Tuesday Night Post #16

Burning Wicks,

I hope you enjoy this short but sweet one.

-DBL

*     *     *     *     *

Keen Edge

Yes I feel like a child always finding my gaze

Settled on to things in amazement

Heroes exist in a cross between confusion and hope

A new one walks in front

In interest my eye waits to unveil

Sweat and heat a forge’s your conceit

Shoulder square round and taut

Arms that hammer bend and hold

Stands higher than any man, alone

Loving your dirty work

Working in the bodies mirth

I haven’t had time to investigate

This maker’s hand

From atop going down the slowin starts

First I take some time to slide

Into stern but coolin blue eyes

Complimented by the soot and skin

Then the arms that bare

I lose my place in the thoughts of strength

And what equals the forming of this flesh

Nothing past the waist below

The power I love is the fatigue in muscle

Long and lean a dancers soul

This one's love is in the coals

Melting metal in the hand

Owning it on an anvil

Queer behavior 
Hardens as it cools

Lay it down
With this sight
You hold me down

Your authority

The only one for me 
If I had a choice


She is a work of pure beauty

A maker skin in the red 

Always giving more than is said

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Tuesday Nights Post #15

Butoh Dancers,

Life has recently sent me some little gifts. Some Performance time and sometime to be with ones I love. I will keep you up to date on some performances and a new series of performance post. The posts on my bench will be on hold since I am living in the Bay Area at the moment.

-DBL

*       *     *     *     *   

They Didn't Fell this Redwood

This weekend I visited a new found friend

The only giant I know

The oldest soul I have ever conversed with

It told me of systems that realign

Situations that set the tipping point of potential energy

It told of times deceit

A riddle only understood when pulled away and re-evaluated

Only to fall apart when closely scrutinized for clarity

It helped me imagine a world in which I became a giant sequoia

Towering high and long

Holding hands with its friends

Told me of rain that helped it measure its size and girth

A rain that fell hard and drilled it in every crevice

It told me to imagine myself

Walking a walk that is slower than perception

On steamy stones and dirt

It impregnated an image of soil turning into flames

Leaping reaching for its limbs

In hopes of feeding on its flesh

With a walk of unperceivable speed it told me to rise

Rise with every wreckage that comes

Be it a fire storm from below or a drowning satiation from above

Told me to build my bark with every growth

Things are not always temperate

Many want control

In a clue it told me

Even when one holds on

To the ones one love

One can still be left alone

But even then we must stand

Walk

Move grow

For we are always dancing

Let us give a good show

And defiantly have some fun

This is its butoh

Life redefined

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How to ‘Make It’ in the Art World

Don't sue me Guillermo I got no money, but you can have my wife and kids.  I just had to share it.  Maybe i shouldn't this is GOLDEN.

*     *     *     *     *

How to ‘Make It’ in the Art World

22 Easy Tips for Young Artists of Color (YACs)

 by Guillermo Gómez-Peña

(with Anastasia “La Hungara” Herold)

If you are young, ambitious and brown, here we offer you these simple instructions to "make it" in the seductive world of limitless gallery walls in less than one month ... put/a-tension!

Uno: To look more auténtico, grow a moustache. And if you are female…también! Pero, don’t grow a huge beard unless you live in Afghanistan. If you are an Afghan woman artist, wear a burka. But please, wear a mini-skirt upon exiting the gallery. Burkas are scary in real life.

Dos: Nurture your accent. If you don’t have one…hire a voice coach!

Tres: Get a tan. ‘Tropi-loco micro-mist’ spray-on self-tanner will do.

Cuatro: Learn how to dance salsa, zumba or merengue with curators. Over do it. They love it! Señoritas: learn to shake your hips. Remember Shakira: the more you shake, the more art, money and friends you make!

Cinco: Appear only mildly intelligent. If you outsmart the critics and frighten the theorists, they won’t write about you.

Seis: Act cool, muy suave and discreet. Don’t vehemently express your political or artistic beliefs, ‘cause you may be perceived as unsophisticated. You can talk about your grandmother’s mole recipe, to be on the safe side. If you don’t know how to make mole, google it.

Siete: Don’t attend too many art openings…unless you are hungry. It’s important to only be a partial insider. If you become too visible, people get tired of you and there are always 100 younger & better looking bohemian Latinos waiting for their turn to replace you.

Ocho: Don’t walk into art openings with a big smile on your face and your portfolio under your arm.

Nueve: Don’t constantly take photos of the famous artists in the room.

Diez: Don’t show up with ten relatives to a Museum opening. The art world is definitely not family-friendly. Better to leave your familia at home. Even better, rent them a one-bedroom flat in the marginal yet bohemian/up-and-coming part of town so you can claim to be from there. If you are sharing a house with 10 other hipsters and your studio is in the kitchen, don’t ever bring a curator over.

Once: Don’t be the first one to arrive or the last one to leave a cocktail party. Once there, don’t engage for too long with one particular individual. Work the crowd. Spend 20 seconds max. with each interesting-looking person and move on. Otherwise, grab a glass of wine and stand in the corner looking like you are full of angst.

