MonkeeMoves

Women's Classes you say?

2011-03-17T12:36:00.001-07:00

That's right! Parkour Visions runs a weekly women's class on Tuesdays at 5:30. Are you a woman interested in training parkour? Not sure how to start, or perhaps hesitant about it? Join us for a class that follows the same curriculum as the others in an environment that's designed for a safe, progressive experience.

photo cred: zenobia_joy

If you're still unsure, check out some media of women practicing parkour. (Yes this really happens, and yes you can do it too.)

Vault Week: A Women's class last summer.

Girlparkour.com: A worldwide resource for women who train parkour. You can find blog posts, photos, videos, and articles, as well as a forum to help you become inspired!

FemaleParkour: is a YouTube channel focused on highliting women's parkour videos. It currently only has a fraction of what you can find on YouTube regarding women in parkour, but is nonetheless a stellar place to start.

Now come out to play!

Posted via email from Parkour Visions miniBlog

Utili-Dread!

2011-02-26T23:57:00.001-08:00

Now that it's long enough to see without a mirror, I finally upgraded my dreadtail.

Behold: The Utili-Dread!

For those of you who don't know me, my longest dreadlock is at the very base of my skull, and hangs down my spine when loose. It's rather difficult to take a photo of my own back, and I know the pictures are horrible quality, so (someday) I'll update with better pictures and more examples of how I use my homegrown lanyard.

What I did:

I made an eye in my dreadlock by whipping it--using half-hitches--for about two inches with #8 nylon twine. I then folded that section around two small keyrings, and whipped the end down tight. It's not a true splice, but it will more than hold for my purposes.

Why I did it:

Attatched to the keyrings is a small gate-clip. The pictures show a Photon Freedom attatched to it, but it easily comes off and can be replaced by any small keychain tool. So far I've only really used the light, but soon I intend to try a pen as well. Since my dreadtail previously had an additional nut that I removed to add the clip, the weight is still less than I'm used to, even with the Photon. As you can see in the first picture, I can reach it with ease, so any tool will be completely and quickly accessible once attached.

--What about it smacking me in the face when I move vigorously, getting in the way, or caught on things?

There have been beads and nuts on this dreadlock for years--I'm already used to it. Enough that before any training, coaching, or otherwise energetic physical activity, I tie a knot in the dreadlock to shorten it. (Now I suppose I can clip it to something else as well.) Also, this particular dreadlock was grown with a purpose in mind from the start: it wraps around the rest of my hair as a band to hold everything together, so often it's already out of the way along with the rest.

See and download the full gallery on posterous

My first obvious purpose for the Photon--beyond just having it--is to be a beacon on my body when I ride my bike at night. Seattle bike law only requires a front white light and a rear red reflector, however, having a back red light, especially a blinking light (which the photon does) is more obvious than a reflector from a distance. After riding in this city for a few years, I'm convinced that the lights raise my chances of being seen significantly. So? Red light on my tail, white light on my neck, and I don't even have to remember to remove them from my bike so they're not stolen.

See and download the full gallery on posterous

This is what tacpunk is all about.

Posted via email from monkEEmade

Tuesday

2011-02-17T13:14:00.001-08:00

Download now or watch on posterous

p171.mov (30460 KB)

Posted via email from Parkour Visions miniBlog

Parkour Visions 2010

2011-01-14T12:51:00.001-08:00

Last year was amazing! Please, if you can take five minutes to see what we did to build an amazing gym and better parkour community in 2010: Shablam!

Posted via email from monkeemoves

Gymplasium!

2010-09-13T16:03:00.001-07:00

We call it The Gym. Yes, a safe space designed for exercise--however--our gym is also a prized place of play. It's a treehouse built on the ground so as to not sway in the breeze--indeed, we're sheltered from the weather to climb whenever we please. To convene to move and speak of adventurous things...

--We come to make strong friends, share big goals, to build new environments where anything goes. To sweat without fear or having to care that we may choose strange paths from [here] to [there]. It's where you do not come down if you haven't gone up, (and we're here to help if you do and get stuck.) It's practicing caution and being fear's boss; buying imagination and awareness at time and sweat's cost.

But! Beware long lava flows and low laser beams; shoes with holes for toes and ripping pant seams; hands that are dirty, and tired, and tough; and challenges that are doable (but ever-so rough.)

Always onward and forward, practicing poise--And no, it isn't only for boys!*

*Women's Class: Tuesdays @ 5:30 p.m.

