Tuesday Night Post # 2-8

Rebels with their résistance,

What are you fighting for? Food? Shelter? Oppression? Resistance to resist the resulting annex?  What will the resister do when the resistance is co-opted without a clue?

-DBL

*     *     *     *     *

Winds Of Hate

Enunciate

the time has come to revelate

They form storms of trust displacing old traditions

Replacing, rejoining in repetitions

In songs we hear the music’s clear

We never lose the embedded genetic cybernetics

In its place we replace a map you call arcane

Stifled with so-called pain

Now all that’s left is burning lust

Don’t go pointing standing near the place of heaven smear

A solider life will become the cultural engineers

loaded gun

Once we said to agitate

Lets begin lore to gravitate towards a higher form

Placed on you just because

This form you hold in need of some wringing out

Your sappy soul will fear the draught

Turn the sky in your hopes

Splinter poles

What is this fear or foe?

These new terms that you pronounce

on actions that are nothing new

Wordsmith found on fiery bowels make the smell rise to you

The hidden fees of buying thoughts

leaves the maker and the muse

Dazzle me

The technique is in the way you speak of something simple and reused

To create a new way to drill the truth

in this form you corrupt the youth

We tell them what we know

in the way our traditions held us low

We forgot that with no rules there is space to have the noose

in the same throat of the user

Yes the user

The abuser

The searcher

The leaper from one experience to the other

Hoping the avant-garde will shovel the will of the uncreative ones

In my pants I held my chance

Zipped them down I lay you down

With a frown I place my Right

up and toward you

Tuesday Night Post # 2-7

Ummm you are so salty,

     But you are my friend.  What is a friend, but a neighbor of occurrences and mutual acknowledgment?  Acknowledge my shortcomings since what you see is what I give you not who I am or what I will fool others to be.  I give you words just like others give you questions.  I have only what I find scattered around my feet.  These are thoughts dropped by this clumsy scribe. 

-DBL

*     *     *     *     *

Throw salt in the fire
(Stories of the Two)

This scene you remember rite

Placed in an open field

Empty space to fill with grace

On the last trip to find a truth

he wandered

Draped in a blanket white

A stumble and a fall in a pool

One half wet the other grabbing up

What he saw

A figure above

No choice left

this hand prevented this crawl

She had no voice

A relationship made in resistance

When hands pull and there is no reference

What direction is the question

Twisted and tied this union had no space

But to collide

Violent force that creates

This in turn would suffocate

In her pride she hid her strife

Backed off hands a square to another

This one a brick brother

Mired in a history of misogyny

He wears a jacket of fashionable truth

A black hat adorns this gospel

Unaware she follows

In one judgment she keeps herself shielded

In another she steps where he wants her

Maybe he is not aware

Maybe she is

He will take what makes her a mother

Gladly she gives what is not hers

Thinking what she needs is something

others wish they could recede

Now the new is the fools that follow

This path it corrupts the Youth

In his eyes what is needed

A simple joke

A friendly coax

Solidarity for the salt of this earth

For which they are thirsty

In unison they milk each other’s arrogance

Half Awake I Remember, Half Asleep it Makes Sense

My bed lies beneath a window in my room

In my box

There is no light that filters in

It’s much to early

The only thing that wakes me slowly

is the water

It throws itself on my glass

My eyes slowly open between a thought

One of sleeping and one of remembering

This I try to forget

Memory that I am

still here

Without the love

Without the past

Without the things I use to know

My feet have felt no warmth

to quicken

In this thought I fall

Back down to being insensible

In there it makes sense

Your form

Your figures

Your timeless companionships

Wetness on the glass

Reflects only what will last

I see you there

Never more closer

than when I never knew

what I know

of everlasting

never

I awake

Time has passed

My regret is that

what I knew I left

What you brought

I can never take

Extreme Futurist Festival

One more posts this lovely Sunday night. 
I and a couple colleagues of mine will have the great privilege to be able to cover the Extreme Futurist Festival that will occur in Los Angeles, California on December 21st and 22nd.  This will be an epic review on what is in stored for our near future or at least the future that a great influential portion of us wants. 

Take a gander www.extremefuturistfestival.com.  Maybe our press passes will help us peer beyond the veil and come back with a nice article/ video/ podcast.

