while sitting alone

Someone who has spent the majority of his life - twenty-five years in fact - hiding from his emotions by a variety of means will of course face some difficulty when he decides to sober up and face the realities of human existence. As he delves ever more deeply into the shadowed inner realms, his dreams will likely intensify. As he puts aside the childish pursuits of purely physical pleasure, it will soon become clear to him that his duty is to take up more virtuous and worthwhile endeavors.

The temptation will be large to keep hiding, to return to the well-worn and welcoming patterns, to indulge in wantonly indulgent behavior or fleeting sexual gratification. He knows those pathways and patterns, however, and knows to where they lead, and would rather sit quietly by himself in a room, with incense burning.

Great wonders, much joy, and fathomless treasures can be found while sitting alone in a room. With incense burning.

americanifesto / 場黑麥 / jpr / urbanartopia / whorphan

This profound statement
Is sure to change the whole world,
Touching every soul:

http://www.americanifesto.com/americanifesto/haiku-26-june-2017

americanifesto / 場黑麥 / jpr / urbanartopia / whorphan

if not we

The corporatocracy that America has evolved into is not the form of government designed for this land by the Founding Persons. Nowhere in any of the founding documents, from the Declaration of Independence over the Articles of Confederation to the Constitution, is there any mention of this land existing in a perpetual state of war that benefits the controlling interests of a handful of massive corporate entities at the expense of civil liberties.

Thomas Jefferson saw an aristocracy of corporations as a threat to humans’ natural rights; and James Madison warned that war is the most dreaded enemy to public liberty. Regardless of these prior warnings, however, America has become exactly what our exalted forbears feared most - a quasi-republic ruled by corporations that together have enough wealth to buy elected officials and siphon real wealth (in the form of gold) out of the economy using perfectly legal methods (the Federal Reserve System, which is a private corporation).

This system will not change anytime soon. The corporations (and the few families who own them) that wield such enormous power are not about to step aside in favor of the freedoms and democratic institutions imagined for us by the Founding Persons. If the existing corporatocracy wanted to let wealth trickle down, wealth would have trickled already; if it wanted to solve unemployment and eradicate poverty, it would have solved and eradicated already. America’s monied ruling class has had centuries of time during which and vast resources with which to create in this great land an utopia of prosperity for all at the expense of none. This author proposes, therefore, that we the People set aside a few small parcels of land (similar to the reservation system) within America in which they who control the undemocratic and unconstitutional corporatocracy may do whatever unimaginably rich persons do besides breathe and eat. On the rest of the land, however, the People ought set up a form of government - one that closely follows the text of our Founding Documents, which include the Declaration of Independence, the Articles of Confederation, and the U.S. Constitution - that to us shall seem most likely to effect our Safety and Happiness.

All power stems from the People, and the existing structures exist only because we allow them to exist. If we are not to bring about the true promise of this grand experiment, then who? And if we are not to do it now, then when?

americanifesto / JPR / whorphan / 場黑麥

on gathering graffiti - bicycling in dangerous neighborhoods edition

Among the most dangerous places I’ve ever visited while searching for street art have been in Baltimore, Maryland. There are few other cities in the world compared to Baltimore where things go from fancy to fucked-up as quickly, first super safe then scared shitless from one block to the next. For anyone whose hobby includes combing city streets on a bicycle in search of stickers glued to and posters pasted up in dirty and dangerous places, here are three simple tips on how to stay alive and well whilst gathering graff.

1. Make eye contact with people, and greet them. Do this always, especially in dark and lonely places. Many gangsters operate on the basis of honor, and looking them in the eye and saying hello to them is an honorable act that rarely fails to calm situations. (Don’t expect them to say hello back, however; not getting shanked or shot at should be validation enough.) Greeting people lets them know that you know they’re there; it shows them that you respect their presence and are not afraid of them or anyone they may be with. If you bicycle around a corner and surprise a group of people, raising a hand in greeting (with two fingers making a V, for victory) and saying a kind word should ease tensions and allay fears.

2. KMA - Keep moving, always. Don’t linger, loiter, stay on one block without moving for too long, or appear lost. If this means backtracking a block or two until you can shoot across a road or bicycling up on the sidewalk to avoid a traffic snarl, do it (just go slowly around pedestrians). If you see some graffiti and want to stop to take a picture of it, check that the picture is well centered and not blurry, then keep moving. The entire process should take fewer than 30 seconds, rarely enough time for someone to approach or harass you.

3. Make a fool of yourself. Bicycle no-handed, pull wheelies, whistle or shout loudly, and generally look like you’re having a grand olde time. White dudes on bicycles wearing helmets and burning lights fore and aft are usually the police. But the police usually don’t pull tricks, and they’re definitely not out to have a good time. Nearly every potentially sticky encounter I’ve had of late was defused by me letting go of the handlebars and lazily cruising by whoever looked like they wanted to hurt me (while giving them a last-minute nod and V, of course).

There are few better ways to hunt street art than on a bicycle. By following the three simple rules mentioned above, you’ll hopefully stay safe and gather graff for many years to come. Mahaloalowa!

americanifesto / JPR / whorphan / 場黑麥

dreamstate writing 16 June 2017

I was in a house that was in the process of being renovated. With me were people I knew well. We talked for a long time, the people and I, whilst sitting cross-legged in a circle in one of the nearly finished rooms. The others and I were wearing tan colored ankle-length robes of some kind. The room had many windows, it was brightly lit, and its walls were painted white.