Posted via email from Parkour Visions miniBlog

Strawberry Festival Fun

2010-06-20T18:08:00.001-07:00

Despite four hours of constant rain, Justin, Janine, Kelly and I had a great time at Burien's Strawberry Festival today. Thanks to Gina Kallman, the Recreation Supervisor, who invited us, ensured that we had a tent and table ready, and posted us next to a perfect outcropping of walls. (Even wet, this concrete was sticky!) We happily--and soggily--proceeded to discover this environment through play, explaining to the interested why we were doing so. And there certainly was interest! From those who'd heard of it, to those who hadn't, we had a constant flow of engaged onlookers. From event staff--volunteers, security, and coordinators--to the passers-by asking questions, everyone that we spoke with were upbeat and pleasant, no matter that hoods were drawn and umbrellas unfurled. It was an all-around perfect opportunity to show-by-doing how parkour is just about moving in your environment, no matter what, and having fun doing it.

Download now or watch on posterous

JustingStrawberryFestival.mov (16723 KB)

Posted via web from Parkour Visions miniBlog

Gone Fishing Intro

2009-11-25T15:08:00.000-08:00

Here.

Practicing Plain Text

2009-10-21T15:59:00.000-07:00

We eat bananas.

No, we don't just eat bananas, we Eat Bananas. En masse foodstuffs travel traceur-fast through our kitchen-space--lucky to keep a tub of yogurt twelve hours after it was bought in the first place! Goodbye pears, apples, granola, and cheese; you have no chance with hungry monkeys such as these. Dairy? We really should own a farm, for the milk spilling uninturrupted into our muzzles--(Do monkeys have muzzles?)--and so much sausage comes and goes that dinner is sausage--don't laugh! It's true:

Him: I'm still so hungry tonight...
Me: It's because you didn't have sausage yet, did you?

Rumpled packages from sweet-and-spicy tea, onion skins, cheese dust, and frozen berry drippings all spot the countertops during neccessary food-frenzies. [Monkee House living comes complete with empty jars, tubs, and milk jugs galore!] Oh the yougurt--the yogurt!--it's something we just can't store. Four-five-or-more hungry bodies to feed--feuling catleaps and wallpasses, dips, pushes, lifts, and swings. Jumping, juggling, running, fighting--that's play-fighting, 'cause we're peacable, even being raw--and whatever else catches fancy that may prove acceptably challenging to take on--Rraaahhh! Bring us beefy-beef-beef soup and broccoli; carrots and avacados and eggs and honey...

We're so hungry we feast on our fears--and have, and will, for the rest of our years.

We feed for late nights and busy days, building boxes and community, discovering new ways--of living together and working for fun, supporting each other training alone together as one. Who ever thought a home could be grown of adults who are children with a serious need to play, so much that it permeates each moment, each day? Each flop onto furniture when too tired to want to move--but only because the opposite of that was, just earlier, so true. And tomorrow it will be just as true all again, so we'll buy more bananas, because it's not going to end.

Exsistence of the Humanest

2009-10-15T01:41:00.000-07:00

This isn't the first time I've not tried to stop myself from ranting, carried away in the righteous cadence of my thoughts. It is not for me to declare annoyance with that which is different--beyond my understanding--as I've ignorance just as that which irks me so.

But, I'm so not better than anyone else. Not elite, superior, nor besting any of my race.
--This isn't a race!

Parkour is to be trained to help others, not to lord our fitness and abilities over them. Comments about sheeple, "the weaker", our fellows as prey...This mindset does not advance our spirits, but sets us morally backwards. Imagine, being dismissed for a different way of life, for following practices that you'd never chosen, but had shoved into your mind and physical existence through endless medias of misinformation. Shame to utter survival of the fittest as if only we know the truth, when it just isn't true any more. Rather, I'd see leading by the fittest, protection by the fittest. Yes, I would that every person in a protect and serve position was an active athlete. That I could be sure if I were running, I would be caught. But because this isn't true, I don't give up on them, muttering, "Oh, they're behind on their bodies and would just never survive, (if it really came down to it, in this distant supposition in my brain.)" A cop-out on society if ever there was one. What good training the 'strong' to be stronger and leave the 'weak' to waste away when what makes us humane is the vast diversity in which we come? What good is knowing ourselves while refusing to acknowledge all types? If the 'fittest' were the only to 'survive', I'd be well and truly dead as an infant, suffocated by my own treacherous lungs. Instead, because some brains were mightier than brawn, I had a chance, to pit myself against an upbringing of fast-food and seated entertainment, the temptations of inhibiting substances, the arrogances of those who seemed to appear without struggle to succeed in everything physical. Yes, hard work is done by all those mighty bodies, I discredit none for their perseverance, willpower, and self motivation, but if I believed that only the self-motivated are meant to succeed, I'd be forgetting myself years ago and do no justice to so many I meet today. When creating ourselves as strong, capable bodies comes so naturally, it is difficult to imagine not being this way. Easy to dismiss bad habits as laziness, or unwillingness, to change. But what people who 'aren't there yet' need isn't disgust from anyone else, but full support in the immensely difficult journey it may be to change. Is it so crazy to think that, sometimes, people don't know where or how to start? Ignorance is no crime, is not a disease, is not exclusive but inclusive to everyone, somehow. This is about choices, knowing that they're there, how to make them, and how to find the strength to follow through.

