I Love Lamp

Greetings! Dispatching live, from the unbelievably rank confines of Room 205, Days Inn, Wheeler, OH. Why, you ask, does this broadcast come from bumf&$*ville? Well, mainly because having a smart phone doesn't mean that you're still not an idiot.

This report is dedicated to Momma Herms, who somehow let all of her eggs fall into the same motorcycle road trip basket. All is well, and there's a deep, 'meta' lesson to be learned from this, Mom: dudes will be dudes. 

Two of said triumvirate of dudes (Father Wolfi and I) piggybacked our way toward Chicago, in order to round up a second steed for this gander West. We're pretty much hauling ass. Or at least that's what we were doing until we drove into what looked like a squid thrashing black ink down from the sky, aka West Virginia's dramatic piss festival of rain. Up until that point, we had been laying rock n roll flames on the straight shots and cutting curves like butter. I hate to press pause on the humor, but dammit, it was beautiful. There was this definitive moment at the border of the storm, where the wind had flipped all of the leaves onto their backs, turning all of the tress white. It was like a double rainbow moment, but just to ruin the visual, it could have also been described as 'nature ballin' outrageous.'  


Virginia (and maybe even the entire US) tends to brown paper bag WV with stigmatisms like, “coal,” “litter,” and “just because your cousin is the easiest score you can find, doesn’t mean…” Yet WV was amazing. I witnessed the American gradient begin, as glimpses of Colorado peeped from beneath bridges and between ridges. As we pushed through the final wave of the storm, the darkness a cape in our wake, the setting sun paved a yellow brick road for us to cruise on. I shit you not, the road was actually golden. So, I'll have you know that today I heard Busta Rhymes' "Do My Thing," in which he so eloquently quips, "I will endanger your species like an ostrich / hold you hostage, and crazy feed you swine sausage / HAH!" You hate me, but that's probably what you feel like right now, is all I'm saying. 


Just to completely contradict myself on the whole 'sticking up for WV' thing, I have to anecdotally mention our waiter at this Mexican joint who struggled to keep the massive wad of dip in his lower lip from bubbling up and slurring his words, and also the cashier fellow who, while giving us 'directions,' was barely able to recognize our location on a map because he was so completely shit faced. Not to mention my butt is already sore, and that doesn't even take into consideration future crusty truck stop bathroom escapades did I just type that out loud?

This trip has been pre-emptively titled "So America." I'm still in cheap joke mode, but I assure you that it has been of a revelatory nature thus far. Future ramblings will include what Matt (quick shout out to Gadfly! Everyone go read it now!) has dubbed 'prosaic ball shots.' Yup, that just happened. The realness awaits, as Pops and I, sucking our mental thumbs, hurtle towards it's presence. I'm ready. 

New Janx

Been scribblin' n shit.  This one took a while.  Don't know why, but all that matters is how awesome the cover art is.

Title.

I recently saw a singer-songwriter round that featured Danny Schmidt, Nathan Moore, Danny Schmidt's girlfriend (he's awesome enough to encompass two people), and Diane Cluck.  Walked away reconsidering what music, and hell, even life, was.  Cluck was distinct in a number of ways, namely that every thing she did was profound.  She continually engaged with the type of intention that's associated with monks.  She spoke few.  She was just there. And from there came some incredible music.  She just popped back into my life, via this great take it away show.  From there to here, enjoy. 


Diane Cluck - Content to Reform & Freefall | A Take Away Show from La Blogotheque on Vimeo.

OMG, beards

Old happenings are on the prowl.  Times with the Last of the Brohicans aka Walt Whitman's grandson aka M.A.N.  You can call him Harrison though.  He had me along for a shop day.  Your thinking, 'omg, shoes.' I'm thinkin...

Brotherman has not lost the innate faculties of his hands.  Which is something that we should all be taking notes on.  Here, he's going for a cutting board that a self-righteous bougie will pay out their designer garbed wazoo for.  It serves to highlight how very few of us do anything these days.  This cutting board is gettin done, if you're sniffin what I'm steppin in.



Most of us wish we could do, when all that it takes is to hop into that old beat-up pick-up and head out to the barn for some sawdustin and rat-race-bustin.  It's probably all we're good for.  Harry is a good man, and that title isn't within the normal repertoire of bestowage.  He's good because he isn't scared to try things.  He's good because his hands are rough and his beard is gnarls and his words are always true.  That's something money can't buy, so I guess he's got the best of both worlds.  Look who's shopping now.  

Rollin' in the Deepest

Hoarding spree is at an end.  Here's one with an orange bike in it (I've been obsessed all things orange - even previews).  




Alain Massabova - 40 years in Paris from ART BMX MAGAZINE on Vimeo.






Homeboy plays hard.  Maybe all that he needs is a dance partner. Wellllp, guess what I found him... you knew it would be orange, didn't you. 




Danny Macaskill: Industrial Revolutions from Cut Media on Vimeo.

Curfuffle in the sky. A closed store front. A relationship could be struck up between the two; synthesis finds its way into the everyday as if it owned the damn place. But today, today, the letting slide feels right. I am okay with this.

