baron & crow

Relics From a Hell's Kitchen Pawn Shop

noreply@blogger.com (baron and crow) — Sat, 17 Jul 2010 09:55:00 +0000

London-based publisher Ronin Press has just released Relics From a Hell's Kitchen Pawn Shop, a collection of short stories by John Greiner and photographs by Carrie Crow. Download your copy here, read, enjoy and share.
--
About Ronin Press: This is a wonderful, independent publishing house with a passion for the avant-garde, subversive and alternative.
About John Greiner: He is the guy to the left.
About Carrie Crow: She is the gal to the right of the guy on the left.
--

Flying Fish: New York Dolls Edition

noreply@blogger.com (baron and crow) — Mon, 10 May 2010 20:37:00 +0000

Guest Edited by John Greiner; Cover Art by Carrie Crow

Features some of the best New York poets and writers: Jake Marmer, Tom Moglia, Ben Mirov, Nicole Trig, Christophe Casamassima, Ivan Klein, Bonny Finberg, Dave McNamara, Tsaurah Litzky, Tom Savage, Yuko Otomo, Brendan McEntee, Josh Holly, John Greiner, James Copeland and Steve Dalachinsky.

transfer

noreply@blogger.com (baron and crow) — Sun, 17 Jan 2010 19:38:00 +0000

Fragments of our Former Selves

noreply@blogger.com (baron and crow) — Fri, 04 Dec 2009 19:18:00 +0000

the time has come

noreply@blogger.com (baron and crow) — Sat, 10 Oct 2009 17:38:00 +0000

Fragments of our Former Selves

noreply@blogger.com (baron and crow) — Fri, 02 Oct 2009 12:03:00 +0000

Fragments of our Former Selves

noreply@blogger.com (baron and crow) — Mon, 07 Sep 2009 15:07:00 +0000

Fragments of our Former Selves

noreply@blogger.com (baron and crow) — Sat, 22 Aug 2009 12:36:00 +0000

We are seeking a new direction in collaboration in our art which first began with this blog and has progressed through our contribution for the exhibition A Book About Death. We have decided to combine the verbal and visual to create new and unique stories that were not possible in our specific disciplines alone. Our new series, Fragments of our Former Selves begins here.

----------

Experience Nature Photography Group Show 21-30 August, Paris

noreply@blogger.com (baron and crow) — Fri, 21 Aug 2009 15:28:00 +0000

If you are in Paris 21-30 August 2009, please visit the Experience Nature Fine Art photography group show organized by an extremely talented photographer/curator Iku Kageyama. Yours truly is proudly showing a cobweb and a tree. Details on the flyers below:

------

A Book About Death

noreply@blogger.com (baron and crow) — Thu, 16 Jul 2009 09:48:00 +0000

A BOOK ABOUT DEATH:

Artists contribute 500 post cards each to create an unbound book about death. An homage to Ray Johnson, a celebration of Emily Harvey, a global exploration of death. Submission info here or learn more about the project here.
---------------
EXHIBITION:
Emily Harvey Foundation Gallery
537 Broadway NYC
Opening: Thursday 10 September 2009
Exhibition: 10 - 22 September 2009

---------------

paris photographic exhibition - 1 july 2009

noreply@blogger.com (baron and crow) — Sat, 27 Jun 2009 18:54:00 +0000

Friends and loved ones in Paris and further afield:

Please join us on Wednesday, 1 July 2009 from 7 - 11pm for an exhibition of photographic works by Carrie Crow. Please email us at carriecrow [at] hotmail [dot] com for more info.

We look forward to seeing you there.

baron & crow

Directions to the gallery:

Metro Line 7, direction Ivry
Metro Stop, Pierre et Marie Curie
Exit 2, Maurice Thorez
Walk against the traffic and take first right
Rue Edouard Vasseur
We are the second number 2, with big black gate
Enter driveway and head to the warehouse on the right
Up the stairs and you will find us... stylepixie gallery.

pont au double

noreply@blogger.com (baron and crow) — Fri, 01 May 2009 08:39:00 +0000

In morning light
nothing more
than the length
of a shadow
catching breath,
escaping
the piercing
untuned
organ.

metro

noreply@blogger.com (baron and crow) — Fri, 23 Jan 2009 09:14:00 +0000

Sleep between sour

notes on the diminishing
score kept
on falling calendar pages.

Out and down
in the station enough
change to get to
the other end of eternity.

Try to pass the mass,
but they’re going
my way.
Time to transfer.