I want humans to be active, fit, and playful. I proceed as if that day of survival-of-the-most-prepared/adaptable/knowledgeable/fit will come within my lifetime, but I also acknowledge what is going on right now. Guess what? Every tenth of those obesity statistics is derived from some individual--a thinking, feeling, human. I should hope compassion is beyond no-one.

Parkour is a word. We are people. And practicing our movement alone doesn't make us better if we're unwilling to apply it to the most difficult task; helping others--really helping, not telling nor preaching to them--to find themselves as we have, as striving, vibrant bodies and minds. Supporting mankind as a whole is not beyond traceurs; nothing is.

/rant

-MonkEE

Middle Ground

2009-04-04T23:41:00.000-07:00

Between traveling to San Antonio in March for a week of training, returning home wrecked and happy to have gone, re-spraining my ankle, sitting around while it fixes itself, and wondering what to write about outside my personal journal, I've found very little to say here.

Jumping logs on the beach yesterday felt wonderful--though the distance was short, and the duration shorter. Before, while step-slipping down the path to the rocks, I'd chosen the steeps to be hiked with all-fours on return. Trudging up through the sand and stones, hauling backpack and determination, I took the most difficult pieces of the trail quadrupedally--not so much in distance when looked back at, but enough to forget myself in each grabbing hand step, and every push of my forefoot and toes. And today I remember that I'm to go slow, build back proper, take my time. In my excitement to be healed I imagine all the challenges to attack, some so close to home. I prepare for my return, stretch, rotate, test and prod, and try to be steady and strong.

Time from movement--usually healing--brings me deep into quiet self-reflection. As the spring wears on-- such a chilly spring, though the flowers seem not to notice or care--I've started daydreaming of commercial fishing again. Southeast Alaska, salmon for the win, twenty hour days and rocking on wave nights...The sting of jellies from five a.m. to whenever I'm cleaner, waking to the roar of the diesel engine, groggy and cold, slipping into my sweats while still in my bunk, layering, groaning, boottops folded down until the very last moments before I don my raingear. I'll scratch at my head and yawn all morning, wishing for a shower and warm rooms, and breathing deep like I can take the air back with me.

I'm not a cook, but'll make a pre-breakfast pot of oatmeal, brew coffee and stretch myself warmer, hit the head, and set the gear, and wait until it's bright enough to see the jumpers splashing. We'll find the fish, close around them, and I'll haul gear at regular intervals all day, jellyfish water burning all exposed skin, blown around by the wind whipping net. Working quickly and methodically, I'll wonder daily why the hell I'm here. Between sets I'll write in notebooks, or juggle kelp balls, or stare out into the living crystal water, thinking about that time with that person that I'll go home to and enjoy. I'll be alone and working until the sun sets, with the crew, yes, but so in my head; if I go out to fish again, it isn't for the money, but to try myself internally, forcefully, and in full.

I want to go back to remember why I'm me, to face again the challenge of alone among men, to miss my home and friends, and the life I've so carefully built for myself. I can't know what I have until I step far away, peering back to see, discovering newness within, adapting training to 48ft., getting minimal sleep, and having dozens of quiet projects to complete. It's like running away to be myself, enjoying the vastness of the north but-not-that-north, preparing the entire time to return--better, stronger, and reassured of the life I pursue. If I choose to go again, it's to change myself, refine and redefine, like I'm spell-checking me, reviewing punctuations, switching terms, tossing paragraphs, and simplifying content completely...