Doce: When an enthusiastic gallery owner asks you, “Hey Paco, do you know so and so the artist? He’s also Mexican!” take a deep breath and politely answer: “No, I don’t. Can you please introduce me to him? I am looking for a guitarron player for my mariachi band…or perhaps together we can start a local chapter of a Norteño gang.” If he/she does not know you are actually joking, it’s time for you to move on to the next opening down the street.

Trece: If you get muy borracho at the art opening, just speak in Spanish or esperanto. They’ll think it’s cute and will become enamored of you.

Catorce: Don’t get resentful when you discover there’s another “young artist of color” mingling at the “very exclusive party” you were invited to. Feel compassion for him. He is is probably as lost and lonely as you are. But definitely don’t mingle with him.

Quince: A caveat: You can both have your picture taken with a rich Museum Patron in between the two of you for the gallery’s next fundraising letter. You can both discreetly grab the Patron’s nalgas during the staging of the photo. They will LOVE you for that.

Dieciseis: Don’t share anecdotes of recently experienced racism or homophobia with someone you just met at an art event. No matter how hip they look, they may not be on your side of the story. Scary,  pero cierto.

Diecisiete: Never upload goofy photos of yourself and artsy friends to Facebook with pretentious titles such as “Hanging out at the Bilbao Guggenheim” or “Crashing a Mathew Barney opening.” Se ve chafa!

Dieciocho: Don’t constantly upload bad videos of your informal homemade performances on YouTube. You are making it harder for other experimental artists to become legitimized by pop culture. Leave that job to Marina Abramovich or…Lady Gaga.

Diecinueve: When a really sweet but bad artist asks your opinion of his/her work, you are in an impossible situation: if you tell the truth, you will have an enemy for life. If you lie, well, you become a liar. So what to do? Just tell him/her you don’t know enough about their work to have an informed opinion and…slowly walk away…Now, if you are already in bed with them, well…you are so fucked!

Veinte: Loco, if one day, you suddenly realize that there are more anthropologists than art critics writing about your work…start to worry. You have been…taxonomized! Que catástrofe!

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Tuesday Night Post #14

Travelers of this Lil Quaint Spinning Rock,

Right down to the wire.  Your post, my heart and this simple jester will make life turn up and let it fester.  To the one/s I love, you know who you are.  I have no surprises just the ones that are a surprise to me.  Can’t wait to see those with you by my side.

-DBL

*     *     *     *     *

What a Choice Peek or a Grope

I see you eyeing from afar

My skin burns from all the stares but I see that one that you sent me

I have no reason to feel ashamed

But what’s in that look that makes me feel I have something to hide

Every one that knows me knows I wear it on my sleeve

My thoughts my feelings and my morals

It’s just how I’ve been taught

No fear no so restrains

But to you that is a trait that you have been trained to care for

To smell it out uproots it and stomp it dead

I try to act like I don’t notice

That the situation that is about to arise will make me the victim

I start to play it in my mind

Try to see which part I could enjoy and which I could flip it to focus it onto you

This event that will surely come to

I start to be aware of my body

Not the awareness that comes from feeling my skin a perfect fit for a perfect one

But the awareness that come with feeling each hair on my body

Pushed against the grain

With any sudden motion I know I can shake this false feeling but know that

That will just

Make that gaze you have narrow tight

Stick it deep in, against my space

I face forward and walk a step

Wait and walk another

My nakedness here for your consideration

I make another contact with that eagle eye twice looked over

Need only one mistake

I find an exercise in living the situation over and over

With

X variables and infinite possibilities

I find freedom in these choices

And a creative outlet in the scenarios

I will own the path in which this water will flow

If need be I will use the water to bath in

In its lesson

I start to pine for your eyes

I fall in lust with that gaze

That one that gets my heart beating

And makes my creativity volatile like an I.E.D

I soon find this skin of mine crawling with little bugs of want

A want to confront

A want to have you intimately

One on one

Your hands your eyes and mostly your mind

I stand and step and step again

Now the anticipation cracks my heart

A beam of light breaks onto you

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The Sun Bear (My Roubo Workbench) ep1

Creators,

There is one woodworking piece of mine that I think I have not given enough exposure.  Do to the fact that it is the most functional piece I have made and that it is a piece that I constantly use, I am sad to say that ironically I have not given it enough acknowledgement. 

This piece has an interesting history and a history that I hope will last longer then I.  As of now it is a piece in need of repairs do to this history.  

This piece is my workbench.  An 18^th century Roubo inspired workbench.  Very non-traditional with its natural edges, two square corners, tripod style legs and single stretcher, it is at times unfriendly with its functionality and a quark to see and use.   

It has weathered my blood, sweat and tears.  At times has waited patently for me to use and has held me up for short naps late nights at school in the past.  It also has secrets here and there that it keeps for me.  I have lovely memories being covered in dust beside my bench with lust and trust, at school working waiting to find the perfect moment to confess my love to a girl of my dreams.  But that's another story.  

As said before do to its history and design it is in need of rework, which is why this bench will now exist and have its rebirth in cyberspace

The story started back when I was in college and a new student to wood exploration.  In need of wanting to work on a piece exclusively in hand tools and in want of building something that would last me a lifetime, and be functional though out that time, I decide to make a Roubo workbench.  