Push comes to shove.
Another scrap of day
fleeing through
the darkened tunnel.

baron & crow serial: chapter five

noreply@blogger.com (baron and crow) — Sun, 03 Aug 2008 22:44:00 +0000

"You wanna catch a drink?"
"You sound drunk already."
"I am drunk already. I've been drunk for some time. Why didn't you pickup the phone?" The irritation was apparent in my voice.
"I couldn't hear you over the music," L'il Yé-Yé replied. "Where are you?"
Half of an hour later Yé-Yé met me in a 10th Avenue dive. Being that it was a dive all eyes were on her. She was without a doubt more interesting to look at than the cans of Pabst that lined the bar.
"What took you so long?? You only live around the corner."
"I know where I live. I'm here now. What's up?"
I told her about my new job with Ivan. She believed it to be a bad career move. I didn't see it that way being that if I hadn't made the career move I'd probably be floating in the East River about now.
Drunk and relieved to be alive, I leaned forward toward Yé-Yé and tried to pull her in closer to me. I miscalculated the distance between us and ended up on the floor to the wild applause of the patrons around us.
"You need to get something to eat," she said.
That might have been true, but I still had enough room in me for a couple of more drinks. I signaled the bartender over and ordered up another Pabst and a Wild Turkey, downing them rapidly.
"Alright, so where do you want to go and eat?"
"What do you feel like?"
"You're the one that said that I needed to eat." I smiled. "So, where is it that you think that I should eat?"
"How about Bickford's?" she suggested.
“Yé-Yé, baby, there hasn't been a Bickford's in the city in thirty years."
"I've always wanted to go to a Bickford's. My grandparents always told me such pleasant stories about it."
The couple of drinks that she had must have really gone to her head. I didn't feel like being in command, but I had no other option.
We got up. She held tightly to me to prevent an excessively embarrassing exit on my part, and I gave her directions. It seemed like an eternity before we hit the all-night Alsatian Diner on 12th Avenue. I hit the head, ordered up a couple of beers and a large order of fries.
"So, what's Ivan's benefit plan like?"
"I didn't ask."
"I thought Prima Ballerina wanted you to see him, not to work for him." "I don't take orders from Prima Ballerina," I said. "She's not to be trusted. She broke Nijinsky's heart. Could you trust someone like that?"
She had no answer, and seemed to be getting annoyed with me.
"Why don't you play something on the jukebox?" I handed her a five dollar bill.
She seemed to be relieved that I gave her an excuse to get away from me for a few minutes. France Gall started blasting. I looked over at L'il Yé-Yé, the music seemed to make her happy. The waiter brought the fries.
"What in the hell is this?" I shouted at him. The music was deafening.
"What?" he replied.
"That's my question, man, and it's for you to answer it."
"It's what you ordered."
"And this?" I pointed at the ketchup.
"It's ketchup."
"I know it's ketchup. What? Are you new here, or something? What in the hell kind of Alsatian joint serves ketchup with fries? Get me some mayonnaise. What in the hell do you think I am, some tourist from Iowa?"
The waiter left to get some mayonnaise. L'il Yé-Yé, over at the jukebox played Stella's Pourquoi Pas Moi.
The fries were good. All the better with the mayo. Yé-Yé had been right. I did need something to eat. I started to feel more like myself. A man in a Homburg entered and took a seat across from me at the table.
"Can I help you?" I finished the last fry. He said nothing, but I could tell that he was filled with contempt for me. "I would have offered you a fry, but there's no more left."
"I didn't come here for fries," he smirked. "They're bad your health."
"You're not the first person today to tell me that."
"You're in the organization now. You've got to get on a better diet. Ivan wants to see you."
"It's three in the morning!"
"The Red Sox beat the Yankees tonight. Ivan won't be able to sleep. It will be the perfect time to take care of business. Let's go."
"I thought that this was a nine to five job."
"It's not." He stood up. I followed.
L'il Yé-Yé was still picking out music. She was happy. There was no reason for me to disturb her with goodnights. Antoine et Les Problemes came on. I liked the song, but couldn't remember the title. I regretted the fact that I wouldn't be able to hear it out.