I life my life with the intent to write it down; that doesn't mean I will, but if I do, I'd better have things to say. --Beyond lamenting this middle ground of not quite somewhere; I want more than this always place of in-between, where I'm almost comfortable enough, but missing something. I take my story seriously, building the plotline carefully, observing flaws to remove, the ones to tweak, loving the lucky phrase placements that come unexpectedly, and wondering--always--what's to happen next. I'm like an obsessive saga, conscious of myself--enough that I want to test--thoroughly--the reality of my epic authenticity, and give myself real reasons to exist so vividly.

To be useful.

2009-01-26T20:28:00.000-08:00

I work at a small spa in the basement of an old apartment building complex, located in the party district of Capitol Hill in Seattle. It's a clean little place, a safe and warm where for women to relax, nap, stretch sore and tired muscles, or read, drinking water with limes. It's a place to wash the day's woes, be not bothered by their outside thoughts, and the chilly world just meters away. My job is to guard the door, keep things tidy and stocked, cut the aforementioned limes, and ensure customer satisfaction.

I don't train very much at work. It's a place for me to rest as well, sit for a few hours, blog or read up on forums, sew, imagine, or do nothing at all. Push-ups happen in slow times, or quiet quadrupedie and precision walking. I practice being slow, here, but the idea of 'go' never leaves.

A customer dropped her keys when she left tonight, had to come back in to ask me how to access beneath the stairs, to a nice dark pit of dropped, forgotten, and gotten-rid-of things. I know this because it was the most exciting part of my night so far to grab my flashlight (that I always carry in my backpack,) throw the "Back in 5 min" sign on the door, and climb over the rail to wiggle through a three foot long space to get under the stairs. The whole process was short--forty seconds maybe?--from me next to her and her sister to back with her keys. They hadn't asked me to do it, but of course I had to; something about their recent visit to the spa, the floral scents coming from them, and the slippers seemed not to mix with either of them actually climbing through the asked-for access hole onto a bunch of trash. (And indeed I came out with enough dirt on my pants to make me grin.) So interesting; for them, it was a moment of panic, with discussion of how to get the extra keys from thirty minutes south, and who might come and get them to do so. For me it was a pleasant break in the quiet monotonous night. A new task with just a small bit of useful movement--and it wasn't the deed that makes me happy, but the instant willingness--eagerness even--in myself to do it. And why is it blogworthy? --Because I'm still at work, sitting peacefully again and hoping someone else might drop their keys sometime, so that I might go retrieve them, smoother, and faster, and with less effort than before.

Maison des Singes

2009-01-14T15:06:00.000-08:00

It has happened; there is a house full of traceuruesses in Seattle, and I'm lucky enough to be stationed within it. And I really do feel fortunate--I know how many people are out there, the only ones in their area, having to teach themselves and train on their own, and I am truly blessed to have such a strong and supportive community. And have faith, all you loners! Parkour is spreading far and fast, and geographically you may be single, but really, it's a worldwide community.

Some things to coming soon to the house: bars! and lots of them, training with my roommates, and motivation all the time, all around me. I don't really know how to describe how good it shall be for me to live with such motivated and active people, especially having just come from a home that I love, but offered only too much inactivity and the piling of beer cans; (boys, I love you, I do not love Magic Cards.) I once lived with only other jugglers, and we juggled every day for a few hours, together, or separate, had weekly "Juggle Jams" at home, and there was no shortage of good times. This new house will be like that for parkour, (not to mention they shall all juggle too [some already do] mwahahaha!) And we have cement stairs out front and a little wall out back and yard and a shed and soon a dog and board meetings and weekly group training days and fencing and boxing and down time and visitors and soooo much food is going to go through there--*inhale*--I'm stoked.

Other happy news, the PNWPA classes are in full swing, with Rafe putting in mad hours at the gym. I especially have fun with the kids' class; there's nothing like hearing, "This is so awesome!" repeated for an hour every Friday to keep one's spirits high. It's great to see how they improve every week, and to be subject to their unending excitement. I can't wait until we have toddler classes! Cute little humonkeys for the win.

In training:

Thursday was add-on conditioning time, crazy super-man push-ups, and the always reminder of needing to build core strength.

Friday had kids, obstacle course, and lots of, "Hey Mom! Watch me!"