A Very Very Brief History of the Roubo

André Jacob Roubo was a French cabinetmaker and author.  The son and grandson of Master Cabinetmakers, he earned that designation in 1774 through the publication of his masterwork treatise on woodworking.  In his publication, in wish I can only presently wish to own,  he wrote of a jointers work bench, design and specifications.  This Roubo Workbench was a beefy one.  Here are some pictures of this 18^th century monster.

The top made of a thick solid slab and with very archaic (but fast and functional to the skilled) clamping devices it is a design not very reasonable in the modern world.  This appealed to my impractical nature.  Now only realizing an impactical nature that is much more practical then I was aware of  since there is a revival of the Roubo workbench among wood workers. 

Most modern work benches have tops that are laminated from very stable quarter sawn pieces.  This is because one can create a laminated top with greater ease and with more reliability than try to find a massive hardwood tree cut a stable piece of this tree and make a top.  This would be laborious, expensive and the wood will move (lose its squareness) in the years it would take for it to dry.

The Giants Felling

One very wet and windy winter in 2007,,,,I think,  an Iron Bark Eucalyptus fell which was located in the parking lot of my university, Cal State University, Long Beach.  Our department was in luck!  The luck was two fold, lucky the school was not in session, no cars or delicate little humans to smash for this tree was at least 4 stories high and at least 4-5 ft across  that’s just the trunk (the Iron Bark is a very dense and hard wood, when dry!).  

There were limbs everywhere.   We were also lucky that we owned a portable bandsaw mill.  That winter day we spent most of it milling the trunk and bigger limbs to sizable slabs so we could put them in our pick-up trucks and haul them back to the shop.  The interesting and dangerous character of the Iron bark is that it is a very high growing tree that is brittle due to the weaving of the fibers and density.  This particular tree seemed to have been rotting in the roots.  One strong wind and it gave.   

The scene was just awe provoking.  The tree literally fell broke and bleed.  As we moved the pieces around and stood some up water ran out in streams creating pools of clear blood.  It was a very curious and eye opening experience.  The, smell fantastic.  A fallen giant in our Urban Forrest. 

Fred Rose working the Mizer.

One trip with just a fraction of the tree in my truck made it bottom out.  I estimate one trip was one ton plus.  

My Roubo (the Sun Bear)

The pieces probably stayed in the stacks to dry for bout a half a year to a year.  At this time I decided to make my bench with not so thoroughly dried wood.  I knew in time the bench would move.  And will always do to temperature and moister change.    

I will not bore you with the design aspects of the bench they are personal and always in flux, but the making is something to be mentioned.  The only time I used woodworking machinery on this piece was in the milling of the top and the milling of the apron and legs. For the leg vise I did use a router jig to make the wooden screw.  I squared the top, chopped the tendons and mortises using traditional hand tools. It was and is a very laborious thing and I love it.  Oh yes and no glue was used.  Makes future repairs and mods easy.

So the present day:

As I said before the wood was still wet as I worked on the bench.  Now the top is warped partly do to its drying/movement and a bad fox joint (I will explain what that is later). 

The first step in the rebirth is the re-design of the third leg.  The fox joint is a tenon joint that wedges when hammered in, creating a once square tenon into a wedge preventing it from it ever coming apart.  The fox joint I created was ill in execution.

I had some thoughts about making a dovetail joint to attach the leg but first I must fill in the mortise that was previously there and create a square area to attach the leg.  I will square the area to the other two legs as much as possible since I am dealing with a piece of wood that is not square to begin with.  The essential squaring that will be need for it to function will come later.  In dealing with this piece everything is relative: squareness, levelness and all.  This does not mean it will not be perfect for its function.  There is too much emphasis on perfection in this world.  Perfection is relative. 

Here are some vids showing the old fox joint mortises, the leveled area to fill and the old tenons and third leg.  

My Roubo still needs hardware, dogs, and other various things that will make it a solid work bench and an odd thing to see. 

The next update will be the making of the plug and the design of the new joint.  Dovetail, twin tenon, or something absurdly inconvenient?

Until next time,

-DBL    

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Tuesday Night Post #13

Sweet  Sympathetic Socialites,

There are times when one is confronted with the fact that one is not as strong as one wished they were.  Situations that I have found test the limits of ones endurance.  Tests that show  how long someone can hold out and wait and struggle and hurt.  After that has been seen and reached what now?  Maybe next time one can know "this is it, this is my limit no more need to go through it again" or maybe say "Next time I know I can hold out longer see the fear real and alive with no fear".  In any case I respect you for your decision.   It is yours to see how much to save yourself pain and sorrow or test the limit of your soul.  Try not to doubt your gut and feel empowerment in a choice.