baron & crow serial: chapter four

noreply@blogger.com (baron and crow) — Sat, 12 Jul 2008 17:48:00 +0000

The detritus that filled my mind quickly flooded over filling the room. I should have been on my toes when I had a chance, but redheads had always done something for me and whatever that something was I was always left with a loss. I should have kept my eyes open for better things than a pair of legs.
Taking the envelope out of my pocket I looked closely at the information that Prima Ballerina had given me, hoping to find an answer, all that I was left with was a lot of questions. It became clear to me that in the midst of all of those questions there was only one that mattered. Which question it was, I had no idea.
The door opened, and Ivan stepped in followed by a couple of goons, one pushing a service tray.
"I hope that I didn't keep you too long."
"So what's the deal?" I asked.
"You tell me. You're the one that wanted to see me."
"And now that I've seen you, I'm happy. Let's finish things off."
"You shouldn't be so anxious," he moved towards me. "You’re going to give yourself a heart attack. I have something for you."
The goon with the service tray came forward and pulled the lids off of the plates.
"I've got Wellfleet, Bluepoint and Kumamotos. You've got to get off of the French fries. Help yourself."
I moved cautiously towards the tray.
"After you," I turned to him.
"Suit yourself." He downed one oyster after another with a passion. Now, more assured, I followed his lead.
"What do I have to thank such largesse on?" I asked after letting a Blue Point slither down my throat.
"I'm going to be honest with you. I was none too thrilled when you called me here. I had to miss the Yankees. They’re playing the Red Sox and I love watching nuisances being eliminated.”
“I could never stand the Yankees.”
He was silent.
"So what's this, Ivan, my last meal?"
"You wish." He handed my gun back to me. "I got a phone call from Sister and Brother."
"What are they up to?"
"They're still looking for their parents."
"They should give it up."
"Maybe. Maybe not. They said that you spoke to Prima Ballerina."
"She thought that we should get together, and chew the proverbial fat."
"I prefer oysters. You should never trust that old bat. She broke Nijinsky's heart."
I swallowed the last Kumamoto. I could have gone for a beer. I had my gun, and wondered why Ivan had decided to keep me alive. I wanted to get the answer so that I could get a drink.
"Alright," I looked at him. "Let's cut to the chase."
"There you go again with that anxiousness of yours. It’s bad for digestion.”
“I don’t give a damn about my digestion, or my heart. What’s the deal?”
“You've got info from Prima Ballerina, and I've got info from Sister and Brother. I've decided to let you live, and now you are working for me."
"I don't work for anyone, and as for the info that Prima Ballerina gave me, don't you think that it would be easier to just do me in, and take it for yourself?" I took out the envelope.
"What's the point of having the info if I don't know the question."
I smiled. If he thought that I knew the question then I would play it to the hilt. Once I figured it out, Ivan would have another thing coming, but until then I'd have to play things with a straight face, not letting on that I was holding a lousy hand, and that I knew nothing.

baron & crow serial: chapter three

noreply@blogger.com (baron and crow) — Sat, 05 Jul 2008 23:00:00 +0000

The last place on earth where I would want to find myself is in an empty room. Empty rooms fill up quickly with detritus in all of its unsavory forms. I’d take a packed stadium any day over an empty room. The only thing worse than an empty room is an empty room with Ivan in it, if I were to meet Ivan there would have to be a crowd around, and even then things could get dicey. I would have suggested Shea, but the Mets were having a rough time of it and I wasn’t going to go out to Queens with Ivan to listen to the crickets chirp. As for the Yankees, there was no way that you would find me wasting time on 161st Street. Grand Central would have to do.
I told Ivan to meet me there during the evening rush. I didn’t give him any specifics on where exactly in the station this would take place. I’d find him, he didn’t need to worry.
The place was getting crowded. I took a spot upstairs, out of view of the melee in the Grand Lobby where I could watch the movement of the Metro North commuters.
Time passed, but I was in no rush. I reveled at the chaos that was ensuing below; the businessmen late for their trains, bloated and out of breath, the trains late for the businessmen who would now miss out on the cocktail hour up in Westchester or Greenwich, or wherever they were heading, and most importantly the legs of all the beautiful young ladies who were looking their best for work-a-day Manhattan.
I was focused on the legs of a gorgeous redhead when I felt the barrel of a gun pushed against the small of my back.
“I thought that you were going to find me.”
“I thought the same,” I said, still watching the redhead below. “But this is a refreshing change-up. You made things a hell of a lot easier on me.”
Ivan began to frisk me.
“Is that necessary?” I asked.
"It’s better safe than sorry,” he said almost in a whisper.
“That’s true. I’ve got a gun in the right hand pocket of my coat. All that you needed to do was ask.”
He took my gun and stepped back. I turned towards him.
“You’re looking good.”
“Thanks.” He kept his gun on me. “My wife, she’s been on my ass. She started in on me for getting fat, and how the extra weight really wasn’t appealing, so I’ve been working out.”
“It’s a good woman that you have, Ivan. Someone needs to keep you in line.”
“How about you?”
“I’ve been surviving off of French fries.”
“French fries are one of the prime causes of heart attacks. They’re right up there with cheeseburgers, pierogies and schnitzel,” Ivan stated with concern.
“All things I adore. Do you want to go outside for a smoke?”
“That would invalidate the whole point of meeting in Grand Central. Come with me.”
We made our way to an elevator, and headed up. When we got off the noise of the lobby was not to be heard.
“I didn’t realize that Grand Central had so many floors,” I said, unnerved by the calm of the surroundings.
“Most people don’t. That’s the charm of the place. I was delighted when you suggested that we meet here. Although, I do have tickets for the Yankees tonight. It would have been pleasant to have gone up to the Bronx. You could have gotten yourself some fries.”
“The game doesn’t start for another hour. We can still go downstairs and catch the express and be there before they start singing The Star Spangled Banner.”
“That we could,” Ivan said as he unlocked the door to a room at the end of the hallway. “But you hate the Yankees, and I wouldn’t want to put you through that.”
He pushed me into the room. It was empty.