Saturday was more add-0n conditioning, first and second class, a full gym for the second class, and--guess what?--reminder of needing to do hanging leg raises (for core strength.)

photo by Cody Allison

Sunday was grey and wet--big surprise. Freeway park ate my hand skin--even bigger surprise. (Riiight.)
Tyson had us doing cat hang drills for warm up; we ended up spending the whole training session (and hour or so, I think...) on those two walls. Drill one: ten times (the ones you counted as good) standing cat jump, up, lower down other side to cat before dismount. Drill two: Five times standing cat jump, up, lower into hang other side, back up, and lower down to original side -or- once up, lower down as slowly as possible. Drill three: Five times jump to cat, up to right forearm, down to hang, up to left forearm, down to hang, then both and up--or maybe down...

I was on an alternate course, as my scrambling up the wall wasn't working without some rail-assist, and by the time I got to the third drill, my forearms were failing. It's weird; sometimes I don't feel that pain of muscles being done working, they'll just stop working, kind of numb, and certainly useless. I don't consider having even one repetition for the last drill, maybe a half, but it was a good day--I appreciate how basic it was, just two walls, just cat-work, but I found it all so difficult. After the first thirty minutes it was hard to want to subject my hands to the park again, (we found minor relief in dipping raw palms into cold puddles on the ground.) And I think, at the end, my hands were a big reason why everything just stopped working. No confidence in grip, and of course, pain. I work to push through pain in so much of my training, and am always improving, but at some point the hands wont do, they'll just bleed for a while, then weep later on. But secretly I like it. Not for the first day, or even the first two, but definitely after the stinging-when-I-touch-anything stops, it feels good. Like I've done something. I can't imagine using gloves, or training inside all the time. I know some prefer the indoors, and they're good for introductions, but I can't call it parkour unless enough time training happens outside; it's just not real, otherwise. Freeway park is a very real place, and I was very really sore the next day, and am now really done.

I wish you all safety, respect, and community--
Be well.

2008-12-27T12:25:00.001-08:00

"That's right! Pack 'em in--get every buck! Don't worry 'bout us, pack 'em in! Go on!"

"..Sir, no one is paying to ride this bus."

Dear Seattle Public,

If you ride public transit, expect full busses, get VERY used to it, and move back. Don't mock the driver for claiming her space; that yellow line ain't new. It seems we all need to get downtown at the same time, and, really, it will be okay if my coat touches your coat. Really. So relax, be the cattle you think you're not (but actually are,) get cozy with your stranger-neighbor, and move back!

Love,
A Busy Monkee Like You

Conditioning properly results in: Preparing body for additional work; Strengthening bones & muscles; Strengthening mind.

2008-12-06T21:25:00.000-08:00

Song: Turtle Soup (Luke Vibert Mix) by DJ Food
--off of: ZEN RMX - A Retrospective Of Ninja Tune Remixes

A bit of a warm-up routine I do at Gasworks Park. Definitely can see the fatigue toward the end, and I still had to do a long rail traverse, (unfilmed, as there were people taking pictures of other people in front of said rail and I was well over effing with the camera by the time they were done.)

It's interesting; doing the routine one way for a while then doing all the same movements but in backwards order is great, because it gets harder again. Mixing it up further gives the same results. With a nice bike ride before and after movement practice, my days at Gasworks run pretty solid. The video could be more, but one must start somewhere, no?

I love quadrupedal work, how being low to the ground causes me to use my entire body to move, and it has proved invaluable in gaining upper body strength, endurance, and confidence in using my hands and arms to support my weight. Coupled with stairs: my life is complete ;P

--And it's so easy to forget the abnormality of using all four limbs to move; at my job (a women's spa) the other day I was caught monkey walking in the entryway, just passing time. The massage therapist looked at me so strangely, and all I said was, "You have no idea..." It was fair priceless.

Be well, all. Rest enough, and train safe.

Panem et Circenses

2008-12-03T12:51:00.000-08:00

I was surely in love with Circus before I ever saw one--somehow have forgotten completely the Ringling show I attended as a toddler, but am nonetheless mired securely in juggling and the performance world. Shortly after jumping into juggling at nineteen, (only because I ended my college institution career,) I was picked up by a local 'cirkus' as a roaming juggler clown, given the opportunity to meet some great amateur performers and get a taste for the floor and stage. Well over working with that group, I've taken some time off of actively pursuing performance, choosing to work my skills purely for the need of it; to satiate my addiction. Last night for my birthday I was taken to Teatro ZinZanni for a wonderful circus cabaret show, tabled inner ring, right up against the rising center stage. Surrounded by the show, I was close enough to understand the realness of the performers, and to see the concentration in their eyes during their most difficult acts. I love it, watching them smile and do the trick, but the eyes are staring somewhere just behind the retinas, concentrating on body and mind, focus completely on successfully executing the moves--as must be done to sustain the belief, or suspension of disbelief; the part that makes show more dream, physical capabilities more like magic.