-DBL



*     *     *     *     *


Yet Another Circle Step

There’s an action I could perform

A distinct rudimentary silence that would be the result

It’s hard to visualize any other action that would make this situation

Removed from the inevitable end

You see I have this tree I love

It has grown high and wide

I have tended to it since I grew fond of it

As the years have gone by I have noticed its want's and its dislike’s

Once in an absent minded gaze I found this tree

Several things caught my eye but one is of our importance

It is the subject of these winding words

There is a section of this tree that I have always loved

A lyrical limb that cuts through space with a twist and a curve

That allows one to imagine the growth in the past and the direction

It is leaping towards

In a second the violent thrust imagined in the minds eye

Sweetness to me but a burden unraveled to disease

This limb I have tried to nurse, to care for

Hours and hours of attention and thoughts I have given it

I see now that it is the love of this appendage not for the tree that keeps me from

Doing this unsaid act

My friend, this tree, struggles from the weight and the disease that this limb offers

And struggles in this indecisiveness that I have

In all honestly I find this diseased limb quite beautiful in its own right

Changing and adjusting to this conflict

Stubborn in its need to live 'cause its unable to liberate itself

I sit and stare, gaze hard onto this tree thinking planning

Visualize the act

Trying to ingrain the action in my mind

Trying to feel my body do what it has to do in a dream

So I can do it in this world

In a daze I sometimes awake startled not knowing if what I had just seen was I

Or just a vision of my wanting mind

Then I see my friend

Looking lean and tired

Swaying struggling in its own dream of pain and torture

Then, the limb I see, beautiful in its grotesqueness

I am happy, for a moment, that the occurrence was just a fraction of my psyche  

For you see I have this tree that I know

It has grown high and wide

I have tended to it since I grew fond of it

As the years have gone by I have noticed its’ wants’ and…

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Free Friday Post

My sensitive Skin Bags,

Eat, Shit and Die.  In that order.

-DBL

*     *     *     *     *

Horrid Ripples

She has Shrugs and I don’t knows

She owns wait’s and just a second’s

She caters to the slide of hand that is information directing

Or in other words, leaking what is just enough to keep us waiting

But she is more then just a person

A wall to scale to find things in disorder

A micro situation of the macro that we are all part of

Easily let off by the lack of voice

There is no comfort in dialogue

We find truth in still waters

This “lack of”, a scissor to our fears

But I say what lacks sound also lacks trust

There is no misinformation if there is no information

There is no wrong when there is no reaction

A hidden intent is just as dangerous as a noose hung high

What is there to say about a power plant thats already is forgotten?

Safe only from our worried minds

What to think of an assault through cyber-space

Not an act of war until another decides to do it

Let us think of the way the world has changed just this week

That is only if we had paid attention

What if we all decided to just keep it in until something happens?

Until we see the other act for us

Lets just keep our breaths shallow and wait

Just wait

Something will happen something always happens

Someone always happens others always respond

Others always come close to us to become a distraction

A pressure cooker with a release valve that you have no control of

I can find distraction in a fly on a dog pile, beauty in its simplicity

But am I the fool if I fall in love with this fraction of a situation

A piece to something more profound and yes maybe

Heavier than you and I can lift

To eat, shit, and fuck I think I have that down

Don’t think that makes me special

Little by little we are awakening

But I say to be shoved out of bed is not an awakening

It’s just another role for a kept person

To act as others allow

To keep still

Ripples in the pond are so unappealing

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Tuesday Night Post #12

Spreading  spurge of bots,

first some links: 

lulzsec
more lulzsec
Arizona Police
BITCOINS!!!
Unveilance, Stuxnet, Odessey, Lybia??
wha??

now the post:

These are mostly just for fun and exercise.  I call them word equations.  Using the structure of a basic arithmetic problem I like creating an equation using words. 

First I write one line, no requirements.  The second line will be some how related to the first, for instance if the second word in the first line makes any reference to the body every second word in the preceding line/s will have a similar requirement.   Another example of a requirement might be that the first word/s of the previous line be some how related to the last word/s on the next line and the last word on the previous line be related to the first word on the preceding line.  Sometimes I might have a summation in form of a mash up.   The group might be structured by using the structure, rhythm or aesthetic appeal of the over all group of words.  Requirements and rules might fluctuate and be created for any new problem.

*     *     *     *     *

Love is just a way to Exist

Limb’s are just to sense touch

Lib'sisre Ust ta Sente oist

*      *      *

A Dance is forever symbolic

The Relation to One aNother.

Circled close is a close system

CirDRace tonever AN blitm

*     *     *     *     *

A hot lap heated with a piece of overheated electronic

Iconic tempered situation of a moment handled

A reach out in this time is volatile for the clinic

LiNc Alf orV0iL ReDouT Dit

*     *     *     *     *

Feather rite in site

Sweater flea in tea

Treaty blast and cast

Theater cables are ables

Disease trapped and adapted

Stream weak but leaked

Mislead minded and signed

Peavey found it’s rounded

*     *     *     *     *

Timely taken homely seeded

Nicely icily she hide me preceded

Wince him once since in an intanT

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Tuesday Night Post #11

Flock of see ghouls,

     You can now follow me on Twitter @DBL3.  I will not bore you with everyday situations such as,"In line at Yogurtland, ARGHH... can't wait to have my after work yogurt TREAT!!! LOL!!!", and such unless I really am in line, at Yogurtland, and well maybe I really am fiending for my Yogurt treat.  Your not one to judge ME!