-DBL 

Under the Sun, Episode 1

Are We Born Fools?

     Please take a listen to this pod cast by Aaron Franz.  These are concepts that much of us understand, but never truly reflect on.  I am sure much of you sense these things, but dismiss them as new age hocus pocus or even worse conspiracy theories.   Let us not discard what our ancestors worked hard to decipher. 

Listen on and like Franz says “seeker seek on”.




Click here for more:

Under the Sun

Tuesday Night Post # 2-6

My Fellow Futurist,

     In action we are.  If there is no death then we are.  If there is no choice made then we are.  If you believe in destiny then we are.  A thought swallowed is a decision made. Yes we are futurist.

-DBL

*     *     *     *     *

Lets relay what was left on the thought feed

Which to me was more then just one flash of this moment

A device we take for granted

Those lil crystals reflect

to me more then just images

Lets us rehearse what has just transverse across my peripheral

I found this line that traced the curve of your hand

In its aftermath

left

was a turquoise glove

Bent over smelling each perfectly formed flower in that garden

I stood behind thinking the next thought to say

Staring at my text

knowing editing it myself would have no higher result

Holding the rail at the front of the bus

My mind dug deep in the filthiest gutter

Your eyes always wandering back to my crotch

Staring at you in the kitchen
wondering what's wrong

Thinking maybe you do need a drink

Laying there on the second story

Another layer below me

Your bed

Eyes staring at your dark green ceiling

The metal bar that held down that curtain

hanging over the threshold

In the wind it gently banged

That sound once known in youth

now etched in love

With this feed all is now and the past is a poison

BARE BONES BUTOH PRESENTS: SHOWCASE #25

From Bob Web:


BARE BONES BUTOH PRESENTS: SHOWCASE #25!

(Adventurous Shows for an Adventurous Audience)

WHEN:

Performances: Friday Dec 14, 2012, and Saturday, Dec 15, 2012 (mostly different line-up each night)
Both performances are at 8:00 pm


WHERE:
Studio 210
3435 Cesar Chavez St (at Valencia)
San Francisco, CA 94110
Studio 210 is located in the former Sears Building, inset from the corner of Cesar Chavez and Valencia Street. Accessible by: BART - 24th St Station; and MUNI - #12, #27, #14, #49. Plenty of on-street parking (although Cesar Chavez is still undergoing eternal construction, so please plan accordingly).


TICKETS:
Performances: $5-$20 sliding scale. No one turned away for lack of funds.
Additional donations are graciously accepted and gratefully appreciated.


WHO:
This time around, the performers are:

Both Shows: Ronnie Baker, Wolfgang Heinle, Martha Matsuda, Maria Moon, and Bob Webb
Friday Only: Christina Braun, Dasha Che, Mark Deutsch, Lila Ann Dodge, Dorine Hoeksema, Jochelle Perena, and Constance Taylor
Saturday Only: Special Guest Butoh Master Hiroko Tamano, Bad Unkl Sista, Molly Barrons, Shelley Cook, Michael Curran, John Doyle, Shoshana Green, Jennifer Gwirtz, and Megan Nicely
 
Quite a line-up, wouldn't you say? Should be a couple of VERY GOOD SHOWS!

Surprise guest artists may also be performing as well. There are often last minute additions (local, national, and international artists) to the programing, it's that kind of show.


WHAT:
Bare Bones Butoh Presents is a performance Showcase for local, national, and International artists working in the fields of Butoh, Performance Art, Ritual Performance. and The Undefinable. It exists for artists to try out new material, show works in process, hone improvisational chops, and redo or revisit previous material. Bare Bones Butoh Showcases employ the grassroots ethic of working together to sustain an artistic culture. We are community building and performance all smushed together into two evenings.


Thanks, and we hope to see you there.


Further info:
Bob Webb
bobwebb20@hotmail.com

Tuesday Night Post # 2-5

Good evening to you all,

On this slow and grueling Tuesday evening my body seeks to lay in the soft heap that exists in the bedroom I have created in my head which is filled with foam like material that gives to my weight just enough to make me feel like I have no mass but still have a shape.

