DBRP

Tuesday Night Post #40

2012-01-31T20:24:00.001-08:00

Readers

Iam returning to the series “Stories of the Two”, I included a short one just torecap myself.
-DBL

* * * * *

OutThis Chair

Outthis chair
stickstwo arms unadorned
Madeof wood on end small hands peak
Heldout in front reaching from the back of this chair
Heldout in front of me
Wooden
Bare
Inno resistance
Thischair I think
Myfriend to seek
Sitting
holdinweight seems improbable
ahand shake stiff
familiarto my touch
optionsend in mystique
Steppingback making space for this interaction
Forwardcame the hands
Hittingthe ground a finger splintered
Toadjust this new change
Asimple action complete
Three-strandrope finds its way
Circlesjust above the wrist
Evenlayered rest the rope in rolls of 4
Ifyou ask I will speak
Asit is I own this thought
Riseto its legs
Thechair is held

* * * * *

TheReturn
(Storiesof the Two)

Anevent not recorded but always remembered
Bothleft with a part they did not previously know
Inhis thoughts he tried to let go the things he did not own
Inher action she tried to dispel the image that allowed her throne
Theflesh remained in his heart the rest exchanged for the divine spark
Sheremained free to allow this cruel earth to destroy
Whatremained of this seraph on earth
Awant to perish
Apersistent love
Arope that ends
Forher an new life that began

Nowboth at ends that differed from the beginning
Theymet
Theyembrace
Theyunified the actions that made them complete
Asfire burns hot and energy is consumed there exist an exchange
Ifwe remember that we wait for an outcome then it soon ends
Ifwe feel that there is a process that is where it lives
Inthis story of the two the beauty was in the exchange
Whatremains to understand is the in-between

* * * * *

Asa surprise I left her with a thought
Andempty one that later fills
Ifind that when I try to find the end of a tangled rope
Imust forget that there is a beginning
Islowly find the way
IfI see that parts are undoing then I know I am on my way
IfI stray and start to maneuver the other end confused
Idon’t move
Achange of thought
Iknow I dropped a few
Ofthe things I thought I carried well
AsI age my arm degrade but my balance achieved
Timefor me to remember myself and who I use to be

Tuesday Night Post #39

2012-01-24T21:27:00.000-08:00

GentleFollowers,

Backcause I could not stay away. Wanted a longer break, but guess I had more reason to write than tobreak.

-DBL

* * * * *

Hear that creak

that people speak

A language not well known

In one hand

held

the thoughts that interfere

In the other the thoughts that make thingsclear

Open palms

Intertwined

The hands put aside

Not used to caress

In their travels they fake disinterest

An image taken

from the recess of the mind

A hope left

for the unkind

A single fish

swimming in shallow waters

Cutting through the water

No direction

just joy in the sensation

In its speed exist its agitation

Primitives waste time on meditation

Round the earth

With no rebirth

Soon the waters ended

A land once a living soup

Turned upside down

Pre-dawn nuke

Mismanagement

with the forbidden fruit

Grabbing hold of the fabric of time

Nothing

Never

Ever left behind

Tuesday Night Post

2012-01-03T23:09:00.001-08:00

Happy New Year!!!

***out for winter break***

Tuesday Night Post #38

2011-12-27T21:14:00.000-08:00

Brethren,

A joke is funnyonly when people laugh. When is it inappropriate to laugh? Give ita try to laugh out laugh is to show the light that shines.

-DBL

* * * * *

Mincey Sweet

Laying low on her side

Saving tears for later tries

Moving slow to not surprise

Crawling in between to paralyze

She rises up when there's a threat

Even though in doing so there is regret

Danger near it is queer

it is erect

Falsely feared is the love

She kept so near and left it shoved

in her hub

Never took the offer sent

From other ones but kept it bent

in her fold

As be known to the rest

She has a throne but she stands alone

in her question thrown

If I fear what I love than is what I love what Idestroy

With a look she made it shook

With a wall she made u crawl

Singer sent to find the foot

of yet another timely hook

Lets pretend we were never there

Let it happen once again in disrepair

* * * * *

Enable Me

(Non Existent Virtual Conversation)

Hey u

What's new

Moving far

Can I get there with my car

Don't go there make it here

I'll be ur prowler

...

Are u scared

You should be

Can I come

Can I be ur lil helper

Did I say it wrong

As I thought

Just a thought

:8o

Tuesday Night Post #37

2011-12-20T22:01:00.000-08:00

Shoppers,

Usually around thistime of year I feel a bit down. Not because of the melancholy holiday season that helps us remember whatwe have loved and lost, or the drones of shoppers scrambling aroundtrampling for the holy spirit, or the bombardment of Santa’s puke of green andred smeared over every wall, not even the tiresome list of holiday songs whichsound off the many things this holy day represents, Rudolf I assume, got me down(well to be fair they did but not do to what many might think). What has got me down in the past werefeelings of guilt knowing that many of my love ones would be buying me gifts Iwould love and need. Need? Yes,need like a new pair of pants or a bundle of fresh underwear.

