The flowers whirl away
In the wind like snow.
The thing that falls away
Is myself.

Hana sasou
Arashi no niwa no
Yuki narade
Furi yuki mono wa
Waga mi narikeri

—THE PRIME MINISTER KINTSUNE

i am doing the spring cleaning thing, finally. i wondered when it would manifest. we are into july. but it had to be a moment that chose itself. one thing led to another.

it’s really amazing when you can sit back and stop trying to tie ends together and bring certain realities to bear…trying to arrange things against their own movement into the shape you think best, and instead become watchful and flexible so that you can move yourself to best enjoy or appreciate what things life is doing and bringing your way. what treasures reveal themselves, then. ones you’d not have thought to look for. and many seemingly magical coincidences.

i finally got behind all my furniture in the living room. cleared the junk away behind everything. threw some things out, rerouted some wires. i’ll need to do this to the kitchen soon. i did a halfway job–which looked pretty good–but then dishes crowded in on everything. i really need to get rid of/give away most of my dishes. there is no reason for them anymore. i need only one small set. an extra two for visitors, which i can keep put away. for myself a glass, a cup, a plate, a bowl, a fork, a spoon, a knife and chopsticks. that should do it. there is no reason my sink and counter should get piled up with enough dishes to feed a blogging convention.

master lee is a great sabum, a great teacher i can tell right away. not only does word of mouth move around him like a wide ring of fresh energy, extolling his kindness and ability, but it is plain to see.

luna's first day at the dojang

luna has not yet really been able to enjoy her class. the first time she came with me to all belts practice, but it was above her ability and she felt a bit shy and didn’t really know what to do but  she’ll engage and have a great time when she attends the children-specific class, which would’ve happened already but she caught the nasty cough her sister has and they are both quarantined for now.

but it sure is great to see her in her dobok. not only is she the most adorable white belt ever, but it’s always been important to me to have my girls (my girls especially, tho i’d like to see all my kids in tkd) train since rainsong was little (tho my attempst there failed). her mother wasn’t interested in that idea, but instead put rain into bible camp and horse riding courses. i tried my best, when i could, to introduce rainsong to the idea and to practicing. but you know how those busted relationships can go…some people will specifically strike anything from your kids’ life that you want or that reminds them of you, so deep is their loathing for the other parent of their child. this is still one of those cases.

rainsong and me, 1996ish

when you think about it, it’s impressive that some people can maintain active hate for decades. it’s like a worship of you, in a way. you remain that important to them…even if negatively. hmm. yeah. not for me. that life is not for me. i honor nobody with that kind of self-immolation.

soon luna will make friends in the dojang and she will (i hope?) love it. master lee already asked a few people (girls) on that first day to help luna get her dobok on when she first was fitted, and they whisked her away to later come back with dear luna in her outfit. she looked like a doll!

then, since lunita didn’t really know what you do in a dojang, she told the girls she was going to cover her eyes and they should run and hide. that sort of broke my heart. not that luna was sad, or confused, or anything bad happened. it didn’t. they agreed, and luna covered her eyes, but i actually brought luna to me before she had a chance to start a game, so i could keep her  close.

even the sweet moments watching your child can break your heart into a billion pieces for reasons you don’t even know. your children can seem so sweet, and so naive; so helpless and to survive, dependent on the good graces of the cruel, cruel world. watching them meet the world can surprise you, can rend you with pain you normally never feel for yourself, so inured you are to the way things are. even watching someone else tell her to not lean on the mirrors is not easy, in a tiny, private way. but only for a moment. it will all be good for her, which is of course why she is there. i can be very sensitive to my hypersensitive luna’s feelings, i know. which is why it will be best to give her to the children’s class and master lee, and back off of that part.

master lee brought good reminders to help her feel the dojang was ‘her place’ and to simply support her and tell her she did a good job. which i did. soon, she will meet all the younger kids there, and enjoy the special attention that master lee gives them.

i am still mightily sore, but in different ways than after the first day. and without so much pain. most excitingly, i did better on pacing myself. which is important if i want to make it through the entire class. if i don’t watch out for my pacing, i’ll launch every punch, strike, and kick with full kihap and full intensity, full speed and full extension. this will end up with me heaving for air.  master lee tells me that for the first month, i should keep my energy at about 6, instead of 10 because while my body remembers how to practice, i need to recondition and bring it back to training shape. he has to remind me a few times, but its sticking. i finished last class without stopping, tho many times i was close and really had to push through. he had us doing these wall to wall running, kicking, bowling, shotputting, basketball motion type drills which were exhausting. he told me he developed those specifically for when he was training the olympic tkd team.

on friday, master lee made sure to come around at the start of new exercises and show me the form, which i appreciated. i want to learn the movement from him. most people practicing that i’ve seen up close (lower ranks especially) often implement varying degrees of sloppiness, and i need to see a crisp original so i can copy it exactly. even if not sloppy, not everyone has the ability to render a martial arts movement beautiful. some bodies and brains just don’t seem to get there; they don’t feel that groove to lock into, or won’t snap tightly at the right moment, or maybe they just get there later, i don’t know. but i pay special attention to those who perform these moves a certain way. obviously, master lee is one of those. my body wants to do these moves without any loss of signal, without any degradation of art. of those who practice forms/poomsae sort of loosely or halfheartedly, i don’t think they are bad practitioners. but i guess i don’t understand why they are not getting everything out of it you could. gliding and then jamming and locking it out…extending, floating and BAM…. it’s a conscience-laden, gorgeous dance that has a center, a core that ties it all together. it’s not just a collection of moves that are arranged in a linear sequence like a checkbox list. if i sound judgmental, it’s not in a mean way. just in a way where i evaluate a context around me and decide where i need to be within that.