-DBL

*     *     *     *     *

Shoreline

Every time I open my jaw I can hear it rip from its joint

You know when you are sitting in the grass

Mind wondering

Hands that yet to go idle

Ripping moist green grass

As you mindlessly listen to your lover’s story

That feeling

That rip

That sound

That’s it

I open and close my mouth wanting to hear the noise

Feel the discomfort

Maybe it’s just to convince myself that

that is what it sounds like

Or it’s just that I still don’t believe that my jaw is doing that awful sound

Well eventually I forget cuz the dull pain at my temple starts to wander in

Maybe it’s the opening and closing of my mouth that has allowed the pain to return

or most likely it’s the five blows to my head in the last month

Hmmm but one wasn’t even to my temple

Ok to be honest three to the temple

One to the cheek

and another flashing one to the right side of the back of my skull

Elementary says the one to the back of my head would be the one to worry about

Strange

That one was the least of my troubles

Some say life can hand you a beating

But when that beating manifests itself to multiple beatings

That’s just a joke high tailored for irony only seen around these parts

Much jokes have meaning so what is the meaning of this one

What does it mean that the struggle did not end with me getting the worst of it

But feeling it

Sunken in the buff at the edge of the water

Sunglasses glaring this magnificent sight back whence it came from

Hat dipped low

Face trying to find refuge from this glorious sun

I sulk

Not in pain

Not in depression

Not in anger

But in existence

I play back the new visuals I have learned

The new stories to lament

This edge of earth I have built a humble home for this

moment of near life …

I’ve lost my train of thought and all I can hear is that

creaking

ripping sound

Sometimes the body is a glitch of useful actions

coagulating to a gunk of festering reactions

I have a perfect seat for this momentous view

The grey clouds that I have been enjoying

part

Orange glow reflected below

as this was above the dawning sky

A perfect audience at an event not so extraordinary

This sand so moist and willing

A seat for my ass

My head speaking in one-line stories

I sink in to this mystery that I think exists and I think I am attempting

To solve

Water in my boots darken the shadow that already is draped on my shoulder

These cold knees ache only in this contest

I am only a net filled with lost shoes and thrown away wigs

As I float away

I remembered that I left

a black pen in the pants that are in the dryer

Tuesday Night Post # 2-4

Vanilla Friends,

Nothing to do on this Tuesday view of this post.  Eating cheese and crackers I serve you one more just to get some laughter.

-DBL

*     *     *     *     *

It resembles the urge to urinate on an object to be neglected. 

Primal reactions that we keep from arising.

Actions that even the most educated blue bloods, especially the blue bloods, will have arise like eruptions of vomit when poisoned with a tainted substance.  Maybe it lies dormant in between our connecting nerve cells with no purpose, but as a reminder that we live in a visceral self.  A self of only a few that can be confused by behaviors that existed in the primordial ooze.  Convoluted structures that we extrapolate from necessary patterns and triggers that have no purpose in biology, but serve to add symmetry and un-kink the fluid thought of reaction. 

A play that replicates nature so as to learn from it. 

In this action origin is lost, distance is made, action becomes reaction of the one long forgotten.  Lost is the thought that started the first.  Finding the end of the ropes would only serve to tighten the delusion of a solid foundation. 

A foundation that is to be uprooted if it is to be discarded. 

So strong is the urge that it transcended with us as we voyage into the digital ether.  A higher self lifted on the shoulders of the previous self.  A dusty note from a memory not forgotten, it was just misplaced.  Let me describe this in accurate terms; a memory not lost, but in our endless procrastination it was left on the back burner. Bubbling over steaming…this is a different kind of smelt fish.  

The verb is the description. 

We understand things as they pertain to us.  To understand the Natural Law, as we see it in our endless wisdom,  we must not enter it, we must let it enter us.  We become the concept.  We have hooves. We must fly. We must melt.   Yes us. A bottomless possibility of new, higher, sounder, fire, lighting of the speed kind.  A lesson in play. 

This is play we are play science is at play.