     This week I will double up on the post.  I am over-flowing.  In need of putting up three I will hold back and leave it for the next shopping spree,  sweet gift of words, silly rosy ambitions.

-DBL

*     *     *     *     *      

Strange Occurrences

(Stories of the Two)

I don’t believe in Coincidences

“I chose my world softly”, he once said

From my advantage my words burn bright

But pale underbellies of untouched skin

Roasting high and dry

Are my chance encounters with him

A mutual meeting

A need to dive deep

Not up or Down

Deep into a place that exist for us two

I knew a world he once envisioned

He knows an existence filled with disarray

A switch from senseless to decay

I found meaning of pleasure in flesh and disdain

I Knew I knew nothing of the void I chose to remain

The moist stifling place he calls home

A place I was curious to dwell not alone

My words echoed in his heart

A direct freeing of the new

An avatar turn askew

Tie me up

Tie me down

Strip me of this Triple Crown

Help me render what I need to know

A dimension far from the one we both know

*     *     *     *     *

Circle Dance with Two Colors

Lets consider that I am flawed

Lets ignore that I am not raw

I have felt things I think I don’t want

And exposed myself to things that help me rot

I know nothing of the love that I hurt

Or the need to re-live the things I need to rehearse

I see reaction in the small creatures I nurse

And see the red as my patience reverse

In the same way I react to the perverse

And the answers that perplex me from her

I am a fool with the sweetness that she rejects

And the sweetness that I project

I have sensed that I must give up

And have seen how frivolous it is to give it up

I am sure I will not learn from this end

I will surely see her in a twin

If it’s not in the world I will go to sleep to

It will be in the world that will soon turn a new

You can say I am a sucker for words…

And actions and small gestures and love

And well  I am a sucker in other words

In the same way that I try to work on problems and solutions

In the same way I confuse and dilute any resolution

An awkward circle this little dance

I held a rose purely my intentional circumstance

I can go until this is long and convoluted

Still empty for the thought is eluded

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Tuesday Night Post #10

My fellow meat puppets,

Lets just hope we don't choke on our vomit as we awake. 

-DBL

*     *     *     *     *

Brought Together

A single hair winds and binds

In between the three strands

Across my chest

Goes across my ribs

A mental picture I create

A needle and thread by which I intend to connect

Uncountable wavering thoughts

Held up high, my limb, needle in hand

Mouth agape

The needle dives in flesh and far

Forty knots in a row except for the last five

Clustered safe as heaven's gate 

To feel the path that set me straight

Piercing thoughts

Piercing veins

Collecting fractures bones and lose ligaments

Pulling taut slipping through my finger tips

With a breath I am brought inside myself

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Tuesday Night Post #9

 

 Waterlogged

Lets talk from the place where things are not strange

Position in the mind in which nothing is confusing

Attempts of awareness chase the epiphany building

Try not to grapple with the logic for it’s the one thing that dilutes

An offer of protection of the firmness that is objection

Can strangle off an extension of what might have been

Find freedom in a voice

Slide into the void that has a neighbor

Companionship is just one form

True liberation is sloppy

Sticky and confusing to the frontal self

Getting lost offers a recharge

A tossing up of the cards allows them to dance in their truth

Limbo is a stage don’t linger there to long

Although the next stage

Might be a variation of the first

You might find the presence there over-bearing

Embrace every thought it is a presence of existence

Jumping over formalities produces subjugation

Of course thoughts are refection’s of footsteps, stumbled and planted

Existence is a phenomenon ruminated

Grabbed, pinched, firmly interrogated

Lets give it water, some time to its self 

A moment to invent an alibi

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Tuesday Night Post #8

Expanding Field of Malignant Tumors,

With every loss there must be some found. With every negative account there is a positive one. So... where did our money go? Money made is some how lost. A ghost of bills light and easy to move. Move Where? A different course, a different country or a different time. Time was bought so we can be left confused. Turn it upside down then it goes down stream or upstream. Either way it goes to the top of everyone's mind out of sight at the right time. I am no Scientist but can you make energy out of nothing? Whats the law of thermal dynamics???

But this has nothing to do with this post.

-DBL

* * * * *


Reflections of the One (Stories of the Two)

I believe in phantoms. I've seen some with ugly long faces permanently in horror Others still and sunken reminders of the plague that can be a thought. One keeps me company. A creature similar to me, fallen off course, a start for chance encounters. As I walk, as I see, she becomes the template in which I measure the rest of material existence. The standard hair, the pretty dress The average pair of legs, Become a crumbly itchy projection from the outside world. Fleshy and materialized forms of earthly delusion. Into my minds eye it comes, destroyed by that which is occupied with, my dark angel. It seems as though this lovely ghost was made special for me To exist in my tarnished heart. To be looked for desperately in my sleeping life, and spiritually in my waking one. It is ironic that when I began to see the light it was partly blocked by this shadowed figure. An angel so disturbed, She finds a temperate climate in my darken soul. And angel so beautiful She brightens the same space. She is with me so often I could write stories of our voyages. I ride on her wings of sensual piety but the weight of us both keeps us on this middle earth. For now she tickles my perverted mind, but soothes it back to the surface. A relationship that is ephemeral because of the fact that we exist together, purely as converging paths of an instance. An instance that needs to be understood removed of judgment. Because this instance is our own she is willing to wrap her elusive self around me. Let us forget our role. Our birth and our death, Our creators and destroyers that make us of different substance. May my words be a testament to the possibilities of new rites.