After our talk was finished we stood up for to have a stretch, whereupon I for some reason entered a smaller neighboring room, to change clothes or just have a look around. The room was empty but for a floor lamp burning a standard incandescent bulb that cast a yellow light. The room had wooden parquet flooring, wooden panels that covered the walls to hip-height, and dark green paint, above. Someone entered the room behind me and I had the feeling I wasn’t supposed to be in there.

When I turned around to leave I saw that a square section of the roof above the green-walled room had been crudely sawed away, leaving a yawning gap that someone had tried to cover with a blue tarpaulin of some sort. Knowing I could mend it better, I went to a closet where supplies for fixing such a hole were kept, gathering up a ladder, hammer and nails, a square piece of plywood, some fiberglass insulation board, as well as roofing shingles and metal flashing. As I was removing the blue tarpaulin I discovered it was instead a heavy-duty Manduka yoga mat I had once owned. The mat was thinner than I remembered and smelled of ozone and heat, however, having sat under the hot sun for so long. I started shoving insulation into the gap and installing bridge-beams to carry the plywood and replacement asphalt shingles, which I had to wedge up under the existing clay tiles. 

americanifesto / JPR / whorphan / 場黑

dreamstate writing 14 June 2017

The first dream I remember was a waking one in which my eyes were open and I was looking across the room toward the door. A face slid out from behind a patch of darkened wall and I greeted it out loud, saying, “Hello.” Something scared me - either the face greeting me back or a subsequent but forgotten part of the dream - and I awoke into full consciousness.

In the the second dream I was inside a long, rectangular room that was filled with diner booths or work cubicles. There were people sitting in most of the booths, and the room was loud with conversation. For some reason I kept walking from the front of the room down the corridors separating the booths to my own cubicle, which was in the back. At some point I met a dark-haired man of about my age, whom I allowed to sit at my booth. I went again to the front of the room and when I came back there was another man sitting at my booth also, a bald and aged fellow. I was concerned for the valuables stored inside my booth and became angry with the two men, telling them to leave my area. Upon waking up soon thereafter, I remembered my expressed desire to be kind to and accepting of the people visiting me in my dreams, and felt remorse for yelling at the two men.

The third dream I remember involved me looking into a mirror, adjusting my hair. (This is unusual, since I rarely look at myself in the mirror while awake.) I was in a poorly-lit bathroom wetting my forelock when I noticed a crescent-shaped tattoo that ran across my forehead from one temple to the next. The tattoo was an image (such as the one seen here) of a sunset viewed from behind the little or seaside shrine, Pura Luhur Enjung, located in Canggu, Bali, Indonesia. Above my right eye were the curved tops of the shrine’s holiest of holies, above my left eye was a sun setting over the waves of Old Man’s surf break.

americanifesto / JPR / whorphan / 場黑麥

haiku 12 June 2017

I promise to write
About this past weekend. Just
Not right now, perhaps.

americanifesto / JPR / whorphan / 場黑麥

dreamstate writing 9 June 2017

It was a bright day and I was bicycling along a footpath on top of a concrete dam. Next to it was a park or greenswarth that was partly submerged in water. Ancient and rusting iron railings ran along the top of the dam, to keep people from falling into the park. Far above the tops of some tall trees to my left stood a cluster of improbably towering walkways, huge and sweeping glass-bottomed ramps that twisted and looped through the sky. I recognized the structure from a previous dream and was briefly saddened, for I knew there was no graffiti there for me to photograph.

Up ahead, the crest of the dam curved sharply to the left and merged with an earthen abutment. At the merge was a swinging gate, which stood open to allow pedestrians and cyclists through. It was equipped with reflective panels so that, when shut, it would be visible to motorists at night. To the right of the gate was a single-storey, dilapidated brick structure with a tile roof. Having seen a lot of stickers plastered to the gate and railing at the point of the merge, I doubled back to photograph them, the bicycle beneath me responding nimbly.

As I was photographing stickers out by the gate, a man walked past me, whom I for the most part ignored. I had the feeling that I was being watched from the park’s thick foliage, which was now to my right (since I had turned around), which compelled me to bicycle into the brick structure. Its windows were missing, allowing isolated shafts of bright sunlight to stream into a dark, cool interior with a churned-up dirt floor. A pair of wooden pillars supported the roof overhead. The wall to my left featured one standard-sized door and three windows. At the far end of the structure was stood another set of open double doors. Near the double doors through which I’d entered were a number of interesting bits of street art, which I photographed. Feeling emboldened by being inside (and away, I figured, from prying eyes), I removed a sticker from my wallet and cast about for a good spot to stick it.

As I was searching for the best possible place for my sticker to live, I glanced down at it where it was poised in my right hand. As is customary, part of it had been torn off upon completion, the other part showing an intricate, black and white drawing of a mask that resembled that of a Mexican lucha libre wrestler.

americanifesto / JPR / whorphan / 場黑麥

haiku 7 June 2017

The old fork buckled
Under the mass of his weight;
It’s beyond fixing.

americanifesto / JPR / whorphan / 場黑麥

haiku 5 June 2017

It might seem a boon
But a lot of ready cash
Is many men’s bane.

americanifesto / JPR / whorphan / 場黑麥

haiku 2 June 2017

His brow unfurrowed,
Letting his third eye open.
This gave him much peace.

americanifesto / JPR / whorphan / 場黑麥