Tuesday Night Post # 2-3

 Feathers of a similar bird with confusion distilling their evolution,

            The way we meet our fellow neighbors as we approach this Winter Solstices, like much things, has an E at the beginning.  Just as mail has been thrown up into the ether, so have our desires.  We shop for the traits we know and we discard the unknowing things that fear has wrapped its tail around, blinded and bonded, it keeps us from wanting.  Misspelled words are now re-laced and misplaced chromosomes.  In an action exist movement; in a word exist data, these words you read are a reaction of movements made and data gathered. At the end of this E, extends a slightly replaced intent.  A speaker that has no voice, a feeling that has no choice, this is my limb.  Exposed with no remorse a solid unit of grounded sorrow and ignited delight.  Do, as you will to this false anonymity, after all these feelings hide behind this divine brick E-Wall.  

-DBL

*     *     *     *     *    

The Sale

Rash, flash, this arrogant talk

and thrash that thrashes

Where do you wander

When you don’t have the cash

Tell me the moment you had a good time

I’ll tell you the time I spent it

committing the perfect crime

Simple folks find pleasure in sunsets and ocean breezes

On a Saturday night

I open my mind’s eye
with a severed wit

events to convince the other

with no time to seize

Table set and plates are adorned

I hope to find the word

in you that burns

Tell me

In faith I find no comfort

I only do

as I want with no one to help me sort

A simple act of willingness

organizes the blocks

These blocks will fall

Mix arrangement that seeks to spell meaning

False sense of security finds a way

to hold on to illusions and insecurities

With these words I thee wed

Into a conversation left to you maybe unsaid

*     *     *     *     *

Flow

Thumb

Thumb

Click

Expand

Shrink

Click

Page up

Click

Side scroll

Stillness

Flood of passion

Visual emotional response

Smooth tactile eruptions surface

Symmetrical evaluation of form and color

Inventory of social clues & social economic plans

Digestion of subliminal archetypal communication and projection

Summing up                      diffusion of fear

Reevaluation of self                      pheromone data mining

Plateau                     resolution

*     *     *     *    *

A Meeting with an Image Taker

A flash

A singularity

A taken image

These are things I share with you because I do find it disturbing

Not to find morbid analogy in happy occurrences

I’m just turning a human want into something that is joyless

These words rolled out my mouth very well and very nice

My feelings are much more silent and much more bright

I’m the type to shy away from portraits

but on this page I have to swallow the thought

that we all enjoy seeing not touching what employs us

After all my sight is visual

Lights and shapes are what control me

Without the image I have but the feeling to toy with

I hope my thoughts find you well

We all do need someone to

Hold us

See us

Remember the shape we had

during that moment

The movement

this is the thought of historians

If you need a thought to share

By all means let the curious unravel

A line left unsaid

is a seed discarded

And image unseen

is an artist obscene

Never fret for your untimely arrive

Where we meet only depends

on the photorealistic memory

that our thoughts can gather

As I empty out my roll

take the time to cleanse your wounds

the intake of fluids can drown or clean

these gentle walls of Maya

Close the shutter

My form is yours

The Sun Bear (Jig and Router) ep2

previous post: http://dbrp.blogspot.com/2011/07/sun-bear-my-roubo-workbench.html

My Fellow Americans and Terrestrials,

     Yes, last Tuesday I did not post a Tuesday post.  I have no excuse except fatigue.  I got home and just could not resist the warm soft nest in my room.  I owe you twice the words this Tuesday.  Until then I present to you the second stage of a long and over do project.  My Roubo inspired Workbench (The Sun Bear).

 -DBL

Jig and Router

     Originally I had intended to level out the area where the faulty fox joint mortises currently exist using only my able body and bench planes.  Well for sake of speed and a newer experience I decided to finally purchase my first Porter Cable 1 ½ hp router. 

     I had started to level the area using hand tools and left it at a good place for the router to do the rest of the dirty work, but still not be bog down by too much material removal.  Iron bark is dense and splintery and can wear down tools, but can also be machined pretty nicely.  Almost as nicely as its cousin the lemon scented eucalyptus. 

     One of the troubles I am dealing with in this project is the wind (pronounced whined) that exists in the top of the bench.  The pair of legs on the left side are pretty leveled.  The problem is at the other end.   A wind in a board is a twist in which each end of the board is at different axis. 