Seeing a show always makes me feel like getting myself in gear to be there, put my effort into my skills and build myself into the performer I know I can be. Seeing a phenomenal show makes me eager and restless to work more often, harder. I must juggle more balls. Six is decent, nine is optimal, and how come I'm not yet at seven? In the (almost) three years I've been juggling and working skills, I've learned how to mount a unicycle but not ride one, throw seven balls up but not catch them all, (let alone throw them all again,) and am just now feeling comfy enough with my handstands to walk around a bit. Being unsatisfied with this is what pushes me to throw seven balls until I do catch them all, and then throw them again. It's why I've spent a year standing on a bowling ball learning how to walk it around while juggling, (goal: five,) and why I choose random days to dress up, go out, and clown the public, so as to be confident enough in myself to go ahead and look ridiculous, if that's what you all want to see in order to laugh. Any of my friends would tell you I'm a clown, and it's because I cannot help but be one, because I love to smile and have others with me, and so much seriousness in the world really just makes me laugh.

But such a misunderstood population, clowns--scaring half and scoffed at by the others. Everyone's willing to laugh at good antics, but few are interested enough to understand the difficulty of actually forsaking image for the audience, of spending infinite hours doing things that are difficult and take endless repetition, to get only a few moments of entertainment that looks ridiculously easy for the one performing. But that's performance and audience perception: I could keep five balls going for three minutes, or throw one ball up reeeaaaally high and catch it behind my back, and the vast majority is more impressed by how high I can throw and catch, regardless of the fact that I had ages to track only one ball, and that it took months to be able to even watch five at a time. It's about showpersonship, owning attention and giving back tenfold for it. It has to look easy, because who wants to watch someone doing something and struggling at it? I want to watch jugglers who don't drop, aerialists who float around on their equipment, clowns who bounce upwards when they fall, traceurs who fly. I want to fly, too.

--That's why I effing love Sabine Rieck in the Teatro shows, her casual clowning style, complete willingness to make herself look ridiculous, and acute sense of connecting with the audience. One of my goals for the night was to interact with any of the performers as they did with me; maybe help them have more fun too. I started by tapping the "security guard" (Sabine) on the far shoulder as she was working the table behind us, doing the old 'tap-and-pretend-nothing-happened.' This was rewarded with a short game of move-the-silverware: She takes fork, puts it further, I bring it closer, she brings it closer, I put spoon on other side of table, she puts it back, I move knife closer, she puts knife further, I put spoon in my water, she puts fork in another woman's water. (European style seating, so we shared a table with two strangers.) It was a great run. Later, I got up to use the restroom just after they'd served the salad; coming back proved the security guard sitting in my seat with her boots on the table, haven eaten two of the three large grapes that had been on my plate upon leaving. I shined her boots with my napkin, and tugged some of the celery in her belt until she gave me some. All night I watched her moving through the room, always in character, coming out with different costume pieces but always the same demeanor. I aspire to perform as she does: herself at her best as a skilled performer, making fun of herself even as she does technically difficult moves, like in her crazy hard aerial rope performance, in which she was 'getting tangled' and 'falling', and had me laughing my ass off the entire time. To be graceful and good enough to make yourself look awkward is just awesome, as far as I'm concerned.

Though right now I'm working, (obviously so hard,) waiting for the hour when I can go home and juggle, thinking about my goals and making some new decisions. Coming into the game late, with no formal teaching and with only the knowledge that I can do anything I want to, I'm gonna do it. However long it takes. Build an act, then a show, then take it out to ya'll. Why? Because there's no way I want a normal job forever, and because a lot of someones have to entertain the rest. Since humans gained 'free time' we've needed entertainment; Ancient Egypt had jugglers, Greece, theatre, and Rome had circus, (circus meaning literally the circle that held the horse racing and gladiator spectacles.) It's undeniable, and I'm not one to fight that. Not when it's so natural to want to join in, stage-side, and try to make sure everyone else is having a time of it.

Sure, I'm a ham, but I count on you to be here to see me be it, because I wouldn't be, if you weren't around to see it.

Stuffy Nose and All

2008-11-29T06:00:00.000-08:00

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

2008-11-24T00:37:00.000-08:00

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!

2008-11-21T21:22:00.000-08:00

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

2008-11-18T15:06:00.000-08:00

...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.