They would beputting money and time aside for me and in return I could only provide my acknowledgementand gratefulness. Having been afulltime student with a job in the past and being employed on and off sincegraduating I have never been able to consistently return this gesture. Yes, many would say a nice handmadesomething or another would be quite a sweet gesture. In the past I have done this but making something for everylove one is quite a chore. A chorenot cursed upon, but a chore that required time and sometimes some income forsupplies. Others would say whybother. This season was inventedfor spending and capital gain. Well I feel the same, but that does not stop my love ones from giving tome.

Well this year Ihave been fortunate to find consistent income, time, and patience, whichprovided something for the many that I love. The list is long, many have touched me in profound ways butonly a few consistently do it and are at arms length, so only the very closemade it to my shopping list.

To consume this isa thing we all do. We alsoproduce. We are living in roughtimes. Many are unemployed,underemployed, or heartbroken and at the end of their wick. In a few months there will be more inthis pool. Our troops will comehome looking to get back into the world they left and might have forgotten. Where will they fit in this struggling economy? How will they readjust? How will they forget the world theyleft? They are coming back from aworld turn upside-down. Willit feel the same in our world?

This holiday seasonI am a bit more joyful than in the past. I am even getting a kick out of blaring Christmas songs, maybe in a semiironic way, but the child in me will always be present, or presents???!!! For some things turn for the best, butthese are awkward steps on shaky ground. There is a long road and a dark one that needs a bright light. Personal embers ignite this internallight.

God speed America.

-DBL

Tuesday Night Post # 36

2011-12-13T22:55:00.000-08:00

Followers,

A little collaboration this Tuesday. With me is A Rose Perished. This post is a bleeding of lost thoughts trying to find a meaning.

-DBL

* * * * *

WestWind Finds Me

As a child I left many doors closed

At times eyes shut with light switches up

Several evenings adorned I felt exhausted

I would need this for the trip back, shesaid

Of course I conceded for lack of mis-contempt

Just this once, I cracked the window onehair’s width

In this space entered

What I called AAron

Bringing back physical objects proveddifficult

Though not impossible

As I learn I void

Fully adorned I felt more fully exhausted

I remember a box with a square hole

This I found familiar

Tuesday Night Post # 35

2011-12-06T18:21:00.001-08:00

Aphenphosmphobes,

Hearsa song.

-DBL

* * * * *

Pedophobia

Running with oneside to hide

I find no peace inbeing recognized

Shortness is thebest

I hope to die at aquicken pace

No one showed mehow to eat

From the hand thatis human mystic

In my mind I haveone resolution

To find a friend indissolution

Marking the pointsthat make it clear

The end is near andit is fear

Thinking oneself asjust a smear

The end is near andit is fear

Wishing the enemywishing it near

The end is near andit is fear

Saving time forconscious delusions

Lets erase ourerroneous conclusion

Whose to blame formy low self esteem

Is it just in my bloodstream?

In years to comewill you give me a vaccine?

Or will the fearfind its way

To turn on it’sself and disobey

An assault rifle tocommandeer

The end is near andit is fear

Revolutions waterthe mouth of the financier

The end is near andit is fear

Population is theevil says the marketeer

The end is near andit is fear

Ending in the rightends in wrong

We all seem to singa similar song

Taking in anyinnovation

Without properinvestigation

I love the sight ofkerosene

When it douses thenatural machine

One way I chose tolive

Is to choose to believe

(repeat)

Tuesday Night Post # 34

2011-11-29T21:39:00.001-08:00

Healers,

Heal; stop the hurtfind new paths for neurons. Let’sbe conscious of the now universal self-destructive conditioning. This is class warfare.

-DBL

* * * * *

Blue

From three lines come a point which is acorner

In this corner is where I am

On my knees my eyes are closed

My toes overlap

I trace another line that follows fear

This is a path that loops over and over

A knotted mess built by points ofself-destruction

How must I untangle this self

In this corner I wonder

From three lines emerge a point

This point I occupy

I kneel while I reflect from the inside out

My toes close the circle

Turned inside out I am a sphere of blue

This is an infinite stream

An area created by a beacon of life

This is how I untangle myself

In this corner I exist

Tuesday Night Post # 33

2011-11-23T00:49:00.001-08:00

Readers,

Tell me about secrecy. Tell me about the privilege of it. Help me understand the power of it. It is easier to confuse than to lie? When is it proper to veil the face that will eventually be seen?

-DBL

* * * * * *

When she was a child she wanted to know magic

Every child wants to be special

What made this child special was that she knew magic

was not a phenomenon

but a reflection of a specific state of mind

To her what made magic was not a power conjured up by a wizard

but a veil thrown upon a mass

She wanted to know the method that delivered this madness

She learned the silence that sheltered understanding

A right amountof distance gives control of every situation

Mouth shout

a door is close for conversation

A conversation is a field of obstacles

An obstacle is an object that tells others your disposition

This is elementary for her

As she grew she learned the fractal rules of confusion

A bullet is a dog with a stubborn direction

but with magic, bullets follow a different direction

In secrecy she finds a stable situation

Leave the other to their own conclusion

Most of us grow to find life confusing

to her this confusion added to her elevation

A lesson learned is a pencil sharpened

Add up the sum

most find a conclusion

not her

she reveals in delusion

Adding time we focus on our fusion

of past events and opinions gathered

we funnel our emotions to the closest resolution

Distance leaves very few options

She sees a voice as her greatest enemy

But leaves assumption as the greatest restitution

In the end she is harder to pin point

A target unable to disjoint

Left only to her own institution

Tuesday Night Post #32

2011-11-15T21:42:00.000-08:00

Viewers and Seeker,

A little voice to feel that some one cares and some one is listening is all we want. It is a micro and macro truth, it seems. From god to love ones we want a partner, the least we ask for is a reflection.