  

Full view of jig

New unused Porter Cable router

Battens

Anchored at the base of the legs

In retrospect this area should of had more battens

Hand worked unroutered

After the jig was built what was left to resolve was how to routering the middle of the area that was being removed.  Since the base of the router has a radius of 2 5/8 in.  I had to add a movable supporting sled in the middle of the jig.  As I worked closer to the center I readjusted the sled.

Support sled

When I had the majority of the area routed I decided to remove the jig and do the rest of the finesse work using hand tools.  Hopefully I have a good flat reference to finish flattening it with out too much grief.  





*A side note.  The grooves I have left on each side of the flatten area will help my squaring of the top.  To do this I will use my Jointer plane.  Some bench plane blade's do not extend to the edge of the body.  This groove will correct for the area that the edge of the jointer plane can not reach.  I will later fill this area with a contrasting wood or an exotic wood for a nice adhoc detail.

Scrub plane for the rest of the hogging out

After using the scrub plane

Rounded corners

Cleaned up area where the router missed

     That is the stage the Sun Bear remains.  Until the next time be safe and love what you do.  Oh speaking of.  When woodworking, using heavy equipment, power tools, sharp tools or when you just want to do something right listen to your body and mind and the spirit will follow.  When one of them is ready to quit, take a break.  Remember this is fun, not work.  I forget this often and this time I got a gentle reminder.  Just when I was about to quit, just when I felt myself rushing, I told myself "ok time to quit".  My mind did but my body followed through… sliced my hand with my recently 1000 grit sharpened paring chisel.  Luckily I was doing very light work, but the tool had a very keen edge. 

Mental/ Physical Fatigue + Sharp Tools = Two Stitches

            

*Here are some Tales from the NoteBook for your musing.

Tuesday Night Post # 2-2

Americans,

This post comes via on the road. At a few workshops this week. Hope this post finds you content with your exercised right.

-DBL

* * * * *

Waking to take the day
To the same point I did yesterday
In the morning I cleanse my body for the daily bread
That I will earn until I am dead
It's hard to see past the daily squabbles
As the news person speaks their coded babbles

For you my disregard for worldly affairs
Leaves you to judge what's in my daily prayers
Please excuse this informal approach
With great respect I hope there's no reproach

My ways are set to such a degree
I've lost the fear of injury
With honest words I introduce myself
In hopes you return a simple hi in good health
My clothes that cover my body
don't say much on me
I hope I can uncover my honest decree
Yes I am looking for a reason
Just like you I can appreciate the changing seasons
This I say probably will have a larger cost
I stand by my need to expel misery
This I find in honesty

Let me have my respect and space
I am more than just race

Tuesday Night Post # 2-1

Friends,

So here we are again

-DBL

*     *     *     *     *

In This Action They Trans-versed What Already Was Rehearsed

(Stories of the Two)

Life is forgiving

This life forgetting the next

A chain of memories dissolving into self

Not paying for the scars

This one was for free

A devil gives only what is wealthy when it is lost

Turning pages in anticipation following you just to see

In that time I spent staring at a lovely space

My head held to low missing every beat

No sense in taking it all

I found myself waiting for the fall

In autumn time I avoided stepping on the leaves

While you dissolved in their misery

As we stumbled to meet in the middle

We ended up stepping on our feet

Every part I remember

Especially when I rubbed them free of soreness

Your transition was warranted

With this revolution I was left with defeat

Solo los quedamos con Dolores

Glimpses of the lovers in past lives

Of lovers in twisted embrace

Now on this cloud

A time line of encounters

A radiating spectrum flooding my consciousness

An awaking of the past

I can only make sense what weathers

This subliminal task

A body with its breath fingered though mine

Mutual termination with passion as a noose

Mended hands flowing away from the truth of the fire

A growing mound growing old and tangled

Enemies of the state finding

destruction in our hate

Individuals of influence dancing in a hall

Judging not

who we were

what we were

where we were

But living tall

Children touching

holding

sensing

questioning

A rock with its shadow

A rain fall on a meadow

The brightest one in which I saw you across the hall

One glimpse I knew I knew you then

Never again did I see you again

To make sure I had a chance

I replayed again

Far I am from the one I was

I can only recite what never was

With knowledge came a void

A void of miss-care and neglect

My rational mind becomes a holy reject