing is wrong with custom work where the client and artist talk about the piece, work on it for weeks, if not years, at a time, and end up with a unique tattoo. Hell, my father is one of the main forces that created this form in the United States. I have many custom tattoos, and will continue to do them. But my passion lies in the tattoo that comes in the twinkle of the eye, with strong, primordial designs on flash that speaks to the soul of the client. Strong flash created decades ago still speaks to people. It's the old way. The way that makes me love tattooing for what it is: an expression of self.

As of October, I will be moving to the Aloha Monkey, a tattoo shop originally opened by my teacher, Michael Malone, in Burnsville Minnesota. When Mike moved with his prodigy, Keith Underwood, to Chicago, he sold the Monkey to another artist who loves the street soul of tattooing: Josh Arment. Josh has made the Monkey into a strong shop with a crew that embodies the fun of tattoos: Marx Barry and Josh Edwards, along with piercers Ryan Malone and Tara to round it out.

Although I am the square peg at Uptown, I will be leaving it with no anger. Nic, Jon, Brandon and Tom are all great people that I will still encourage friends to get tattoos by (hell, I'll be getting tattooed by all of them myself), and if all goes right, a good friend of mine will be joining them in the future (more on that another time). I know that they will continue being one of the best damn shops in Minneapolis.

So, to the crew at Uptown, I say thank you, and am glad that I have been there for the past year and few months. I've learned a lot about myself since I've been there, and in the end, I found that I like what I am.

The inevitable creation that astonishes the cat, but only until a dust mote floats by.

Well, it's official. I'm on this whole blogger thing. This is what happens when one gets up early sunday morning and finds himself browsing Google's offerings.

As you can see, the cat really was thrilled for about 2 nanoseconds.