Dark Yoga live @ Valentines. Portland Oregon.
DARK YOGA myspace. Click to Enlarge






© Michael J Demeo
Britney Spears Attacking Paparazzi with Umbrella.
The Stickey Clique got ahold of the original paparazzi video reel and then one off TV for clarity. You Go Girl!
Here is a GRIP of fresh MP3s by Rhys Balmer and Michael J Demeo's project: THE SIXTH DEER. Check them on myspaceHERE. Right Click and "Save Link As" to save each song to your computer:

Rhys Balmer is a photographer livin in Portland Oregon. He also curates the Weretiger Gallery in Portland Oregon. View his Flikr site: HERE






Mikael Kennedy is really a tops photographer from NY. He is part of the HISTORIC group photography exhibit in March at Sugar Gallery: Portland to NYC. I suggest you check out his photo blogs: Passport to Trepass: All Polaroid and also Mr Kennedy's Photo Blog




"Keeping Up To The Minute With the Only Celebrity Gossip That Matters"
The Sticky Click present Tara Reid Singing Karaoke. Is it just me or is her voice kinda hot here?
Finger Condom Polaroid Portraiture by Michael J Demeo
DONT FORGET Mr Demeo is in the group photography exhibit at SUGAR GALLERY: PORTLAND to NYC. The whole month of March, Opening Reception on the First!



Come see the Work of MICHAEL J DEMEO all month in March at SUGAR GALLERY as part of the group photography show: PORTLAND to NYC Reception MARCH FIRST 2007 6-9ish


Part Two of Jimmy Fontaine in Chicago. Come see Fontaine's work at the SUGAR GALLERY in March. Opening Reception March 1 6-9pm




1966. London was swinging, the Byrds soared on the wings of their most innovative single, "Eight Miles High," Brian Wilson labored in the studio on a legendary lost masterpiece and the Yardbirds fronted the mightiest lineup in rock n roll, with Messrs. Beck and Page on dual lead guitars. Pop Art and its bastard stepchild, Psychedelia, were about to rule the airwaves.
But from Germany there came dark rumblings that hadn’t been heard since the Nuremberg Rallies of the 1930s. Guitar and organ howled in orgiastic competition as a thunderous tribal beat bludgeoned song structures into strange forms. Rhythmic cadences echoed the slap of jackboots goose-stepping down Berlin’s boulevards. There were also strained and shrill vocals, eerily reminiscent of a sputtering orator disposed of only 20 years before in the ruins of the Reich Chancellery’s garden.














