blinkingmemories

it’s been a while, and now i’m ready for you.

social codes captured in street signs. quiet zones. how to behave, what not to say.

A great blog post on The Science of Quieter Cities got me thinking again about the pictogram project. Could street signage help make people behave more quietly? If so, what kind? In the picture above, we have a nice nature scene. The icon also depicts clouds, a mountain. Soothing. Of course we hush in the presence of Nature. But in a city, in the chaos of urban living? In New York City, where “fuck you, you fuckin’ fuck” is iconic enough to be printed on t-shirts sold to tourists? 

I should try to create a quiet sign, and a loud sign. In fact all of the signs could have some relationship or conversation; opposites; complements.

failure is a reference point

as i try to correct bad habits in my training, such as raising my back heel when sliding/stepping/throwing or allowing my wrists to bend on a sword block/strike, i realize that rather than suppress the bad habit i need to just work on awareness of how it feels to do it wrong, and how it feels to do it correctly.

among the too-many reminders and commands floating around in my head as i prepare to do a technique is my new “hips tucked under, heels down” mantra. but when i catch myself with my feet too closely spaced and that back heel up, it’s good to just feel it for a moment, feel that this is not a stable structure before correcting it with a wider stance and solid footing.

failure can be a reference point. it is imperative to allow oneself to fail. to lose. to fall. as an artist, i make many sketches. i consider fifteen words before writing down one. i know how to make my mind blank, yet focused. i should borrow this technique and bring it to bear on my martial arts practice. 

water

water has no form, but energy.

in the struggle between the stone and water, in time, the water wins.

square, circle, triangle

SQUARE

1. the foundation. hard technique. solidity as basis of applied control

TRIANGLE

2. the body. sharpness, quickness. generation of energy.

CIRCLE

3. the mind. soft. serenity, perfection.

then

i remember when Wegmans checkout clerks would ring up the belgian endives as lettuce, 1.99 a pound instead of 3.99 a pound and my mother’s not saying anything.

i remember shiitake mushrooms rung up as chanterelles, and my mother going back to correct the charge ($80 for mushrooms).

i remember getting a doughnut for doing the grocery shopping with mama on saturdays.

i remember the sheen of glazes, the doughnuts segregated by type and filling on yellow fiberglass trays.c x

i remember shoplifting Noxema toner (regular, non-sensitive) and getting caught.

i remember frozen shelves of forbidden TV dinners.

i remember picking out potato fries in the shape of letters or dinosaurs.

i remember every year asking for steak for my birthday dinner. it was a long time before i learned that steaks could be as thick as a finger, even two or three fingers.

i remember eating seven bowl of chicken broth.

i remember learning how to hold a knife and fork.

i remember forgetting which side of the plate the knife and fork should go (left-handed).

i remember seeing adults eat with bad table manners, which made them seem like very small children.

i remember rolling around on the grass kissing Matt Fuchs. we were not quite six.

i remember coveting the Snoopy Snow Cone machine.

i remember my parents’ horror when i announced i HAD TO sell candy bars door-to-door to raise money for the yearbook.

i remember too many drugs.

i remember wanting to be someone who remembers too many drugs.

* writing exercise inspired by Joe Brainard’s _I Remember_, suggested by JR Carpenter.

My Dream Vacation, part I

(inspired by Shelley Jackson’s piece about snow, read at Monkeybicycle Lightning Round 13.VII.2011)

sleep that is not measured in hours, cycles, or sands. sleep that is a hideout, an exaggerated burrow. sleep that is so long the way the sun fills the room is alien and disorienting. a sleep on a narrow canvas cot, under a second-hand army tent, with five other girls, next to a sharp need to belong. naked, lonely sleep after taking off and hanging up the “this-is-what-you’ll-be-missing” dress.

FULL

here’s the view from our room:
another building, then another building, then another. it’s a brick orgy
lit up by one firefly, two stars, and three distant cigarettes

his battery tells me 0:26 until full—but of what?
power, entitlement, himself, shit. i wish i had a 26-minute warning before i became full of shit.

there doesn’t seem to be anyone around, so
show time as busy
and give the finger to your free copy of the full report

Buju’s going to jail for something he almost did
almost pulled that gun, almost-cocaine bought and sold, so
almost is not for sale (but you can go to jail for it)

(as if i’m ever going to eat those hazelnuts)

neural teleportation

i can no longer read this, look at you, listen. if i lost my language, would i understand my son? would his screams be more than blunt instruments of interpretation? let’s imagine for a moment what it would be like to have a maximum of ten words, a mouthful of syllables, and a repertoire of screams.

don’t you know what i’m saying? then i will make my brain matter crack out of my skull and adhere itself to the neurons in your head responsible for complete, sympathetic comprehension. we don’t need a universal translator, not another gadget, not another software to scramble letters from one tongue to another. what we need is teleportation of neural clusters.

a little one

these aren’t the words i saw on the street last nite
that’s not the moon i remember

the bicycle is my drug against monotony
no highway no lampost no stripes no click-clack no closing doors

don’t take my love away
don’t take my love away
don’t take my love away

clip the pulse of walking with the speed of two wheels running
i pedaled by and cracked open the soft moon
wind rose up and pulled my sweater

seven years and maybe eight
took your hand and kiss

the color of your hair is dangerous

you want the alphabet to form the same words
but it refuses

you lose your patience and your english
you can speak but you sound like a recording
your tongue almost touches the right word
but it refuses
you lose your words, your tongue

you forget whether the g is silent or hard

listen and repeat


you open your mouth
try to hide your lisp when you say: Caracas
those are tree frogs calling, not car alarms

the probability of this sound following that sound

words that change the flavor of your tongue:
salpimiéntalo al gusto

you finish your drink
what to do with your hands?


you walk to another place
a few thoughts away
it is no different

you repeat your steps
and forget

will you wake up feeling silent or hard
the ten things that went through your mind

you are not allowed out alone
the color of your hair is dangerous