Under the guidance the Embodying Enoughness series by Turbo Dog Yoga Chicago, I am learning how to change the null-loops that infest my brains. The process is simple; it is honest; to borrow from the language of the computer, it uses the basic technique of writing over old memories with new data. After a thorough yoga session, one lies in corpse pose and delves deeply into the psyche, rooting around for stuck or toxic patterns. Then, once one has selected a memory and it is playing before the mind's eye, one re-imagines it as if it had had the best of possible outcomes, as if all the bad things that happened were instead good things, as if pain and suffering had instead been relaxation and joy. It is liberating to be able to change one's personal perception of the past in this way; it is a salubrious activity to step back from daily self-flagellation and free oneself from attachment to past events, lost hopes, and broken dreams. To walk this path requires guts, and determination; it is not for the weak of heart, or for those people who are not yet ready to heal. But once begun, addictive is a fitting term for the process of exhuming one's buried skeletons and snipping loose the threads of thought that tend to tether one to events and people reachable only within the time machine we call the mind. Chest up, breathe hugely, self-liberate! Aho.
© americanifesto / 場黑麥
Showing posts with label 2013. Show all posts
Showing posts with label 2013. Show all posts
25 September 2013
11 September 2013
on anti-graffiti
Cities go to great lengths to try and thwart the application of street art. They send out minions to paint over graffiti and scrape it away, apply materials that keep stickers from sticking, raise street signs and utility boxes higher to make them harder to reach, and cake on a cottage-cheese-like layer that diminishes a pole's available surface area. Not one of these measures keeps the graffito from pursuing his trade; rather, they force the SDUBS (self directed urban beautification specialist) to seek out new surfaces upon which to make his art, higher and less accessible areas to cover with paper or paint, new and craftier ways to make a name for himself in the riotous and anarchic meritocracy that is graffiti. We hope that someday the leadership councils of these cities will choose to promote and support the dazzling and intricate arrays of free artwork that the graffito spends his time and money creating and risks his life and liberty applying rather than them wasting limited resources on destroying beauty and making the asphalt landscape visually uniform. A barren phaltscape compels people to go home, draw a picture on a piece of paper, and tape or glue their creation to a neighborhood tree, pole, post, box, booth, or sign. Graffiti is among the oldest forms of human artistic expression we know of; for tens of thousands of years, mankind has been free to alter his surroundings, and there is indication he will be stopping anytime soon. Street art is here to stay and it will not be forced away so gather pen and pad and brush and get you outside – hurry, rush!
mentiri factorem fecit – 場黑麥
mentiri factorem fecit – 場黑麥
12 June 2013
on getting fancy
This morning, on the way to anatomy class, I jumped onto a Jersey barrier upon my (loaned) bicycle in an attempt to avoid having to ride in the busy street around a bit of construction blocking the pedestrian path. Immediately upon mounting the concrete structure I lost my balance, fell over onto a spot of muddy grass to the right (i.e. not into vehicular traffic), tore open a finger-knuckle on my right hand, and badly bent the front wheel of the purple-and-blue women's bicycle I have been riding for the past week. Undaunted, I turned around and walked the mangled velocipede back to my hostel, turned back around, and walked the 2.3 miles to class.
Oh the plans I had to repair the front wheel, to tune the spokes by hand, myself, whilst sitting in a nice park and whistling away my sorrows. Anyone who has ever attempted to tune the spokes of a badly-bent bicycle wheel will know how frustrating, infuriating, and all but hopeless it is to try and do this type of work freehand, by eye and feel alone; I spent more than three hours trying to do it myself as well as trying to find a bicycle shop in Houston Texas open past six in the evening, both to no avail. Now, it is after ten p.m., the wheel is still bent (thought not nearly as badly as it was this morning,) I am exhausted in will, spirit, and body, and not only is my time gone but I will be out roughly $35 for a new wheel or a few bucks less for a quick tuning job, adding those to the 3+ hours I already spent (at $20/hr, ), and I'm almost out a c-note with nothing to show for it but my all-too-apparent frustration. One of these times I'll remember to just take the bike to a shop and pay someone else to tune the spokes rather than working myself into a lather trying to do it myself. Oh brother, phew, and mahalo.
