Stuffy Nose and All

Video shot and edited by Tim Kahn at Gasworks Park. I had about forty five minutes to do stuff, and this is a rough cut of that day. I almost wish he'd put in some of what I'd said when asked about my greatest challenge to overcome in Parkour--asthma--but it's still a nice little video. And all I'd said about the asthma anyway was that it is my greatest challenge, a nice daily challenge, a nifty little thing that my body does to itself, to never use as an excuse and to always, constantly, conquer. I actually try to refrain from mentioning it ever, because it's not relevant to anyone else unless I'm having issues, (which I often keep to myself anyway.) I guess I'm mostly over keeping it secret, but I still go off to use my inhaler alone and out-of-sight. Would super man go and scream his utter love of kryptonite to the world? I have asthma, but I won't be called an asthmatic; I just don't like the way it sounds. So defining, confining, and gone is the time when I couldn't finish the run in P.E., coming in last at an oh-so-graceful laborious walk. Nope. I'll lead the conditioning, by golly, and ride my bike through the city, and forget, in the greatest of moments, that I ever cannot breathe optimally. And guess what? When I finally do get rid of the asthma, I'm gonna have freaking super powers, because right now I can't even imagine leaving the house without my plastic-and-canister life-saving device. I'll gain mad points instead of losing them. So there.

Stiff Reverie

Falling under the spell of watching parkour videos late at night brings to me the fire I feel when I need to move. Well-worked from yesterday's training, I've been set to speed slow all day, and now--as I should be sleeping--wander here to wonder: why am I becoming what I cannot help? In my little room I quadruped, find my balance upside down, push-up, roll around, imagine myself out there, running, jumping, landing, and onward. I imagine speeds and heights I don't yet have, feel all my feet--yes four--galloping on cold concrete, and wish that, like in my dreams, I could go on forever. But sitting up straight and reaching for the sky, I remember: rest comes post work. I am getting there, slowly, determined. What I did yesterday I could not do last year; what I do tomorrow will be more. I feel giddy, anxious, electric, sometimes, thinking of the paths...I just want to be a useful monkee. Want to be capable and strong and true. I want how it feels to work for that movement, sure and smooth, that first victory of a space, of my fears, and all the ones that follow. Or finding new ways within what I thought I knew. I stretch, shiver (it's cold up here, this attic space,) trying to ease my mind into slumber but am ever excited: Parkour! Who knew? I did, for so long, but didn't understand, and now I'm beginning to...And in the years to come, I will stay true to the difficulty of obtaining elite movement, control of my body within the space and time I have...I am not alone in the discipline, but am within myself. I hesitate to call myself traceuse, for feeling of not being quite enough yet, but how can I anything else be? If not traceuse, something very like, and I like it. I love it. I'm tired, I sleep so much, but it is work worth paying for, play worth gaining.  And so I feed the fire, and as it burns down into coals I sit by its warmth, cook over the heat, and then find it more fuel so it can burn on as I sleep.

Throw me into leathers and a hood: I'm fired up!

Today I visited the Vikingfire Foundry that's--so conveniently--just down the street from my abode. And what? These folks are terrific! With a mostly female team, (4:1), plenty of regular clients, and an acute artistic energy that exudes from the whole place, this foundry is one in a hundredmilliongazillion--and all I have to do is show up and they'll put me to work, teaching me all about bronze casting, letting me weld, and basically giving me the opprotunity to join their community and learn all about an industry I love. Having been away from metalwork for a few years, I'm stoked to again have the chance to simultaneously gain useful skills and make beautiful things. There's also talk of a revivable 501(c)3, with the interest in teaching youngfolk about casting--which gives me immense excitement; I would love to work with two nonprofits! [Insert Pacific Northwest Parkour Association plug here] Just the smell of the place made me giddy; metal dust and leather...And oh the crucible, the plasma cutter, pneumatic tools! The ultimate goal? Designing and creating interesting structures for training parkour. That's right, long way coming, but it will happen. Jungle gym with relief monkees anyone?

--What's more: I'm watching my friend's daughter on Tuesday (she's seven and quite kick-ass) and, via Steve's invitation, we'll be going on a 'field trip' to the foundry to learn all about the operation and see them pour some metal! It'll be the first viewing for both of us, and with plenty of park time and some pho for lunch, it should be an exciting excursion in Ballard!


Exclamation points for the win!

Introduction

...If you want to feel worthwhile, you have to realize that you are. I believe everyone is necessary, even the 'stupid street kids' that grow into 'stupid street people', because maybe others can learn from them and change something. I believe that everything that's happened up until this point had to have happened; for me, it's proof enough that it did happen. The past has already been; it's obvious that's how it had to be. --Though not at all so for what is to come.

I believe in Life, and living it, and having fun, and doing the hard work it takes to balance out all the good things that come. I've busted my ass teaching myself how to work because I was never taught. It's not the job, it's knowing how to work, being able to, and just fucking doing it. The end benefits are far greater than what it took to do the work.
What do you believe?
I believe in myself.

It doesn't matter, all those people out there. Not what they think, not what they do, nor how much we can make off of them. The only truth is that we're all the same creature in different versions. No one knows what the hell is going on, no one feels completely understood, and we're all asking the same questions silently from the moment we form them until we die. We all eat and shit. We all sleep. Some have things to say--every one is relative. The truest Freedom is found in understanding this situation of life-death, the masses of humanoids on the earth and all the lovely things we coexist with, in realizing that, yeah, a bunch of people decided to agree on all the wrong things, but I may be a step in the right direction...

I am a pencil sharpened at both ends
that fell off the floor
rolled into the aether
writing forward, backwards, dulling myself on the fabrics of time and dedication.

I derive symbols, and they are smudged,
Read and rubbed until what's left, is;
Used until I'm a stub--no eraser--made anew,
Then sharpened on resolution.