Lets Have A Think About Education

As many of you might know, K-herms and I went to a Waldorf school from Kindergarten through middle school. If you don't know what that is, think Montessori. If you don't know what that is, think hippy artsy-fartsy. Or is it? I am constantly surprised with the irrationality of some of our systems and institutions when we claim to be such a rational, western society. Here is an amazing analysis of the shortcomings of public education and our outdated factory mentality of education. Presented with one of those cool Story of Stuff type animations.

Deletion

There are some really good trees out by the Sanctuary. More on them later. Right now though, check out negative Africa in the sky.

Take the Time

K-herms has been spitting some wisdom about observing and internalizing so here is an experiential study on those concepts:

January 2012

My brother, while exploring, happened across a stream on my neighbors property one day and so appreciated it that he brought me there the next time I was home. I go now to revisit the place in order to observe the area.

It is a cold day in January at our location in the Albemarle county of Virginia. It snowed earlier in the day, but the ground was not cold enough for it to stick. Now it is cold, not too cold that can see your breath, but a wet cold that chills you to your bones. Everything is wet and the tree branches are covered in a thin layer of ice. The sky is a uniform grey, and limits visibility.

The stream lies at the bottom of a hill, between the base of the hill and a farmers open field. As I entered the forest on top of the hill, the forest natural alarm system sounded a few calls. A bird tweeted “zweeuh” “zweuh” to my left and was answered by another on my right. Soon after another bird of a different species entered the conversation. As I tromped down the hill I noticed the different stages of life the forest was in. The trees were all barren, a few had some brown, withered, leaves and the rest carpeted the ground. Many deceased trees littered the ground, their trunks and limbs in various states of decay. Mosses and lichen were the only green organisms to be seen in the background of blacks and browns. As I approached the stream, a few patches of tough grass, yellow and greenish stalks pushed through the dead leaves and mosses. I observed an interesting phenomenon. Although the ground was wet, snow/ice lingered in the deceased branches and trunks. Is the ground warmer than the deceased trees? Or do the dead branches conduct heat at a slower rate? I do not know. As I approached the stream, I began to hear it’s gurgle, and as I sat and stopped moving around it became the only sound; the birds had ceased the alarm. That, and the sound of vehicles whizzing down interstate 64 in the distance. Maybe all the moisture present is magnifying the sound. It sure is difficult to get away from civilization for good. On the other side of the stream a dilapidated barbed wire fence has grown into a few tress and fence posts, which are the only things that separate the field from the stream bank. The stream bank is eroding on both sides. The stream itself has healthy curves to it, but he amount of exposed roots and clay/dirt on each side show that it may straighten over time as the curves erode. I scour the stream bank looking for tracks. I find a solitary pair of deer tracks in the sandy soil. The only observable life in the stream is a school of miniscule fish darting back and forth underneath the overhang of the bank. A few birds started chatting again after a period of silence. The birds that initially greeted me began their “zyweeh’s” and a few others shoot a machinegun burst of “tse-tse-tse-tse-tse”. Ice dropping heavily from tree branches breaks the sound. Another bird streams a non-stop call of “guh-ge-guh-ge-guh-ge-guh-ge-guh”. I feel as though I am no longer a threat and the birds do not fear to talk freely. There is a log sitting next to me that has been decaying for quite some time. I know this because of it’s dark appearance and it’s interior structure beginning to be exposed. Most of the branch has disintegrated away leaving mostly the hardest wood intact. This is an interesting phenomenon because the knots of the tree protrude like the bulbs and pods from the rotting core. It reminds me of some bizarre alien architecture.

Speaking of architecture, I remember when I was a child we used to imagine ourselves as master architects. Our materials were twigs, moss, stones and bark. We would go to the riverbanks and create elaborate fairy houses. Our idea was that if we designed a beautiful enough home, fairies would come live in it. We used to try and sneak down to the fairy houses when no one was around to see if we could observe them (we knew they were scared of humans so we tried to observe them secretly).

Sitting here I wonder… where did the magi in life go? When I was a kid there was so much excitement in day to day activities and I feel as though I have almost lost that. And some are worse off than myself. I am sitting here on a cold day, in the middle of winter, where the skies are grey and everything is wet and frozen. And I am sitting in the middle of the woods writing observations on a piece of paper as butt gets wet from the rock I am sitting on and as the cold seeps through my extremities to the rest of my body. And I am thoroughly enjoying myself. I cannot help but think that the greater number of my peers would laugh and make fun of my current activities, much less leave the comfort of their warm home to embark upon a similar expedition. “F-------- hippie” they would say in half judgment and half laugh, I can hear it in my head.

To me there is a great stillness in nature. My brother and I visit our “spots” frequently in order to take a step back fro the stressful rat race of a college life all tangles down with homework, research, part time jobs and dramatic social lives. It just feels great to take some deep breathes and gain some perspective. Take the time to realize what is truly important in life and laugh at the silly stress patterns that we constantly let ourselves slip into.

It also saddens me because it is at these moments I realize I don’t know the names of the birds gossiping in the tress. I couldn’t tell you the type of grass under my feet. And some part of me feels guilty and asks myself “How have you gotten so disconnected?” “You should know things like this”. I always tell myself when I have more time I’ll learn these things but I know it won’t happen until I make the time. And all my time is caught up in this rat race.

Ahhh another one of those negative worrying thoughts! They bring awareness but then they pass through the mind like a breeze clearing out the stale weather and bring in new space for the future.

Life in Flower

I have a great friend who reminds me of this.