it made me feel very good that this focus of mine was noticed by a few people already (black belt instructors among them), people who made it a point to tell me. this lets me know i’m not living in a dream of my own imagining, but am demonstrating with my body what is taking place within, and that this performance mirrors my own perceptions. to me, taekwondo really is an art and it really must be perfected for the whole essence to work, i feel. not that you have to get stuff perfect right away, or soon. but my art will require me to get there at some point, to aim for that. martial arts (tkd) to me is like an invaluable personal close special friend that speaks to me on a very true level. because of that i feel i understand what its creators were/are getting at, i’ve grokked that since i first began training. that’s why my love for it is so deep. it does what religion tries to. it guides you along a path that allows you to access a higher self, a pure self that demonstrates focus, strength, balance, energy, and love into your life, into your body, helps you become a vessel of as much. but you have to work it like it is an art, not just a hobby and not just something you do for aerobics.

right now i’m trying my best to catch up on the forms, and the commands and responses. master lee’s dojang has a whole new set of protocol. what you say when you enter, what you say when you leave. what you shout in response to his drills. i feel all bumbly and unschooled! keeping my responses quiet as i listen to how others do it. hey, i’d love to come in all knowledgeable, but we all learn, and we all progress if we want to. its good for the humility bone. and again, i just can’t stand people who don’t know how to be humble on the mat about what they have yet to master. there’s something beautiful about a person’s humility as they learn something important to them. they only shine brighter once they learn and learn well.

—i stop here to muse suddenly on the fact that some people who know me only from online interactions might think i am not humble or that i cannot be, or am the opposite of humble (often my ego is a monster, it is true). i’ve heard as much. then again, as i try to remind them, you don’t know me from only reading me online. none of us know each other if that is the depth of our relationship and i stand by that. but despite the validity of that opinion, and however we are perceived, the truth is that we are many things and could become any of those things we choose. to whatever degree we want. we must find those things and pursuits and ways that help us become the self we feel is truest.

on protocol in the new dojang, i’ve got my sheet of paper and i’m finding pronunciation on youtube, and i’m listening hard in class, and asking when i’m stumped on something. i studied stuff about General Choi and some Korean history when i used to train, but i’m pretty sure in this school and our style of tkd, General Choi is de-emphasized, and i think it is because of the split in style and origins. i have to read more on it. but i also have to do my work for pay, for rent. so dividing time wisely is key. but soon i will get a couple books from the library out so i can expand my understanding of this art and its history. which reminds me, i’ve also taken up more reading lately.

it would be easy to dive fully into training and let many other things fall away. i have to find a balance there, too. for now i am going to three classes a week, and trying to see how that fits into my schedule. maybe later i will go more. when the body stops being sore at three times a week! mixing it up is good. so was the slushy margarita i got at the bar and grill down the street from the dojang on friday, after class. i have a feeling i’ll be back there, too.

this morning i read the intro to mein kampf, and most of a book of japanese poetry.

other things have happened that are worthy of discussing. but i’ve written here long enough.

it’s been a while i’ve been away from training. when last i was involved with taekwondo, i had won gold at my first tournament for forms, and qualified to compete in the nationals. our dojang was getting jackets made up and planning our competition…and i just opted out. at least i left on a high note. i don’t remember all the reasons i left at the exact moment i did, but one of the major ones was obvious: i was shifting my energies into school. i had returned to school, and the massive stores of energy and focus that TKD required i gave to college, instead. i did very well at my community college, and transferred to NYU. while at NYU, i thought various times about joining the school’s team. but instead, i decided to put my extra energies (what were left after film school took its huge cut!) into a relationship. and a wild city styled life.

i don’t regret those choices. but i did miss everything about training. i missed the serious shape i was in, the lithe feeling, the light feeling, the fluid and strong feelings that the body can give. i missed knowing i was striving for those places that physical excellence can bring you. i missed the constant philosophy in my mind and body; the tenets, the approach toward life, toward harm, toward self, toward others. i missed competing with myself. i missed thinking of myself as an athlete. i missed the mat. the bag. the porkchop pad. the faces i knew at the dojang.

i could go on. really. as i’ve said before…i’ve loved very little as much as i love martial arts.

recently i found myself in a state wherein i was cruising forward on old habits, and too reliant on computers and the buzzing hive of virtual society, the white-cold glare of a simulated circle of friends, and feeling too isolated in my home. i feel i’ve lived a winter that has lasted me nearly two years. i don’t want to tell that story any more than i have. spring has broken. and just like the snake on the stone that sj gave me (which remains, tho her friendship has clearly dissipated), i move and transform with the seasons of my life. i am the seasons of my life. i am old man winter, and the lithe, green, spring. the cobra and the mongoose, los dos. the contraction and the expansion, the sinewave and the strike.