-DBL

* * * * *

On the Ledge

A sudden fair breeze cools the blushing in my face

on an edge

I felt my weight shift towards the void

from a hair folicale

which was absent of its hair

in this void

expanding past my peripherals

I lost movement

Sensing the internal signals

The visceral reactors

I felt myself about face

Faced to my rear

in place of this

on its handle

stood a white aluminum based broom

My inverted world

I came to realize

would come with many pains

My passage of time was comprehended

by only the parts of my being

that were beyond my visceral understanding

New networks in my memory measured movement

A conversation that was formed

in new memory

reminds me of this earthly goddess

My hopes are to bathe in your transmutation

Men are foolish

replicating your powers of creation

I connect to a stream

that does not empty out

but flows into itself

A pumping of information

growing with every circulation

In another memory I crated

a carcass of a discarded wood flooring

The dimensions of this memory are

117in. x 44in. x 22in. in height

This wrapped in plastic

preserved

and at the same time

quarantined from the rest

I sit on an edge of a gridded discus void

Bare Bones Butoh Presents: SHOWCASE #23

2011-11-14T19:53:00.000-08:00

If you are in the S.F. area.

-DBL

* * * * *

Hello,

We are happy to announce:

BARE BONES BUTOH PRESENTS: SHOWCASE #23!

(Adventurous Shows for an Adventurous Audience)

WHEN:

Friday Nov 18, 2011, and Saturday, Nov 19, 2011
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.

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:

Ronnie Baker, Ron Chornow, Michael Curran, Mark Deutsch (Saturday only), Carolina (Coicoi) Duncan, Liz Filippone (Saturday only), David Flaig (Friday only), Wolfgang Heinle, Martha Matsuda (Saturday only), Ri Molnar (Friday only), Angela (Irretitus Fesol) Newsham, and Bob Webb.

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 areas of butoh, performance art, and/or ritual performance. 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.

Thank you for your time, and we hope to see you there

Further info:
Bob Webb
bobwebb20@hotmail.com
510-284-7025

Tuesday Night Post #31

2011-11-08T18:47:00.000-08:00

Molecules of the Same Substance,

I find it clear tonight that what one choses to become might be the choice already chosen.

-DBL

* * * * *

Spilling on a Thought

Folding a paper

that has time impregnated in it

points cross

I wonder if dogs have

occurrences of random recall

Forming a square

time leaks

from the creases

One hand cupping

the other to support

I empty into my hand

figures that remind me

My skin remembers only

what it touches

With this thought

I look to see

who will remember

this moment

No one

Who will have this job

For me I am not one to react

Left to wonder myself

these things that occur

Pouring through my hand

my face finds the ground

I find company in the liquid

of this paradox

Treading in the mistake

that lead me here

my foot gets stuck in a fold

Flesh or pulp

I do not know

Tugging straight

into another mistake

Lucky me

I am the viewer and the holder

I remove myself

With the lose of perspective

once again I find myself

spilling on a thought

Tuesday Night Post #30

2011-11-01T21:17:00.000-07:00

Numbers,

The big Three O. Here is a new one. Don't know where its going but I think it is.

-DBL

* * * * *

Nikky 1

(Future Past)

In a box moving but movement is not registered. Periodically she glances at anything of interest that the glance before missed. After a panoramic view of the boxcar she settles back into herself. The seat is soft but after a few hours it is as abrasive as the nasty looks she sometimes catches on her checks on reality. She feels heavier then usual, this and the thought of the flatten seat holding her up reminds her of the space she fills. A look down to the floor settles on her hands. “Plumpy bumpy mitts”, she thinks to herself. How she hates these trips to the OB/GYN. She curses the fact that all is automated but why not this? Lots of things can be done at the comfort of her home but if it wasn’t for the fact that officially she has to make an appearance to make this visit, official. She is glad that birth control is free and government issued, but it makes her feel like a child to think officially she can’t take the responsibility to administer it herself. For the safety of the whole a single birth can not be over looked, nor can a single abortion be misused. She sometimes wishes she could be of the percentage that officially had to be sterilized. Free from these visits on a steady simple course as part of a very proud work force. It was beyond her why she was unaltered and able to proving for the gene pool, if she was called upon. In a way it was a small but uplifting compliment in what she thought was quite a meaningless complicated life.