mentiri factorem fecit – 場黑麥
Oh the plans I had to repair the front wheel, to tune the spokes by hand, myself, whilst sitting in a nice park and whistling away my sorrows. Anyone who has ever attempted to tune the spokes of a badly-bent bicycle wheel will know how frustrating, infuriating, and all but hopeless it is to try and do this type of work freehand, by eye and feel alone; I spent more than three hours trying to do it myself as well as trying to find a bicycle shop in Houston Texas open past six in the evening, both to no avail. Now, it is after ten p.m., the wheel is still bent (thought not nearly as badly as it was this morning,) I am exhausted in will, spirit, and body, and not only is my time gone but I will be out roughly $35 for a new wheel or a few bucks less for a quick tuning job, adding those to the 3+ hours I already spent (at $20/hr, ), and I'm almost out a c-note with nothing to show for it but my all-too-apparent frustration. One of these times I'll remember to just take the bike to a shop and pay someone else to tune the spokes rather than working myself into a lather trying to do it myself. Oh brother, phew, and mahalo.
mentiri factorem fecit – 場黑麥
27 February 2013
14 January 2013
on stalking art
Oh the many miles this whorphan walked Saturday through Philadelphia. It is a good thing he wore his new leather work boots – they needed breaking in and to make his skin's acquaintance. His wanderings were neither useless nor wanton; he managed to photograph nearly ten dozen examples of street art, or graffiti, which he can now process, preserve, curate, and display.
In some cities, graffiti inhabits certain areas more frequently than others; persons seeking it can simply show up at the popular spots and gather to their hearts' content without much craning or swiveling of the head. In Philadelphia, however, street art must be stalked and searched for, culled from the backs of tall signposts and canvassed from the sides of news kiosks, utility boxes, and telephone poles. In fact, the author found entire blocks denuded of beauty, small rectangular patches of dirty glue on the backs of otherwise unused spaces such as parking-meter poles and transformer boxes the only remaining evidence of hundreds of works of art. But if the fruitful labor of the Self Directed Urban Beautification Specialist (SDUBS) were easy to find, and if his strange and colorful images required less effort and patience to obtain, the wonderful phenomenon that is street art would be as mysterious as an unadorned dumpster and as appealing as the sound of mating swine.
In the City of Brotherly Love and Sisterly Affection, one must tease beauty from the forgotten and the under-utilized places and ignore the suspicious glances of the uninitiated as one applies one's own paltry contributions with deft slight of hand. This author thanks the disparate street artists of Philadelphia for re-applying their art as soon as the city has paid to have it destroyed. Keep fighting the good fight, you tenacious SDUBS, and mahalo.
mentiri factorem fecit © 場黑麥
In some cities, graffiti inhabits certain areas more frequently than others; persons seeking it can simply show up at the popular spots and gather to their hearts' content without much craning or swiveling of the head. In Philadelphia, however, street art must be stalked and searched for, culled from the backs of tall signposts and canvassed from the sides of news kiosks, utility boxes, and telephone poles. In fact, the author found entire blocks denuded of beauty, small rectangular patches of dirty glue on the backs of otherwise unused spaces such as parking-meter poles and transformer boxes the only remaining evidence of hundreds of works of art. But if the fruitful labor of the Self Directed Urban Beautification Specialist (SDUBS) were easy to find, and if his strange and colorful images required less effort and patience to obtain, the wonderful phenomenon that is street art would be as mysterious as an unadorned dumpster and as appealing as the sound of mating swine.
In the City of Brotherly Love and Sisterly Affection, one must tease beauty from the forgotten and the under-utilized places and ignore the suspicious glances of the uninitiated as one applies one's own paltry contributions with deft slight of hand. This author thanks the disparate street artists of Philadelphia for re-applying their art as soon as the city has paid to have it destroyed. Keep fighting the good fight, you tenacious SDUBS, and mahalo.
mentiri factorem fecit © 場黑麥
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