it all sounds very serious, but really i just feel at peace with it. and i don’t really mean to set up a dichotomy—at least not an unwavering one—between how much Tumblr (or internet in general) I use vs. how much I train…but there is truth there. i’ve put down twitter and tumblr a bit, as well as other internet moseying…because while i love it…it’s also substitution in many cases. and part of my finally walking into the local dojang (after researching schools here) was born from me putting down the internet activity a bit and sitting with myself. what happens? a boredom rises. a loneliness. a dissatisfaction. and i wanted to meet those things with activity. not with internet, as is usually the case. i wanted not to bury those things under web pages, but let them rise. and then say…’what now? how to deal with those things now?’

when i decided to begin training again, i accepted the idea that i would lose my rank. i was even ready to begin as a white belt! that’s a bit of a decision when you’ve already trained for years and worked your way up the ranks a tiny bit. but long absence, new school, new master, new style of pumsae—who knows. i decided i was still willing to begin again. so i was pleased when after an evaluation at the school, i was told i would be keeping my belt. but i do have to train for a little while with the lower ranks while i come up to speed on the specific forms used at this school (i used to train in ITF [International Taekwondo Federation] forms, these are WTF [World Taekwondo Federation] forms). but the blocks are the same, the one-steps, the hapkidos, the strikes, the kicks, the philosophies, the tenets, the TKD.

and now, it’s soon time for noon class, and so i’ll need to eat, shower and get ready. i’m taking luna to begin training, and we need to get there a little early so they can size her for her dobok.

–

other day i’m gettin an eye exam from the doctor. we get into a talk about borders and immigrants. dont remember how it happened. trust, i dont go looking to tell random people about my passions in this area. folks can get weird. when they will soon be in your food, your home or your eyes, you dont introduce elements that prove unpredictable. like human rights activism. but this is info i’ve been building over the last four or five years. if you drop it in a few minutes, you can get in depth but keep it bullet pointed. treaties, agricultural industries, campesinos, economic desperation, prison industrial complex, families. bring more to a person’s awareness than “mexicans who are breaking rules.” even when they do care about progressive politics and human rights, if this image is all they have in mind, they don’t have enough mentally to battle the constant hostile vibe propagated by the corporate media, or help bring awareness to others, even if they want to. anyway, i guess he wasn’t expecting it. i mean…i know i wasn’t.

i live in a very liberal area. a pretty progressive town, in fact. despite the overwhelming whiteness. at one point while i’m talkin this stuff, he just stops looking at his screen and typing into his computer. he turns toward me, puts his hands in his lap and just listens. and just listens. i felt stunned tho i didnt show it. it was clearly a show of respect from this white-coated doctor dude, white haired white doctor guy…to me, in my LA hoodie and baggy pants. we are talking for five or more minutes. the entire exam ground to a halt. i never quite had an experience like it. we begin talking about our own family. his son, about chicanismo. he is a white man with an adopted child of color. like tons of families here. (the number of these feels just a bit creepy, honestly. i didn’t know i was coming into a town that had a mixed-adoption theme when i arrived. i don’t mean any insult to him or families that adopt children of color. but when a town has a massive concentration of this, but is very white…it sort of stands out is all.) anyway, he finally says well i should set you up with contacts before you go and we laugh and get back to the exam.

he says at the end your appearance doesn’t match…who you are. i’m not sure what he means by this. my ink? my clothes? my ethnicity? all of it? and…who am i? what does this mean. he says it forces people to re-examine their ideas of things…you challenge perceptions just by being who you are. this odd complimentish statement sticks with me for days and days. i’m not sure what to make of it. how should a person like me present? what appearance would not strike a conflicted note when i began speaking? what would that person look like?

yet i know what he means. i’ve always been like that. my getup is madeup. its never been otherwise. i can take on genres of person like costume. maybe that’s because types and roles are costumes to begin with. perhaps its because i dont feel any of them are me. perhaps it is because all of them are me. equally false and true and interchangeable. maybe it’s because i was born into a nexus of situations and identifiers that never took hold. maybe thats why i can wear names like hats. dont know. guessing is a fun game for a while.

all my life, people stop and look at me when i begin talking and only then, and only then–pay attention. i guess i thought that was over. i still don’t know why this happens, honestly. but i don’t much care for finding an answer in the end, and the guessing game is unsatisfying. the Why just doesn’t matter. it turns into self-obsession and that bores me as of late.

as long as i can talk to people from my heart and find that Look, i feel that an important connection is made. that’s what matters. not this world thrown over my shoulder like a cloak, over my face like a pair of mardi gras glasses. not my manipulated reflection. in truth, i don’t think that moment has to do much with how i present. i guess if anything, i think people are used to speaking in certain ways, tones, clumps of predigested thought, entrenched reflex of conversation, prepackaged idea. maybe. that sounds pretty self-important too, as if i’m not one of the fools out here. and i am. there is no doubt about that.

i do know one thing. you know what that look is in their eyes? it is them. it is them showing up. it is them being awake. the clarity, that sharpness, that electric flicker look? it has nothing to do with me, doesnt have to come about in that way. but i don’t want to talk to sleeping people.

–

the virtual life is a beautiful boat, a liquid silvered vision of freedom. a stage for the imagination. a platform hosting dreams that exist (only) with con-edison’s cooperation.