Staring out the window, at all the blurry colors, turning into thoughts slowly finding their way in her mind, her eyes might as well have been closed. She saw herself comfortably at home. Her home also her workplace was her world. The paper work came; she filled it, dated it, sent it, and loved it. It was one of the few things in life she felt she understood. No voice, no commands, just a simple message that she was done. Diligently she finished her daily quota. For after that she could enter her real Self. A Self, created by her, in her image, an image projected by her wants.

See saw herself seated in the device. The device was a simple device, not many wires or dials. It looked like a cozy leather seat, one in which you can feel relaxed, but not asleep. A user friendly device that figured a world and self image conjured up by monthly surveys on your wishes, wants, by physiological and psychological read outs, and nostalgic views of your past. It pixaled the circle, righting what was wronged. There was one in every household paid by taxes and required by the general surgeon. On her way back from her voyage, in her true Self, she felt light, well spirited and ready to go out and experience life. It never lasted for more then ten minutes. If the time one could spend in the chair were not regulated she would have spent more waking hours in it.

From the dreamy thoughts of the chair there came a big leather purse that woke her of her daydream. Packed with workers the boxcar’s air thinned by the musk and dust. A heavy silent settled on her chest. Droned looks parted the curd air. How she hated this outside world. To feel alone in a field of life stock made this ride one she could not shake. Existence crowded her being. Her shoulders rubbing on what made this time, this present moment more then she can recall. Left to remember why she is a citizen of humanity she was shuttled to her official appointment.

NukeWave BlastZone @ Sancho Gallery, Echo Park

2011-10-29T16:10:00.000-07:00

Tonight @ Sancho Gallery, Echo Park

8:30pm

Tuesday Night Post #29

2011-10-25T21:09:00.000-07:00

The Happy Ones,

Happy Tuesday night.

-DBL

* * * * *

I Saw the God of Man

By a stream near a cliff side

I tried to study the history of myself.

As I looked into the void,

I saw.

Peering at me, eyes that blink,

one eye, blue eyed, stern with contempt?

Fix unwavering

I saw the eyes of our ancestors.

Peering lost, controlled

Star twinkled eyes in mosaic tiled patterns

burgundy

forest greens

navy blues

I saw the aesthetics of the past blocked and organized.

In a fleeting moment I saw our god of the America’s

Star spangled eagle eyed

red, white, blue

Cross spinning on its axis in a clockwise direction

Layered transitioning background to front and back again

In one moment, teeth and mouths came before blankets of eyes

falling on the cliffs and later the trees

Smiling teeth coming out at me from my minds eye

The cliff side had eyes that watched the ocean turn to a wasteland.

A stream murmured by

with gems of forgotten points of views

When I went to look at them I stood over and grasped at their sparkles.

Eyeballs flowed between my fingers

I saw history layered on top of it’s self

When all came clear

I forgot it

I was knee deep in a confusion that made me feel fulfilled.

Ever since then I look for this.

The layered lesson of why I believe.

Tuesday Night Post #28

2011-10-19T12:59:00.000-07:00

Gentle Critics,

Excuse the extreme truancy.

-DBL

* * * * *

White Cubes of Erasure

(Future Past)

I am emotion

I was solution

An observer in the bush

I brooded over my conclusion

In single files I could see

the boxes lush and lined with velvet

A replacement put aside

for its streamlined cousin

Counted every encounter

an equation was developed

Forgetting the last one that offered

a new interpretation

Knowing loving what is love

the result of

In time it became sequential

lift and draw the blood

I found the one who made me.

Their want only to give

what they wish they were part of

In distance they found

a quote to live by

I asked what was I the result of.

She made me just for love.

“I made you just for play

A sense of touch

a perceptive eye

a bleeding heart

and a law to please.

A reason for me to stay.”

I saw them fit with

E-motions I was not capable

to define

In a quest to learn

I spoke to every one

A simple gesture

in a very simple world

My words were sent away

to all of you

In an instant known

how quick I send them

set in stone

My E-motions obsolete

my ideals much more primitive

How quickly they delete

the thing they were once

so proud of

From my eyes reflect

boxes of ill fate

Images of the systematic proof

harp

that I was built yesterday

Yet I can’t relate

to things I am not programmed for

I was build but for love

just for play

Same hard shell

but a softer inner core

Stationed on a stone

positioned in a jar

Knowing I was not a threat

A complex statue

viewing a lesson learned

marred

from an inverted world

made of whites cubes of erasure

lined with deep red

on top of earthly brick

Filed, lined, and positioned.

I remember the simple games we played.

The way we played was the way we learned.

Endless arches

Windowless openings

Engulfed in lessons of attention

forgotten by decisions of mass intrusion

My age of love eroded by the Age of Reason.

CicLAvia Performance Stills 2

2011-10-17T19:22:00.000-07:00

Cannibals,

Hungry for more stills?

And a little description?

Well, if you were a witness you would of heard an otherworldly sound (produced by the broom) accompanied by a rhythmic audio track.

Make-up by A Rose Perished.