baron & crow serial: chapter two

noreply@blogger.com (baron and crow) — Thu, 26 Jun 2008 01:06:00 +0000

Surf Avenue is a tougher street to cross than most realize, especially when it’s jammed with cops, pointless paramedics, boys from the morgue and the international press all on their way down to the shore to get a glimpse of the tourist girl's bloated body.
I stepped out of Nathan's, the subway station in view, trying to push my way through the on rush. In the midst of the oncoming crowd I spotted Hoffmann from the Frankfurter Zeitung. If there was anyone that I didn’t want to see today it was him. I turned around, hoping to duck back into the hot dog joint before he caught sight of me. I hadn't gone more than a few feet when Brother and Sister, clinging tightly to each other stepped in front of me.
"Have you seen our parents?" they asked in unison.
"You two have got to give it up. It's been years. They're not coming back."
It had been at least forty years in fact since their parents had abandoned them on the steeplechase. They still hadn’t come to grips with that fact. I had more important things to worry about than their abandonment. Hoffmann was getting closer. I had to get a move on it. I tried to step around them, but they kept blocking my way.
"Let's get out of here," I said. "I'll get you some choco and ice."
"That'll be so nice," they declared in harmony.
We headed towards the boardwalk, pulled along with the masses. I lost sight of Hoffmann, but I realized that I would have to be more cautious if I wanted to make it out of Coney Island in one piece.
Brother and Sister were delighted with their choco and ice, but it wasn't enough. They wanted to ride the rides, and without parental support it was hard for them to get up the cash for the fare. They weren't going to let me go until they had a bit more fun.
We headed to the Ferris wheel and got on.
They'd have their fun, and I would be able to get a clear lay of the land.
"We haven't seen you out here in such a long time." Brother looked at me coldly, running a hand through his long graying beard while still holding tight to his sister with the other.
"Things aren't the same down here. The freaks aren't what they were."
"Have you seen our Mommy and Daddy?" Sister asked, fixing her lipstick with her free hand.
I looked out over Coney Island. We were at the top of the rotation. The whole of the beach was covered with morbid thrill seekers hoping to catch a glimpse of the tourist girl's bloated body. I was too far up to spot Hoffmann in the crowd.
"Have you seen our Mommy and Daddy?" Sister screamed.
"I heard that they moved to Florida when old Abe Beame lost control of the city."
Not being up on local politics, past or present, my remark left her bewildered.
"But you have seen Prima Ballerina." Brother said this in such a casual manner I couldn't help but suspect that he knew more than he should. "Let me tell you something," he continued. "We know a hell of a lot more than you."
"I know how to play hopscotch," Sister cut in.
"And I know how to play pin the tail on the donkey," Brother stated, cutting off his sister. "I know about cuckoos and I know about the Swiss.”
"You should never trust the Swiss." Sister put her lipstick back into her purse.
"You're telling me, Sister."
“That Prima Ballerina..."
We came to the end of the ride. The door opened and I bolted out, not caring to hear whatever they had to say about Prima Ballerina, the Swiss, or cuckoo clocks.

baron & crow serial: chapter one

noreply@blogger.com (baron and crow) — Mon, 23 Jun 2008 00:16:00 +0000

Prima Ballerina had been on the downhill slide since the death of Diaghilev numerous decades ago. It was easy enough to spot her as she strolled along the boardwalk with perfect Ballet Russe poise in her threadbare tutu and ancient ballet flats.
I had been watching her for a week, waiting for the opportune moment to approach her. The opportune moment came on the morning that the tourist girl's bloated body washed up on shore. Prima Ballerina loathed tourists; they were the bane of her existence. The drowned girl didn't spark the slightest of interest in her, although it brought all of the other onlookers down to the shore.