–

nagualismo, chapter 3, section 2. know how to navigate a storm of the Mind. it is from there that the hurricane hurtles forth into the world. watch not only the gray sky, but the graying of the inner eye. yes, know how to build shelter from nothing. know how to eat in the forest. know basic first aid. store a backpack of spare tools (knife? mess kit? hand saw? pen? paper? think it all over) and basic first aid kit. imagine living in a time when law collapses, even temporarily, or the social or cultural order as you know it were upset entirely. where would you get water? food? could you keep your mind? if your cell fone were dead, what would you do? internet down, could you access cash? if your life has thrown you curves in a few ways, you may be more ready than others for these types of situations.

don’t rest there. next level.

practice waking up in another mind. stare at every belief with courage gleaned from your long line of ancestors; find the modern lunacy or well-polished falsity wrapped around the core of truth. do you feel prepared for a life other than the one you cling to today? in what ways do you not feel prepared for great change?  in what ways is the container of your mind predetermining every thought?  in what ways do you insist on your own barriers? let yourself count the ways in which you court a cocoon.

this is not an exercise in Survivalism. it is a treadmill shaped for the slippery, shining footsteps of the soul.

keep the body and mind as nimble as possible. exercise intuition and imagination. at all costs. can your perception of life and people withstand an assault of reality born from a shifting of most the structures that form the skeleton of your daily expectation? if not, too much energy will be invested in supporting those structures, even when they are harmful.

how often do you tear apart your own tendency to become fixed? exercising this part of preparedness, if you want to type it this way: keeps a part of the neurological and spiritual response system(s) intact and limber and will aid you in many drastic (and daily) events, like having to swim a sea of illusion to reach the beaches of peace.

here in winter

you can feel the sleep
you can smell the sleep
you can taste the cold
slowly soaking through the bindings that attach you to the fold

and the evening inhaling warmth from the land
and from the trees that once bore fruit
 and from anything that dares remain in her blue, blue, dusty room

on the horizon where green boughs once drooped with the weight of an eggplant dusk
now stand stark stick figure bark-encrusted markers of the past and future
and even with numbed face and fingers
you can feel a stirring only waiting
sense the sleeping bulb wrapped in a soil fist of inbetween
curled up tight in the dark and dreaming in the deep
one day to breathe again
soon to rise up from sleep 

–

it is very important for an artist to keep an unflinching eye on her or his weaknesses
and failings
even when not spoken aloud and
not to dwell
not to reserve a place in hell
(after all, we are all imperfect and ugly in the wrong or right light)
but if a person in general is always in danger of rationalizing or overlooking their own faults
then an artist is especially endowed to create an alternate world in which to live
and so he or she must be careful to mind the boundary line

important for an artist to keep an unflinching eye on weaknesses
to learn the lessons that would make a soul grow
to see the truths that must populate the work if it is to be “art” 
that is—
if you are to be saying anything important or worthwhile
it should not be in the service only of propping up the stories we tell ourselves to survive and stay “sane”

if it is to be more than just escape (though there is a valid argument for escape being all the justification “art” might need) your work must be in the service of revealing, speaking one of a few things (or perhaps some/all of them):

injustice being aided or carried out

horrors being perpetrated, overlooked

beauty to be absorbed

pitfalls to beware

ethereal ideas deserving flesh/important abstraction given form

ideas/essence/people that ought be kept alive/remembered

truth

and how can you tell the truth if you cannot look at it? how can you understand human frailty and then, evil, and finally the forgiveness and the redemption that pulses at the inner sanctum of every cell if you are imagining you are made of entirely benign molecules and motion? how can you see the eternal if you cannot squarely look at the now?

watch your fangs and mind your elbows
nursing all night on summerplump vine tomatoes
and careful not to spill too much gasoline in the stream
lighting fires for your sparkling (day)dream 

there is a garden you must tend
always and in every season
even if it is in secret
or for a time hidden by snow

he might have felt lonely if it hadn’t been for his thoughts: not the consecutive, reasoned grey of intellectual thought, but the bursts of kaleidoscopic imagery, both flowering in his mind, and filtered sensuously through his blood…

—The Vivisector, Patrick White

it has been an unusual autumn. an auspicious approach to winter. several relationships have fractured or fallen away, initiated by one party or another. different reasons, different causes, and yet the end result is i am alone heading into this rainy winter forest. alone in an apartment, and my day, and my nights. i don’t say that moaning, or in complaint. i don’t even speak it with the angst which has accompanied the last twenty posts here or so. for once, i am only noting it. and in fact, i think this time comes destined. but yes, it is unusual. the long, deep silences in this apartment are unusual. so many days and nights in a row with so much space in bed is unusual. the quality to the days are utterly unusual. again, so much silence. room to move about and think. that made things very painful for a while. too much space. too much silence. i feel i have moved into a new season, now.

at first this aloneness felt like a withdrawal stage. the apartment in disarray was a wound. a ghost moaning incessantly of the past, and of shame and failure. someone asked me “isn’t there another way to frame it aside from ‘failure’?” and if i were being more honest with myself i would have just admitted ‘no’ instead of trying to rationalize that, yes, i understood there could be other ways to frame it. some nights i went mad for a while. most nights, at first. i lost myself in moving furniture. trying to reshape the interior. cleaning. trying to help my brain over the landing. through the change. i’ve used booze too.