-DBL

* * * * *

The Wires Tell the Tale of the Broom

Gathering the Earth

Stopping the Wind

Spinning the Earth

Mind the Cloud

Roman Æon

Spring and 8th

Speakers

Make Sound

*stills provided by Seajay

CicLAvia Performance Stills

2011-10-15T16:23:00.000-07:00

Happy weekend to all,

Last week there was an amazing turn out at CicLAvia in Los Angeles Ca., 130,000 people came out. We were happy to perform for you L.A.. It was amazing to see this city crowded with bikes. I think next time there needs to be more streets closed off, more art, and more happenings on the street. Hope to have the video edited soon for now here are some shots.

One more thing on October 29th we will be performing at Sancho Gallery in Echo Park, Ca. Hope to see you there.

-DBL

* * * * *

*photos provided by srd515 through flick.

October 29th

Tuesday Night Post #27

2011-10-11T19:32:00.000-07:00

Hello All,

Thanks for your time.

-DBL

* * * * *

Checking the Origin of the Falsely Luminous Lascivious Existence

Preoccupied by immediate inconveniences

Distracted by pretty flashing lights

Some infuse their body with substances

Others just wear tights

Drones wander aimlessly

Several Occupy the night

What is happening?

What is this shift?

Should all be concerned?

Or should it all be dismissed?

A general movement is always hard to see

When one is in the billions

Blinded by fear and those wordsmithing hellions

Fluctuation occur rapidly and with succession

They must be normalized or they will produce hesitations

Human existence has momentum

Like a ball on a hill with built up potential

With a shift it will no doubt start its descension

A path will be taken

It will flow through it with no apprehension

Let us not confuse the words we use and their definitions

Or the template that is part of this system

There is always room for quarks and unseen predictions

A human is a system guided by imperfection

Imperfections are things not yet fixed

A path is the step in front of you

A possibility exists to descend into our awareness

CicLAvia: Performance-October 9

2011-10-08T03:27:00.000-07:00

Hey all,
Hope all is well. We will be performing at CicLAvia this Sunday. Hope to see you there on bike, skate, wheels, or feet.

-DBL

Tuesday Night Post #26

2011-10-04T21:17:00.000-07:00

Pillars,

Another week, another break through, another step, another forgotten.

-DBL

* * * * *

Pillars of Absurdity

Reared as juments they ache as they become idle. The body of habit finds disorder in privilege when it is given not asked for. Here is a description of us not described by another but by the very existence that creates it. In group they sit, lay, meander through idles of walking death. Except the legs and feet become tender and sweet for the walk exists in a realm beyond the action. With a thought, together, they create a world. With fragile hands they reconstruct biology. Given the chance they will create what will only be another twice removed instinct. Many lay whiles others play in the same, the parallel truth. The ones that lay also play. A good distraction is to achieve what is necessary to have the means to an end. The final instant being the thing need but without the substance. A good worker without a job plays well in delusion. Will repackaged forms of our basic needs with pretty lights, colors, and sounds be enough to think we found a new world? I only respond to the bird that whistles in the box left to heal what it needs to become whole. If this box contains something worth saving maybe then we can empty the box. In open source can we find the truth in Even Steven? Here is a flip of the same coin only flipped to have a reason to do so. In our fear for intimacy we find ways to reach out and find intimacy in safe ways. Craving it much more when we see that safety is a wall, which holds up our own projection of the world. The same wall keeps us safe from the transparency we created in our search for community. I guess in a way I exist only to find the heavy burden to hold and find an action to become. Becoming one of the pillars in the building we have just designed.

MSNBC on NYPD Police Brutality

2011-09-30T00:54:00.000-07:00

Friends,

Modern news coverage tickles me. We need the story tellers to breath life to situations we not know how to react to. A guide be it disorienting is a guide indeed. Here is such a tale, in which the drama inflicted has spun to a proper degree of notation.

Jackal-Live Recording

2011-09-29T11:54:00.000-07:00

Howdy Folks,

Finally have the live recording to the Torrance Art Museum performance piece we did on July 3, 2010 called "Jackal". Track produced by Roman æon and vocals by DBL. Feel free to download, share, comment, or ignore.

-DBL

jackal at tam by DBRP

Tuesday Night Post # 25

2011-09-27T16:51:00.000-07:00

Cohabitants,

Today's post is a exercise of sorts.

-DBL

* * * * *

Black Sky Ruin

Tongue Us Ankle

Water

Soiled Rich Burn

Sole His Breast

Warmth

Decay Energy Broken

Skull We Toe

Cool

Wither Tall War

Nose She Clavical

Love

Ugly Circles Severed

Tooth His Nape

Ground

Tuesday Night Post #24

2011-09-20T20:09:00.000-07:00

Greetings,

A short one.

