


Thank you Jimmy Helvin!
Rhythmic. Posing.
Smiling. Nose-ing.
Constant. Tempo.
Watch my, hair blow.
Vogue.


Thank you and enjoy your day.

Willi Ninja

good gif
LOVE LOVE. Click the pic to read all that Michael Musto writes about it on Papermag.com.
said I in the comments …
“Kenny Kenny’s photographic work is worth a huge mention here. His recent work includes a series of self portraits that are inspired, contemporary, intelligent, informed, authentic and, as we used to say with widely dialated pupils every Wednesday night at Bently’s (where’s that coffee table book?) – “MAJOR!”
‘It’s hard enough to get out of bed in the morning let alone make art,’ said the Pop of pop who was also a shutterbug, a nightlife fixture and a transplanted Manhattanite. Helleaux. Kenny Kenny, photographer is out of bed, into high-level hair and make-up and working hard while helping to keep Manhattan’s often eulogized art scene alive.
“Thanks Kenny. You look gorgeous.
See you inside.
(Can I get a drink ticket?)
Mwah.”
It dropped right out of my computer then it dropped right here. This is a BillyBeyond.com excloooosive.

Download the FULLSIZE file right HERE.
Spread some Ninja power and put it on blast, children.
There will be more.
That is all.
By who else? – The multi-instrumental recording vangaurd, Mr. Tommy Garrett. Seen here during a white hot session with THE MONKEES.

Regarding all “Fifty (whatevers)” records: if you find yourself wanting to further explore this unique, sometimes genius, sometimes queasy making lost sub-genre of instrumental lounge recorderings and long-playing stereo alblums, be warned. All the “Fifty Mandolins of …” albums are un-listenable, most probably demonic-ly generated for the purpose of furthering dark energies in the musical universe and will instantly (and permanently) damage not only your hearing but also your personality…forever….WHAT????  HUH????
Contrarily, this ultra “it” bossa-nova record is clyass. I wore this OUT back in da Beige day.
mmmmm… Caipirinhas … If I were sipping one with my old friend Conn, I might say, “It’s all about the Caxaca, Conn.”
And now ladies and Gentlemen, now that those Olympics are over, let’s go back to the music.

From the Gay Pride Parade NYC 2016
Go full screen. Theres a lot to see.

Influential. Their rhythms are so natural and precisely delivered. Finessed. That’s what I’d call it.
The results are so CLYASSY.


WANTED – Bytches With Problems
1991 – Bytches With Problems – B.W.P., Ho. – Heavy rotation at the drag dorm on Ave B. summer of ’91 – 2 copies, bitch…the first one wore out – shiiiiit.
This is still one of the filthiest and most daring albums that I am happy to own. The notes inside are something I always remember wondering about – Tanisha Michelle gives special thanks to God, her brothers and sisters and most of all thanks to her mother. Huh? Now, if my mother ever heard even ten seconds of this sinful recording I think it could really do some deep and irreversible psychological damage. “There are just so many different types of families in New York,” I used to think to my white-ass self. T.M. also thanks “some” of her high school teachers but goes on to wish a “fuck you” to most of her neighbors and also adds a special “fuck you,” to her father. I love that. Nobody ever did that- reading fools right on your inner sleeve? Lyndah and Tanisha Michelle did. Shiiit. And why not? It’s their fucking album RITE? Fuck dat shit. I’d still love to meet them. I believe I will one day. I wonder what they are up to?…like tonight? Probably bitchin about passwords, Netflix accounts and Time Warner Cable (or what ever the fuck they have over there in New Jersey) – right?
Imagine a re-union project about menopause? The time is right, bytches. Damnnnnn. Im’a start wrightin’ that one right now. “Hot Flash” is the obvious first single – and I think something like “Half-Dead, Dried and Dusty” could be an answer track to, ‘Is The Pussy Still Good?” Calling The Bytches! – Where you at ho’s? – call me. I got some loops and a laptop. Everybody just makes their albums on their fuckin laptops these mother fuckin’ days anyway. Shiiiit. You know that’s right.
Fuuuuuuck.

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