so strange. not having someone here to always hear my thoughts. nobody’s company watching a movie. nothing at all. the displacement paralyzed me. almost like after 9/11, when i froze and everything fell to the ground in a tiny echo of what the city had all just lived through. this time things almost fell entirely into disrepair, financially and spatially, before i lurched into action because, no. not twice in a row at least.

and so i got up and scheduled things and set up some jobs, and worked for the right amounts of time—and i’m still doing that—and i’ve had a little help, too, from friends. i’ve got things going and i’m doing food shopping and am keeping things reasonably clean and maintaining my time with luna and i feel i’m on track. i’m paying the rent and my fone is not shut off and i don’t feel crazy every night, nor dread the evening whenever it comes around…that’s a big one.

i’ve simply started moving again, turning the wheels again, accepting that there is a reason to do so, and that in doing so, progress can be made in some way. it occurred to me the other day a lot of this is replacing old routines with new routines and in this way i am moving through it. and now i’m no longer just holding on…i’m beginning to enjoy some of the silences. and settling into my own seat. taking a breath, looking around. now that i’m not in survival/shock mode and wondering if the ship is going to go under any moment, i’m beginning to think about where i want to steer this thing.

and i’m not part of any daily dysfunction that feeds a bristling ball of anger, pain, and general negativity within my own sphere and others’. that’s first and foremost. nothing happens until that part is removed. no, i don’t know whose “fault” it all was. if it was mine, well then. i’ve removed myself and that seemed to work. and i didn’t even plan that. unexpected happenstance was the catalyst, but this continued path i walk is about more than that, now.

actually, i’m amazed. mostly because being alone for too long has been a bit terrifying for me. i don’t do that. i’ve always traveled with a best friend, or lived in group settings with other males (institutional settings) or lived with a woman—since i was 17. on one road trip (20) i stopped at my father’s who I’d just met again for the first time in 15 years. when he saw me and my best friend, he asked me pointedly “why aren’t you ever alone?” it wasn’t until at least ten years later that it occurred to me what a cruel question that was coming from someone who walked out on your life before you were even born. but to the point, and as strange as it might sound to someone else with different experiences, being alone in my own place is a brand new pattern. waking up alone, going to sleep alone. figuring out how to eat each day. paying bills all alone. making structure out of no structure at all. being with myself. i feel a change lately, in that i can bear it. this seems important to me.

if anyone has wondered why i’ve maintained a distance around myself at certain times or a lack of promise or investment its because i’m trying not just to be fair to others, but to brave these silences for once. i’m trying to reap the benefit of this struggle. if there is anything positive to be wrought from the depths of such a crack-lipped rift as this which takes a family apart in this way, it is to be found in my reflection, solitude, loneliness, thoughtfulness. it is to be manifested in a gathering in of my energies and a careful application to that which is positive and creative and constructive. I want to be careful not to be reactive, nor to simply distract myself from the ache. There is a meaningful and profound pain running through this change, whether it be called a failure or otherwise. I want to use that pain to hone my effects, to pare away the distance between my intention and application on multiple levels.

i find with more time to myself i have more time to consider not simply my emotional reaction to the world and to others, but the origins of my own emotion. there seems to me an important distinction.

i feel i am less grounded in other people’s ongoing reality, and that is a good thing. as an artist, i am a bit like a receptor. a tuning fork. i feel easily, deeply, and intensely. this is coupled, of course, with the recoil and response which artists have as a matter of function. you receive the energies of your environment, are imbued of them, resonate with that and then transmit it back/outward—and if i dont have time to process or consider the transmission or interpretation, the event can become like an echo track overloading and overheating the circuit. me, being that conduit. part of what was so painful in my marriage was that i was ultimately contending with cluttered emotional freight on a daily basis. there was not the room to get to more fragile or more subtle vibrations such as one needs to contact for much of their art. and if an artist is not doing these types of things, i really think a great amount of unhappiness resounds. and then, that is what you transmit.

i dont write these things to blame anyone else. i think these are problems inherent in an artist having any close relationship, to tell you the truth (and i’ve got plenty of my own freight). and i’m sure we could embark on another discussion here. but i’m talking now of my specific life. not theories involving love, intimacy, and artists.

we could no longer dance. we could barely move. we were both dragging around lists made of lead. i tag neither of us as some sort of sole destroyer or victimizer. if she does, that’s her view and for her to espouse or defend. but for me arguing about it brings no clarity, only more pain. i didn’t know what went wrong. or how much was right to begin with. even when i tried, i couldnt navigate simple kindness anymore and i couldn stand myself for that lack. i don’t know what is the future of her or myself or our children. but i don’t want it to be anything other than kindness. kindness or nothing. and so far, this is better. though it is certainly not ideal…

i want to be truer to myself. that means seeing what i am good at and what i am not. and applying myself doubly hard in the areas i have interest and talent and ability (and yes calling) and retracting myself more from areas where i am just lounging or killing time. i am 39. if life were fair, i’d live to be 400. because i’m an infant in terms of mastering my talents and being a human being in general. i feel such great awe and earnest gratitude for every new thing i learn, but i’m hardly half way to being self-actualized. and so it is with a certain tinge of (sorrow may be too strong a word, but i don’t have enough terms for shades of sadness) wistfulness that i admit my life will be incomplete. meanwhile, i don’t want to waste too much more time pretending or starching up my collar or posing—unless its for really weird art fotographs or installations.