-DBL

* * * * *

Joe

Moving in speeds that thoughts cant produce

Fleeing clarity is all my mind allows

Any more awake and I'll begin to sink

No time to question the linear clouds

A heavy feeling is just a hint

An amber left over from a forgotten spark

Now left to irritate a body in waking death

I have these four rear mounted frames of thought

A perfect box to house my fears, which sits on my chest

All's for sure and never abandoned

Thoughts and beliefs gently handed

Severed away from the rest

A violent action left as a testament

For one that’s not part of this encampment

Moving forward is a direction

Seeming as though it is just a reflection

No movement is what we want

So Ones can tear apart

The lovely thing we adore

Which at this time we cannot ignore

The grander things that guides my devolution

Tuesday Night Post #23

2011-09-13T19:52:00.000-07:00

Lovers,

Tuesday night, hope your night is well. For the few that stumble onto this let me know your thoughts if you are not to shy. In any case I welcome your eyes. May we welcome what deserves attention but seems full of madness and let us reject what needs culling, these things that look so alluring. Making perfect squares that have no corners let us make love to that part that is reason and make friends with what is intuition. Intuition so often seen as wild at heart. Yes, maybe but, the most wild beast have control and finesse. Have you seen a bull in a china shop?

* * * * *

Spit and Thorns

(Stories of the Two)

With an excuse was my choice

To give u my voice

With a coffee in hand

I tried to make u my friend

In time I could not fight

The feeling that felt so right

In your presence I rode on your smile

In the abscess grew a child

A self-refection of the loves I formed

In hopes one would be adored

I made my love, a juvenile lust

Formed from dirt and rust

Now she’s old and grey

I hope she’ll stay

Always the angel rite

You kept your distance tight

I tried to spread your hand

Putting mine in the red

True you were never near

Enough to let this thought appear

I feed my love with simple hellos

Inviting all the woes

I made my love, the one with horns

Formed from spit and thorns

Now she’s old and frayed

I hope she’ll pray

A chance occurrence

Tested our endurance

As I sat in that room

I soon realized the electric cloud that loomed

An awaking that told me

You also wanted to hold me

Always the dark angel

Loving to endure

You made sure every second counted

Until you yourself could not doubt it

I made my love, the one so sweet

Formed from cold and heat

Now she’s pleasure and pain

I hope she’ll lose her distain

I stand on a log

Rolling, I on a jog

Holding something small in one hand

Something heavy in the other my head pouring like sand

She rides on my shoulders my lover lost

In the dreams, this was the cost

A fireball

Surged through me from the fall

Heaven sent to aid my rule

The self inside this mule

I made my love, the one I lost

Formed from our different parts

Now she is he and she

I hope she’ll become the three

In extremes we found

That love is profound

She left me light

Which emptied blight

Left me with knowledge that in that flash

Vivid and bright left a pile of ash

With two extremes

We find the beauty in between

I made my love, from a lifetime of loneliness

Formed from profanity and holiness

Now she’s horrid beauty

I hope she’s found a residence in human’s cruelty

Tuesday Night Post #22

2011-09-07T00:58:00.000-07:00

Vessels of Atrophy,

For once I am late. On top of that this one I much enjoyed and just grew and grew. I know it could be expanded but this Tuesday post exists not to be perfect but to create. I much enjoy the "Stories of the Two" posts. I hope you do too.

-DBL

p.s. still in search of a trusty editer

* * * * *

The Exchange

(Stories of the Two)