This Bondage is not of marriage but of a three-legged union.

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Tuesday Night Post #7

Frontal Lobesers,
            Lets set some waves in motion.   You ever been part of a wave at an massive gathering?  I always find it more gratifying to see the wave then be part of them.  I am sure some love to be the first crest.  Its a feeling that if i would describe I would no doubt start a tangent about the urge we have to connect and flow into each other.  Maybe start to babble about the mirror of the natural world that is technology.  It is our play our way of digesting what is really happening,…maybe a different time.  

-DBL

 *     *     *

In Transition
(Stories of the Two)

A sudden blow to change the coarse vessel

Resumed the oath he once had lost
Engulfed in thought and growing moss
Lined up square on a triple cross

From above the corner came a floating figure

Seeing signs of times advance
Questions of the past romance
Finding freedom in his lance

View point scores a visual of her dirty soles

Figures fall with approach
In his mind he rides the coach
Way of life severely broached

Riding on wings of white shine black on her back

With passing situations
He opens up to varying positions
Trying not to make any deceptions

Moved by heavenly urges bored enough to touch with her toes

Making friends with the eagle
Trying not to feed the ego
He realizes he must let go

Sitting down at the level to eat with the folks with her fingers

Like a book taken off the shelf
Dusted off and full of health
Setting fire to himself

Gravity pulls the meal her essence has no longing use of legs

As time goes round and eventually continues
Things build on chance encounters
For both an evil end is nothing that matters 

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Tuesday Night Post #6

A Text Message, Ghostly Received from One Not Seen or Spoken to

(One of Many Communication Formats between the Beau Ideal and the Ordinary)

Just words

No tone

No voice

No body, breath

No essential Non-verbal communication signals.

Just words organized by

Letters Symbolizing thought.

What degree of Communication is this with this heavenly interviewer?

Questions asked, answered

then asked again.

Tag, simple word play.

Any spirit could be summed.

+Were u happy?

-U mean was i ever happy?

+In the end?

-I was happy and unhappy, its complex.

+How r u now?

-Good days and bad days.

+How r u creating?

Anyone could be this voice.

Systematic Cold the interviewer.

Distance makes the exchange unreal.

With a change of subject it becomes Real.

Creative thought, action in speaking of creativity.

Responding in inner Ideas of creation.

This can be dangerous.

Scope of Creative ether

Train linked Germinating boiler

Fever Ignored Death

SCTCVerf Cinotd GeR oithler

When will this conversation go wrong. When will it stop.

I get more info then I want more.

Then the Fear.

Then I want more, Push the Bruise.

Squeeze the wound.

Scratch the itch.

Scratch again

Scratch again

Scratch again

Scratch again

Pick the scab

Watch it bleed.

Let it heal.

Watch it ooze.

Pull, pull, then resist it back.

Feel it push

lean in.

Forget the signs

the flags

stubborn beast.

Snort, head down.

Cannon ball of lust and obsession.

Then it turns.

I see the distance

The need in myself to say I love to hold on.

But this pain is not new it is child play.

One with perspective from below

Word from above.

Fleeting this emotion is, since there is no outlet.

-What if I wanted this in my life?

-What if all I ever need was it, but i could never realize that.

 -Only when im away will i know that i wanted it.

-u in my life is harder than me alone.

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Tuesday Night Post #5

Collective Sleepers,
       Late starts, yes they slow the terminus but the terminus will result.
With child like infatuation, 

-DBL

*     *     *     *     *

A Clear and Conscious Distance

What is this distance that is so clear and clean.
A view from above
A clear view.

From a perched location in detachment, it was not hard to fantasies about who he was and what he did.
She looks at the screen.
Watch’s him work.
He sweeps
He mops.

Him focused on the mundane task, the irksome dance, she drifts into the emotional mathematics of what was possible once in a time when she fantasize on the potential of the situation.  

In her eyes he becomes little squares of liquid crystals as her thoughts begin to stream…