i want to be truer to my art. i’ve been practicing brushstrokes and gradients and arcs and shading and hue and image capture and composition and layering and narrative and theme and subtext and transition and meter and metaphor for two decades, now. i feel i am ready for another round of production and another level of corazónian expression. i havent made any art (and i mean paintings in the 3D) or sculpture or albums in a long time. I’ve dabbled in digital grafiks and fun little audio tracks or quickie songs for about two years and i see this as a buffer period where i’ve been soaking up a lot of new information, thinking about things in new ways, and in general, changing and not quite ready to “produce” yet. i’ve also done a lot of thinking about art and how i’ve used it and what the gift is for. my entire approach to art has transformed in this time period where i’ve not been really exploring any new ground. my thoughts on the use of it, the debt owed to it, the power and function of art, and consequently how to speak with it. a reader could track this since i began writing years ago in el grito about euro-centric media, and indigenous art, and capitalism’s minions, and sexist and racist media…and actually, it began years before, while learning about media messaging in NYU Film/TV, and even earlier with my photography and SBS and marketing courses in community college. In fact, “this” is a long path, and we cannot find the toe or head here. i am but standing aside for a moment and marking the journey. once again.

my art (and i include music) itself was a reaction for a long time. and it was a mourning. it was a mourning without a full accounting. it was a hand of anger with an incomplete grasp of cause. it was a vow to take vengeance but overlooking many important actors. in this way it was typical. the “truth” of what i am creating is of greater importance to me, but apart from all other considerations, i certainly do not strive to be a typical creator of sound or imagery or story. if i’m going to bother, i don’t need another hobby. no, i want to reach new, original levels of creation/interpretation/expression. not necessarily in the world’s canons, but definitely within the context of my own repertoire of style. i want to push myself toward the greatness that may lie at the seed of this ability. looking back, so much of what i was saying was repeating lessons i’d been given. or reacting viscerally to realities i was living and sometimes the result was beautiful, maybe, in its striving for honesty. (granted, there are still people who swear by much of it. and i would take nothing from them. that’s an argument i dont win even when i seem to!) but there are always deeper levels to plumb. without evaluating further or degrading past efforts to be real, these stated conditions are why i say that my years of art—soulful gestures for sure—has been mostly practice. then again, i’m sure every artist wants to look back with scorn upon her or his seminal or early work. so perhaps i am not being so original after all.

regardless, i feel something truer and vast beneath the surface. and i would dive down to get at it. i would risk drowning to find it. that i know to be so much of my purpose here.

not this:

and while words are very much a part of my work and what i am presumptuous enough to think of as my gifts, this blogging thing has tended to steer me toward overuse. an effervescent outpouring of words, words, words and that’s all too easy for me, isn’t it? and all this time i’m typing and talking i’m not doing enough of other things. words, as i’ve written before in el grito, are dangerous and at the same time, inefficient. (all these value judgments of course depend on intent and function and goal, that’s a given). but lately i’ve been looking at my easel a lot. and lately i’ve been picking up my guitars more often. it might not mean a thing. then again, it might.

one last thing. in my last post i talked, joked, about having contempt for the entirety of the human race. now of course, this is not a great statement to make wholesale, and while i’m okay with the amount and quality of people who choose to stick around despite the many off-the-cuff statements i make like this, i had a few thoughts about it. and what i thought was that there is no time i am more unhappy with the human race as a whole then when i am improperly interacting with it. that might mean holding a job that offends my nature, or lying too much, or trying to engage people in ways that feel phony or unnatural to me; against my own grain. it might mean a number of things. but i’d like to take back the locus, if nothing else. people are no one thing. people are in turns, wondrous, disappointing, ugly, beautiful, amazing, selfish, shallow, generous, remarkable. there is no blanket statement that holds fast. and again, it comes down to where i’m trying to place myself within that entire exchange. if i’m more careful and honest about it, there will be less moments like that. at least that’s the idea.

what was i saying? oh yeah. too many words. pretending i understand them and that they fix things. or that they say what it is i’ve been feeling. missing getting my hands wet, dirty, bright, staying up drawing impossible suns all night. less of that and more of this. announcing my alliance with fearlessness and bliss.

i’ve had a spider bite on my stomach since sleeping in la quinta in denver. it still itches. damn spider venom has some serious staying power.

got some real good footage today, fun stuff. hope to have a few youtubes up tomorrow. plan on taking it easy, as far as running around.

i’m real glad kenneth cole productions and culturekitchen.com thought my work worth the plane tickets and the hotel costs and such. KCP has been cool about letting me post what my experience is without editing or altering it. it would be nice in time if i got paid for what i do instead of just costs, but for now, this is all right. i’ve had one hell of an experience…yeah. i am very grateful. denver was totally different than minneapolis is, and i’m going to hold on to that one for a while. here i’m just trying not to get jailed or tear gassed or anything. the city is very strange. it feels like Police rule the streets here. i’ve got footage and pics of the New World Order here in MN. basically feels like martial law is going to erupt in full force any second. 

at this point, i just want to be in my little studio, want to hold and play with mi querida lunita, and i want to chill. no more planes for a little bit. no more late late nights. i’m tired. and a little sad. but hey. asi es la vida, qué no? if anything i know about me is that i dont stay in one place too long. so i’m sure before you know it i’ll be past this. two more days. 