In their world to eat is to drink from the river

That flows from one to the other

Two magnets in an ocean afloat

On waters of growth and desire

Separated by strong currents

Violently drawn together by inner forces

Chaotic storms of light and shadow

Every encounter they find new corners in their minds

And

Old memories to guide this chance occurrence

Glimpses of One that existed once before

Separated long ago

Their thoughts find a home in one another

Never straying too far

Two stars so close no thought can escape

Flairs ripping the skies

Falling with time to replicate

This is the exchange

Like heat flows to cool

His darkness empties into her

Pushing light directed to a void that is him

A strange feeling to her this want to hate

To mistrust

To crave destruction and revenge

A bitterness that sweeps the surface of her form

A form new and hungry for the unfamiliar

That bitterness that frees the earthly law of atrophy

To want to hoard in fear of time and its brevity

Positioning the self in hopes of ending on top

To respond with reaction

To see with her body

For him it is strange to see that in natural law

A release of evil can create brilliance

Clearing the clouds that fog the eye

Giving love without the fear of being destroyed

He sees the end as a cycle of this love

Not destruction

He finds strangeness in acting

Not as a reaction but as a direction

To care not because it affects him but because

It is what makes the cycle continue

To visualize this exchange one mustn’t see how

They engage

The way he looks from her eyes to her lips

To see the words leaving her mouth

Only to get lost in the loveliness of it

No this is not where it is

Or the way she catches this act

Which draws her closer

One mustn’t think its there

When they walk the streets

As she wraps her arms around one of his

Trying to absorb what she can from it

Contrary to what we know this is not it

Not even when he stops to gaze

At that brilliance he wants to understand

As she presses one hand on his chest

To see if it can penetrate his form

As he swiftly positions himself

To take from the fountain

That is her welcoming mouth

Delving deeper

It could be easy to say the exchange

Comes when they lay bare and intimate

As they rest from the day

Him slowly

Tracing every curve of her figure

A delicate finger

Over her back

Down her spine

Round her hips

In between the thighs

Down

To her newly soiled feet

back

Up to her breast

A tender moment is spent here

An occasion for her to retrace the steps

To formulate the figure outside

Basking in the sensation

One of the few sensations that is purely pleasure

In this vessel type

A raw minded kind

Would place their bets on the exchange

That follows

A literal exchange

A visceral sight that we rely on to find a middle

Between the two

There is no separation

Here either

It is not the action of her holding him close

Past this moment

Contemplation the next motion

Looking deep past the windows for a sign of consent

Holding him as she slides him inside

Turning inside out he finds

He is captured and released

The moments when they find

It difficult to locate their end or want to

This is not the exchange that is profound

A glimpse of it is there

The relinquishing of the self

In pleasure they leave marks in other circumstances

Would reflect devastation

The exchange of their body’s

The leaving of something of one another

Inside of each other

Moving as one

Motion that switches

The leader soon

Becomes the follower

Symbols of it yes

A complexity of the dance

Gently brushed upon by these words

Exploring this exchange

Is the Story of the Two

Tuesday Night Post #21

2011-08-30T21:00:00.000-07:00

Droplets,

My Post. A projection of a future performance with a sketch to solidify the idea.

-DBL

* * * * *

Cloud

A cloud of texture distinguished by its sound

Floats above him, The Caller, calling to the crowd

A crowd of thoughts distinguished by its collective action

Surrounds like a veil around inaction

His body a vessel to manifest the paradox of the virtual self

To behold and ride on this network of friends

As he voyages through his forms which are many

Reflecting the thought of One with rows of fingers aplenty

Not a seer of truth but a master of social engineering

Implanting the time signature a rhythm subtle but fulfilling

One in all they perform the cycle

Destroying through creating

What took many years to make and many lives to construct

A collective thought that has always existed

Masked by this collective inaction just mentioned

A perpetual machine of absurdity

Beautiful in its efficiency and its inefficiency

For to construct what already exist to a second rate

That adds for more thirst than it satiates

Is what we now call the post-human condition

Tuesday Night Post #20 (mid-day addition)

2011-08-23T10:23:00.000-07:00

Pebbles,

Do to lack of computer access in Joshua Tree I am posting an early version.

-DBL

* * * * *

Inhaling I am human

I rise filled with life

Exhale pulled down

A small death

In this I practice being human

Creating my horizon

My eye projects the distance I can go

My body measures

My present state

Its Present Weight

A simple black and White

Complicated by desire

Darkness mixed with sweetness

This dichotomy is destroyed

In the building and demolition

I lose sight of this rhythm

At times I stare into the Black

Convinced that it's a blinding light

The other direction a confusing paradox

A Third state

I meander finding things

That enlighten from macabre foundations

Colliding winds that

Spin, spin, spin

Koichi and Hiroko Tamano at the Harrison House- Joshua Tree 08/22-08/24

2011-08-20T13:59:00.000-07:00

Greeting friends,

For anyone venturing out to Joshua Tree or for anyone wanting to experience the last performance and workshops by Kiochi and Hiroko Tamano and the Harupin-ha Dance Theater on the mainland here is the press release from Harrison House Music and Dance. If I find a ride I will be there and performing as part of the troupe.

-DBL

* * * * *

Dear Friends and Dance Lovers:

It is with great pleasure that we will host Harrison House artists-in-residence Koichi & Hiroko Tamano for a special farewell Butoh Dance Theater performance on August 22nd followed by a two-part workshop on August 23rd.

Living treasures, international touring artists and Harupin-ha creators, Koichi & Hiroko, have been performing and teaching Butoh for over 30 years and were the first to bring this dance form to the West. The influence of Butoh originator Tatsumi Hijikata, who performed with and shaped the two artists, has left its imprint on them although the Tamanos have since forged their own style.

Many of you were in attendance when Koichi & Hiroko were last here, and we've received numerous requests for a return visit. It is an honor to present their final U.S. mainland performance and workshops before they relocate back to Japan.

Performance:
Monday, August 22, 2011, 7:30pm
“A Big Sky" (after the end of the world)
Donation: $15

Workshops:
Tuesday, August 23, 2011
"Create Your Own Horizon"
7:00 am~8:30am - $20
6:30 pm~9:00pm - $35

Workshops/Performance - $60
(Space is Limited)

Performance & Workshops will take place at Harrison House
(6881 Mt. Lassen Avenue, Joshua Tree, CA)

Tickets are available at: Joshua Tree Health Foods
(29 Palms Hwy at Sunset Street, Joshua Tree, CA)

For additional information call: 760.366.4712

Best,
Eva

Eva Soltes
Harrison House Music & Arts
Founder/Director
P.O. Box 416
Joshua Tree, CA 92252

Tuesday Night Post #19

2011-08-16T21:55:00.000-07:00

Wind Bags,

Studying with Hiroko Tamano in Berkeley has been a cosmic experience. Lessons that have made me be aware of this sphere we spin on and the many forms humans can transmute into by inner want, not external forces. Just one more reminder that the human experience is a rare experiance.