Let us go inside.  Will we let things become what they are as we become that one thing that has eluded most of the ones that try and try again after a while all hell breaks through, how can I love this state of unravel?  How can I trust the one that see me for who I was and what I will be?  Can you accuse me before I am?  Simple time calls for complexities that I alone cannot enjoy.  I remember once when you said those things I love to hear and I questioned the only thing that is real and touchable.  Regulations.  Stormy darkness that is I will soon let it go but I am not ready for the moment in which I have let the ones I kept inside become myself.  Logging user motion detected.  Cluster fucks the collective consciousness that eats itself for the reason of existence.  If I ever let you in it is because I have given up on myself.  Myself is more precious than anything I know therefore when I hear I am precious from another it means nothing by use of emotional mathematics.  Stamp the time stamp the date I will remember this bytes.  In between is where I am on the roof is where you are ready to jump even if there is no force in which it would bring you to the ground.  Transfixed the repair, for it was not already broken, twice fold.  Don’t try to understand when you are trying to resolve.  Chose one choice if you are to win.  Let me find the time to know myself before I want you to understand the things that I have built myself to become.  Search back search click new page resolve.  Why should I trust when I know that reality is a question that must not be answered by the ones that asked it only by the ones that live it?  I don’t suppress myself in hopes of living long I do it in hopes of finding out what there is to live for.  X’s & O’s & 1’s and I can’t forget to save.  Don’t try to expunge my thoughts.  They are mind.  My possessions are an extension of the things that can break.  Let me love you in hopes I can break free when needed and when I am need I can break myself in two for you and for myself.  I can fracture in infinitude, one for me and several for the server.  Let me fear the fear that I fear for I fear in all its fear.  Just trust in the fact that I have demons that dress as angels for my heart is unwilling to see the facets of my personality.  There is no break in code or timing so is this genuine? If you step into my abode then you are mine if you are mine then you are for me to keep, this is a privilege.  Drive around me but if you drive in me that is when I cannot exist.  For I become the tool of another’s reality, which in my head is only possible if I truly adhere to the belief that I can become down into them…

On and on her mind disengages in things she is unconscious of and things she truly wants to resolve. 
Her comfort comes from being able to know where he is and seeing the phantom move in the screen. 

There is no comfort in dialogue. 

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Tuesday Night Post #4

 Cohabitants,

                  Maybe you have not noticed but things are changing.  The things to come will reignite your ideas of what is possible and if not careful put out the fire that is within all of us.  Keep track of all you hear and see.   Let us find freedom and recreation in critical thought.  Take a few breathes and think "why?".   Then ask "why?".  What ever you do don't panic.  It will make sense.  We are all a part of Team 6.

-DBL

*     *     *     *     *

The Fox in the Hole

Under the afternoon sun I doze

On my side

An ear to the ground and one to the sky

My thoughts fall into the object of my desire

The cause of all evil and the drive of my existence

The dream we all dream of is my companion

A servant to my servitude

Among my family things are said

In my sleep my thoughts and the things I heard come together

They color a reality I am not sure I understand too well

That fox in the hole

In my slumber he is as real as the lark I caught the other day

A fleeting victory

How many times will I search and destroy that fox?

How many times will it take a different form?

Turning inside out

Revealing a nanosecond of clarity that in my dreams open up the mystery

But in my waking life feels as if my tail is waging me

I see the picture in my minds eye circulated among the rest

We can’t smell the fox in the pictures but we rather believe it exist

No questions

Without our fox my friends would get disoriented

Just the search to find something to search for

Would reveal things we are to well trained to not think of

We give up our freedom to serve the hunt

In my dreams I corner it but that is when things get cloudy

Vague in meaning I wake up remembering the instant I go in for the kill

But I don’t remember the kill

I open my eyes

The light blinds one eye

The other by the dirt

I shake myself off

Drink some water

Feels like a good day to kill my cousin

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Tuesday Night Post #3

Ending to a Unreal Life Altering Text Conversation
(Six Impromptu Responses)

No. 1
Severed finger

Sewn apart

Fingers crossed

Dipped in butter

Brown and toasted

Flavor tense and reflected

Shoved away Rejoined in rhythm.

No. 2
Today decided to not care anymore

Tomorrow I start walking sideways

Everywhere except in tight spaces.

No. 3
There is no fun in time travel

mys-fuctional meddling.

No. 4
Relaxed pose

Open sore

Systems to penetrate

Leave us kneeled and saturated

No. 5
Counted toes count

Once for u

Once for separation

Once for circles son.

No. 6
Inch by seconds or miles

Worried ones watch in horror

Moistened surface the length is measured

Ground is to taste the others mistakes

Crush.

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Tuesday Night Post #2

This is more of an evening posting thing. Tuesday night postings if you will.

Recently I have been having dreams in which I feel as though I am watching someone else's thoughts. They seem so foreign; the kind I feel would never come from my mind. Most are stories.

I remember seeing this event one time or perhaps it was a story I once was told, or something that I had said, or maybe I dreamt it...

I Did Not Witness the Flower, nor Did I Witness the Felling

Sitting on a patch of green at a muddy park. Sitting, staring, things here and there caught my eye.

At times I lost my train of thought, stared into open space, staring, staring…

My memory forgets the second I saw the two little sprouts of green wiggling out the mud. Those two little ones left a shadow in my heart forever darkened with love and desire...

I wondered if they came from the same organism. Siblings maybe struggling for their own space to consume; their location and relation trivial.