meanwhile, time for sleep. time for dreaming.

somewhere in all of this, my back muscles knotted up something fierce. it is actually really painful and cramping my movement. i think i need to immerse myself in a hot, hot shower. knead that out. i wonder, again, how much of that is from the bed. i keep looking at them. its such a chunk of cash, but i am sure it’s worth it. to wake up feeling rested and not aching and cramped for space. this will be the next purchase. this also means that lil ‘nita needs a new bed, as she now has the air mattress which she sleeps in more and more. tho she still wakes up and crawls into bed sometimes. she’ll be happy to get a real bed, her own.

it’s odd, the offense some feel when you affiliate and align yourself with your heritage(s) where you did not before. there were one or two people at the start. they liked me much better when i didn’t bring up many things. it’s still like my father said. so many will appear claiming authority to tell you who you are. well, he didn’t say that. i’ve paraphrased him by now. he said something like “everyone seems to know better than you,” when it came to feeling out your identity, your meaning as attached to what you are made of ethnically, socially, whatever.

ever since crazyface tried to use the word “jew” to stab at me recently, i have been thinking more and more on that side of my family. i’m writing a long post on it. soon, i am thinking i may change the star in my UMX symbol to some fashion of a Star of David. the eagle, the serpent and the rock at the start of tenochtitlán, in front of the Jewish star. i was using the EZLN star, but i think its time for this change. i have to try the design out. it may mean a new blog. or it may just mean a tweaking of the old. more on this later…this quandary i’m in lately over whether i should change my UMX blog as i change…or just let it rest at some point as an archive and sign of an earlier time and move on.

i’ve just been thinking of it a lot, jews and mexicans. how both peoples have been persecuted, displaced, despised and hunted, becoming almost nomadic in quests to live and survive. nowadays illegal is slurred and dripping with ugliness and hate and a blanket license to treat as subhuman just as much as jew was in scary days past. not that people cannot resurrect that ugly past with much more than one word.

i was not taught much affiliation or pride with being descended from jews or mexicans, but (in addition to my personal need to reconnect with my roots) as both peoples are under attack, and have been, i feel very strongly that my remaining silent and unidentified with them is somewhat disloyal. not to die out, and not to hide out. it’s never been about pretending to be something i’m not. to me, living under some adopted name and by speech and appearance attempting to distance myself from these is pretending. and i feel a duty to underline and resuscitate my affiliations with mi antepasados and my ancestors, considering not only have the groups typically been “nomadic and hunted,” but specifically, my ancestors who came into this country only 2 and three generations ago on both sides did so to live, to prosper. for a chance at a better life or even moving away from violence that sought them. not simply to move in some exotic or worldly way.

and i’d have to add that it’s not all about them being persecuted. it’s about the name of jews being used in israel to oppress others, and i feel i should say something on that, too, as i do not approve of that, and would add my voice to that disapproval. as a person, and as someone affiated in some way, even if small. but i’ll save the rest for the post.

there is so much to know as a craftsperson and an artist who uses digital means. oh if it were only so easy just to write and make visual art/video or record music. before any of these finished products can be presented, there is SO much learning about the tools. ugh. mix camera with computer (shooting/editing video) and you have a library of information you have to know. how tape is made, how it captures, what 60i vs 24p vs 24Pa mean, how to digitize them, how to use various software programs, tools IN those programs, how they all interact, how to troubleshoot problems in everything from blogs to mixing boards, i can go on and i know you know what i mean. i taught myself adobe illustrator “on the job,” as when i illustrated my first book (i’ve written a few, only one is published now), it seemed that vector art would be a better bet than pixel-based art, so i had to learn the software. that’s usually how it goes. need gives way to self-teaching in a new area. i love the new learning. and the bigger knowledge base. as i’ve said before the more you learn the more it can overlap and intersect, and thus deepen your understanding in all areas at once, a sort of whole-greater-than-the-sum-of-parts thing, but with understanding and intuition to use that understanding in new ways. sometimes all the pockets of ignorance that can rise up and stymie a project at various points, or the demand for time that is needed to keep moving forward with different learnings in different areas is frustrating. and the technology moves so fast that you really have to work hard to stay on top of all the changes in all the various places. but nothing makes me feel more alive than learning something new. well, perhaps that is hyperbole. but if so, only barely.

i was really annoyed that my obama vid showed so much interlacing. i wont bore you with technical talk, but there was a lot to figure out in the way of avoiding that, and i’m still not sure i get it all. it will take a few times shooting/editing more until i can test out some things and see what the best workflow is. interesecting considerations between cameras, formats, software, settings, final presentation format, etc. ugh.

i’m so hungry. i guess i should push Submit (on the compression window, as well as for this post) and then go eat. and then shower to try and work out these knots. and then come back to this virtual tail-gunner seat and try to finish up icirr. hop back to richard’s illustrations before dawn tomorrow. hit UMX posts in nibbles, hope to have a solid one for monday. i think i may have some Headline posts saved up not posted yet. see if those are still timely, fill the weekend up a bit. i think i have a youtube on reserve too.