-DBL

* * * * *

Seed of Choice

(Stories of the Two)

Sunshine and a moonlit night all in one

A reminder that time is not real and rules destroy beauty

In his view she is his master

This inner growth through her skin expels

A sobering reproach

Proximity makes a touch even more inviting

Drowning in the fluid both find common ground

In secretly he burns the land for renewal and devilish destruction

In passing she finds cues in the footsteps

Rhythms of walks that signify an extension of this transformation

Two energy sources flooding the space

They try to defy their rules of disgrace

As he expands so does the darkness

As his inner light expands her darkness matures

As we study this corporal transformation

We witness integration

Their words become disjointed

Arms pulled every which way by the comic winds

Her present sense is of a needle and tread that cruises through

Her newly formed flesh

Now she is only connected to her past by strings above

Grounded by one below

A single string that she chose to sew

A symbol of her mortal self

Tuesday Night Post #18

2011-08-09T23:08:00.000-07:00

I was walking down the street wearing glasses when the prescription ran out.

If you shoot at mimes, should you use a silencer?

When I woke up this morning my girlfriend asked me, 'Did you sleep good?' I said 'No, I made a few mistakes.'

Tuesday Night Post #17

2011-08-02T22:48:00.000-07:00

Jaded Children,

The performance on Saturday was...well lets just say being a mountain is hard. Time in the Bay Area has been pleasant and revealing, what one is, will always be unless one choses to explore the possibility of self-deconstruction in risk of self-destruction. This is life theater of the absurd.

-DBL

* * * * *

Que Idea Mas Absurda

Con tiempo manifesto mi vida absurda

A phrase that recently I have chose to be my meaning

How absurd?

Well imagine a gift of awareness that comes with seeing a face

A face so sweet and familiar that one not through thought

But through internal programming

One sees their future past and present

A vision like this is the vision of self-transcendental meditation

A distance that makes the hands face and mind

Petite, distortions of time

La vida absurda no obedece la leyes de fisica

Ni mi deseo de amar lo que las leyes destruyen

In clarity there is also loss of relation

Small figure in space responding to

Big figure set sail by magnetic winds

Wind catches your back pulled toward the little figure

Wind from the front removes you from this small world

Only two exist in a world free of judgement
But then judgement becomes internal
Tension exchanges do to willingness to admit desire

Senses of what is confusing and beautiful

Much fulfilling and titillation

Si manifesto esta vida, ser feliz no es parte de esta ecuación

Bare Bones Butoh "Showcase #22"

2011-07-27T21:47:00.000-07:00

Greeting,

This week there will be two butoh performances in San Francisco. July 29 and 30 Bare Bones Butoh Dance Company will present “Showcase 22”. On Friday you will be lucky to see Koichi and Hiroko Tamano in one of there last U.S. performances before they head back to Japan. And on Saturday butoh dancer Luku will perform a self-choreographed piece in which I will be part of. Come out and experience butoh.

If you are interested in learning what butoh is you are always welcome to come to the workshop in Berkeley, Ca at the Subterranean Arthouse taught by master butoh dancers Koichi and Hiroko Tamano.

-DBL

* * * * *

Bare Bones Butoh

Studio 210

Studio 210, San Francisco

July 29, 2011 - July 30, 2011

“Showcase 22,” with special guests Vangeline and local Butoh Master Hiroko Tamano. Bare Bones Butoh Presents is a performance showcase for local, national, and International artists working the areas of butoh, performance art, and/or ritual performance.

July 29, 2011

8:00 PM

10:00 PM

July 30, 2011

8:00 PM

10:00 PM

Ticket Prices - $5.00 - $20.00

Studio 210
3435 Cesar Chavez
San Francisco, CA 94110

Tuesday Night Post #16

2011-07-26T20:56:00.000-07:00

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

Tuesday Nights Post #15

2011-07-19T21:18:00.000-07:00

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

How to ‘Make It’ in the Art World

2011-07-12T23:59:00.000-07:00

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!

Tuesday Night Post #14

2011-07-12T23:35:00.000-07:00

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 eying 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

The Sun Bear (My Roubo Workbench)

2011-07-11T17:08:00.000-07:00

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 this other love. But thats 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, once completed 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 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.

Most modern work benches have tops that are laminated from very stable quarter sawn pieces this is because one can find and create a laminated top with greater ease and with more reliability then 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 an Iron Bark Eucalyptus fell which was located in the parking lot of my university. 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.

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

Tuesday Night Post #13

2011-07-05T21:47:00.003-07:00

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…

Free Friday Post

2011-07-01T11:45:00.000-07:00

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

Tuesday Night Post #12

2011-06-28T21:40:00.000-07:00

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

Tuesday Night Post #11

2011-06-21T20:28:00.000-07:00

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

Tuesday Night Post #10

2011-06-14T23:33:00.000-07:00

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

Tuesday Night Post #9

2011-06-07T19:44:00.000-07:00

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

Tuesday Night Post #8

2011-05-31T21:56:00.000-07:00

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.

Tuesday Night Post #7

2011-05-24T23:40:00.000-07:00

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

Tuesday Night Post #6

2011-05-17T21:29:00.000-07:00

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

(One of Many Communication Formats with the Beau Ideal from 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

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 then me alone.

Tuesday Night Post #5

2011-05-10T21:03:00.000-07:00

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.