"Allow me to introduce myself," I gave her a slight bow.
"You've been trailing me for a week," she smiled. "I no longer sign autographs. I'm sorry that you wasted your time."

I handed over to her the letter of introduction that L'il Ye-Ye had given me before I jumped on the D train with the all night girls who spent the whole of the ride whispering about their escapades, and who I quickly ditched at the exit of the Coney Island station.

She glanced at the letter, and then tossed it into the nearest trash can.

"You don't have much time. None of us do. It's pathetic to delay." She began to walk away from me. I followed her, maintaining a short distance.

At the Cyclone I bought our tickets. We took seats in the front. I closed my eyes, and enjoyed it as much as I could.

"Well?" she asked after we had finished. The question was too open for me to reply. The pause weighed on me. I could tell that she didn't think much of me as a conversationalist. "Aren't you going to buy me a hot dog?"
I gladly followed her to Nathan's, thankful to have not fallen too far from her favor.
"I've taken many of my young lovers on the rollercoaster only to watch them break their necks." She wiped away the mustard from the corner of her lips. "You seem to be made of hardier stuff. The stuff that ventriloquist’s dummies are made of, and that fares well for you."

"Thank you for the confidence."

"This is what you came for." With a swift, graceful motion of the hand Prima Ballerina pulled an envelope out from the bosom of her leotard, placed it on the counter in front of me, did a quick pirouette and was on her way.

She headed back to the boardwalk. I ordered myself some fries. Whatever bit of sustenance I could get would be beneficial. It was going to be a long ride.

---------

at the wall

noreply@blogger.com (baron and crow) — Fri, 02 May 2008 02:33:00 +0000

---------

I stand at the wall
waiting to kneel.
There is a punch to the back,
the deathblow.
They chatter on
Death swings
---------back and forth
---------on the string
---------------------------of birth.
The sentences keep
coming out
---------of dream’s numbed mouth.
In the head they walk
------------------on lakes of sand
------------------swallowing waves
----------------------of heaven.
---------
Those who come here
after us will never know
who it was that
placed our bones
---------so orderly
upon this windswept plane
of dusty victories,

and dried defeats.

alarm tripped

noreply@blogger.com (baron and crow) — Thu, 21 Feb 2008 14:08:00 +0000

---------

Unable to grasp
the daybreak
concept of God
I decided
that the monastery
might not be
the best place
for me, or at
the least this
wouldn’t be
the most appropriate
time for me
to be there.
Recognizing
that behind the thought
in the noon sky
the face
of the divine
that I become
is assured of a
place within
the creator.
I know that
there is
no longer
any reason
for me
to betray
my fears
which were
born at the dawn.

museum

noreply@blogger.com (baron and crow) — Fri, 14 Dec 2007 15:37:00 +0000

------------------
The children scream
in the grand lobby
------------------of the deadening
museum for no better
reason than that they are aware
------------------that their mouths

will soon be dry.

upturned face

noreply@blogger.com (baron and crow) — Wed, 05 Dec 2007 05:22:00 +0000

That is it,
simply
nothing more
than that.
Meet me in the cloister.
I cannot think
of a more beautiful place
to plot out our deaths.
The peace that it provides
the mind is one of those
treasures that give faith
back to those who have lost it.
I see now
the mistake
that I will make,
but there is no way to avoid it.

the desert

noreply@blogger.com (baron and crow) — Sun, 21 Oct 2007 15:46:00 +0000

This is not the Sahara

that you had hoped for,

the land of the Desert Fathers

where demons find their desires

indulged by the sorts

who prefer not to participate

in the divergences of the city.

This is not the desert

that you had dreamed

of where once the evils

that the sand kicked up

in a dust storm

were lost in the orange

night amidst the purple flecks.

This is the arid land of deceptions where

your own desires are forced

upon the steel of destruction,

and you are called

upon to annihilate creation.

rosy confession

noreply@blogger.com (baron and crow) — Wed, 10 Oct 2007 23:59:00 +0000

--------------------

I do not
have much
---------confidence
in the youths
that I have
---------seen rummaging
through the overturned
trash cans.

By the same
token I imagine
---------that they
lack confidence
in me being
---------that they
have been far more
successful in their
---------endeavors.

precursor

noreply@blogger.com (baron and crow) — Wed, 12 Sep 2007 16:32:00 +0000

------------------

If the subject is to be
---------------taken up again,
so soon
then it will
become stale.
If this is to be done
---------------there shall
be nothing more
to say in the years
to come
when the subject
will have
so much more
---------------flesh
on its bones.