lately my dinners have been so big and heavy full of sauces and calories and flavors and butters and steaks and i wonder if i’m trying to put on weight for the summer. it’s all very odd. i was running on the regular and really getting fit. and then i just sort of fell into king henry the eighth mode. a drumstick in one hand, a carafe in the other, and gravy running down my neck. mmmm. gravychest. it’s like i’m singlehandedly battling (and batter-ing) winter away from the dining hall doors. trying to bundle up in a regal layer of fat or something. hunker down in my throne room of ribeye. king fatty will rule with a tenderized fist.

moo-yah!

but do ya think we can maybe finally leave orange behind now? at least for another five or ten years? i feel it is really played out at this point. i remember when it started surging and it was like “oh cool, the bastard stepchild of the rainbow is getting its due” and it was funky. but now i’m super tired of it.

eXCEPT on kyle’s site. because whoever designed that shit really made it juicy and splashy and i get thirsty every time i’m over there. 

good.

i didnt get too deep into it, though i think i gave a good idea in my last post how that incident affected me. not to sound overlydramatic (tho why not? i am!) but there was a certain point in my life. i think it was 1996 or so. i think of it as a nadir. not to be too smug, because for all i know, one could lay in my future! but…never in the same way. i’ll tell you the story sometime when i feel like diving into that mess again. it was right around then, and i made a major mental shift. i was living in a way where i just didn’t care. things were fucked up in a few ways, and i think i was working like a wrecking ball. swinging back. not really out for much, just reacting. echoing. swinging. and because of that as well as valid concerns about the culture, the whole society game was far from my heart and hands. didnt want to touch it. cared nothing for all the measures of success it would bestow. status, money, brand names, titles, positions, accolades, credit reports, degrees, i was like fuck that.

my bills are late they keep sending me statements
i’m making a statement by not making payments

—Jin, Determination, from I Promise

sometimes its not fair to look back and think we can sum it all up, think we can understand. the view changes as we change…its hard to be so definitive. but aside from whatever else it was, some of this was a reaction. to a lot of things in my youth. and at a certain point since suicide wasn’t working out, i decided i wanted to go in a diferent direction. and i began to focus my fire.

since then, in many ways, i have achieved things with that focus. community college, NYU, honor rolls/president’s lists/grants, quit smoking, got published, finally joined a dojang, got better tools for my art, worked on my own attitude and awareness and behaviors, got this got that, its not important, the entire laundry list. the fact is that i think of myself as an indomitable spirit, and on the rise. and i am.

the bank thing felt like a punch in the face that dropped me to my knees. in public. i didnt see it coming, and it broke my stride, i missed a step, thought i’d miss the next step. staggered, heard a ringing in my ears.

man plans, god laughs.
—my nana, who died this year

i dont let myself “get depressed.” no dispersion on anyone clinically diagnosed (its not hard to to, i was at one point long ago), but i just dont go there. to me the state includes a heavy serving of hopelessness and helplessness. i dont do “helpless” anymore. i dont to “hopeless” anymore. its a very nasty feeling to me. i’m just explaining my overall approach.

of course i’m human. with the range of emotions that includes. and i’ve been feeling good, i’ve been feeling very good the last year or so. putting my writing and art and energy online has resulted in many positive opportunities and jobs and scenarios. and as i said. i dont rest. i work very very hard. i burn hot. i begin in the dark in the morning early and work pretty hard for as long as i can until all the energy is gone. i’m an “i can do it” person, a “just try and stop me” kind of person. none of the scenarios in my life now—MTV vlogger for OR, acting jobs, art jobs, new media consulting situations, published here and there, invited on radio shows—floated to me as a gift. i worked my ass off to tractorbeam that shit over to me.

i couldnt see a way around the bank obstacle. and it reduced me to a helpless role. a dependent role. and that really was upsetting. very much so. for a night. and then this morning i got online and read up. and as you see, it’s not quite as bad as i thought.

and i’m still me. good morning.

let’s go back to jin, for somethin hot to drop in ya coffee.

i’m so determined yeah the fires burning inside of me
i want it so bad i think of it every night when i sleep
and when i wake up in the morning its on my mind as well
and if you dont think i can do it you can all go to hell

of course i want to be a household name
have a mouthful of gold, ice out, chains, and arrange
a lifestyle of fame and entertainment
i’m aiming to have my name engraved in pavement

i want the throne so bad its aching
don’t care if its vacant or not, i’m a take it
i’m on the grind like jamaicans
watch how far a bit of determination will take ‘em

i stay two levels above you
while you in the basement
i’m in the attic like
‘come on if you chasing’

after we battle they’ll wonder where your face went
i put a JIN logo there now that’s product placement!
i’m so close i can taste it
i’m a keep doing what i do while you lay and stay complacent

mind ya own business and stay out of mine
the way everybody watch me you’d think i’m out of time
i’m the truth, i ain’t hot on the proof
i don’t expect you to see what i see from the other side of the booth

let me explain what it’s like when i’m in front of a mic
my blood boils sort of like i’m ready to fight, a’ight?
i’m not the physical type but lyrically
i might make it so you don’t walk the rest of your life

see that’s JIN, i’m determined to win
let me put it in terms easier for you to comprehend

you wanna know how bad i wanna be on top?
just picture a crackhead who wants to be on rocks
or all these little rappers who wanna be like pac
i just wanna do everything they say i cannot

it is not over
it is not over

—Jin, Determindation, from I Promise