As I watch with an empty mind I see them reach and grow

Leaves, stems expanding pushing air

It takes me a slight thought to identify their varying patterns of behavior

One sweet but proud

Looped and twisted

Lovely moments that hypnotized my subconscious

I was soon pulled into its dance

Reaches up for the heaven veering a sudden left then to the ground

Loop back up

Then the cycle again

Re-orient

Then the cycle again with a varying variance that produces the same but a singular event

So caught up with the instant, so focused and close

I pull back

It is a pile of loops and curves, smooth and sexy

Image of its potential not finished but promising

As my eyes lust for a touch that's when I notice a peculiar surface change

It comes very slowly

They creep out with no pride or conscious

Slowly piercing the space around them

Two inch thorns

Red and splendid

Sharp and threatening in their shape

I marvel at this thorny bush

A creature so perfectly dangerous but inviting

Inviting in a sense that one could get lost in its complications and its sudden revelations

Its growth slows so my attention turns

Elsewhere

The other seedling is a seedling no more

It begins its towering ascent into the sky above

Expanding its limbs any direction it can envision

Any it can invade

This tree a faction off of a contemporary of the bush

With two phenomenons, my mind well occupied, I have no thoughts of my own

Just reflections of what I think I see…

Barriers are broken

Personal space becomes a place for tension

As I stare time, really, I feel is lost

Overlapping and repeating I see no distinction

A thorny vine creeps up the tree

Or are there three?

Movement is fast as I realize what occurs

These juvenile things with recklessness jump at a point to interact

One reaches out, the other up

One leans in close, the other around

Winding, grasping, hugging, knotting, and flowing

This dance seems only to fulfill an intention to thrive

A single goal

A feeling that I mustn’t interrupt overcomes me

Mainly because of the curiosity I have to see where this will end

From the thrusts here and there, both seem stressed

Both seem much matured

A tree bounded by a thorny bush pushing out adding tension as it grows out and upwards as trees usually do

Rings on top of rings
Layers of cells

I left that scene of which I bore witness.

I had things to do. It was getting cold, and I had forgotten my sweater.

I left them.

One tall, almost too high to see. The other dense, with buds that were ready and willing to show the light, climbing as high as they want.

Forever anchored to earth with their relative distance.

Forever growing high and wide, and if willing, down and out.

I still replay it in my head hoping I can extrapolate what it meant and where it would have gone. It’s exhausting because of the infinite possibilities and the tendency for memory to fade and warp details. Sometimes I see similar creatures doing similar things. In any case the event still exist in myself.

Much love,

-DBL

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Tuesday Post #1

Greetings,

This is the first of several of my writings I will post every Tuesday. They will vary from poems, general writings, stream of conscious, word equations, lyrics, to anything that I think makes enough sense to post, or just needs to live somewhere.

-DBL

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Words from One Walking the Line Between Illuminated and Enlightened

Falling on the side of Nihilistic

60 Orange Rose's of Jesus Christ

Sent

60 Oranges on roads of there demise.

60 talent scouts to each hard,

Sound off enrichment bonuses to their friend.

Banking lessons to the One.

Sending messages,

Evil ones.

Constant splatter of the souls

Living life never more.

Precious system source of wealth

Symbolized by current stealth.

60 paths of revelation.

Seeping, Read, and Constellations.

Sipping, Red, and hesitations.

Sending words, Re-guards, and E-motions.

Feeling through a constant

Frontal lotion/ corrosion.

Spliced and mended credit card.

Romantic Age maintained,

Good exchange.

Goods exchanging

Health/ wealth maintained

Continue this other way.

Figure 1 for 2,

Your way of seeing

Is

A Different hue.

Watch them say "I am the light"

While they wiggle in the

Dusty

Blight.

Running hands

Over the hide,

Cattle that don't need to create,

Soon lose the power to subjugate.

30 soon departs,

No one really knows how it starts

Or when it ends

Cycles through and through.

Grab a broom

Sweep away.

Wooden

Stick

Hanging

You.

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L@TE: Friday Nights - The Transformation Call with Harupin-ha Butoh Dance Company (Berkeley, Ca)

Greetings,

On December 10 I will be part of a Butoh performance at the Berkeley Art Museum in Berkeley, California. By special invitation by a good friend/ contemporary/ b-boy/ and Butoh dancer Luku Netherthot.

-DBL

L@TE: Friday Nights @ BAM/PFA

From meditative masterpieces to off-kilter performances, L@TE programming invades Gallery B with classical and experimental soundworks, dance, video, and conceptual and performance art. Guest programmer Tomo Yasuda’s L@TE series concludes its dialogue with the exhibition Flowers of the Four Seasons: Ten Centuries of Art from the Clark Collection for Japanese Art and Culture in this final piece.

(Doors 5 p.m., D.J. 6:30 p.m.)
Programmed by Tomo Yasuda

December marks the end of the year, a transition to a new season, abrupt but not as shocking as the transition from the Edo to Meiji periods, a near-apocalyptic experience for the Japanese, when foreign pressure opened Japan to the modern world. Berkeley-based Butoh masters Koichi and Hiroko Tamano and over fifty dancers from their Harupin-ha Butoh Dance Company will interpret the winter season and change with a performance based on the 1918 short story “The Spider’s Thread” by Ryunosuke Akutagawa. Staged in Gallery B, the dance will incorporate BAMscape, Thom Faulders’s 1,500-square-foot hybrid of sculpture, furniture, and stage. San Francisco-based Vomica will accompany the performance with an original composition. Thefinal video loop in a series of four by Sara Magenheimer, this one evoking the last month of the year, will round out the spectacle. The Transformation Call is programmed in conjunction with the exhibition Flowers of the Four Seasons.

Berkeley Art Museum

2626 Bancroft Way
Berkeley, CA 94704
(510) 642-0808