Tuesday, December 25, 2012

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?


*     *     *     *     *

Winds Of Hate

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, December 18, 2012

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. 


*     *     *     *     *

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
I awake
Time has passed
My regret is that
what I knew I left
What you brought
I can never take

Sunday, December 16, 2012

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.


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, December 11, 2012

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.

*     *     *     *     *

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
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


From Bob Web:


(Adventurous Shows for an Adventurous Audience)


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

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).

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

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.

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

Tuesday, December 4, 2012

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.


*     *     *     *     *


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
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
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
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, November 27, 2012

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.


*     *     *     *     *

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, November 20, 2012

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.  

*     *     *     *     *    

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

*     *     *     *     *


Page up
Side scroll
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

Monday, November 19, 2012

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).

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

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, November 6, 2012

Tuesday Night Post # 2-2


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


* * * * *

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, October 30, 2012

Tuesday Night Post # 2-1


So here we are again


*     *     *     *     *

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
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

Sunday, October 14, 2012

Vacation Return

Hello interweb,

It's been a bit since I have posted. Few hiccups along the way.  Started to become a good worker bee at work. It is time once again to continue with the real work. The one that wakes me up everyday, the one that is and has always been my true love. The work of creation and creativity. Nothing is lost only gained. Nothing is destroyed only transformed.

Lost some value work along the way but this just means I have to create more. With this I leave you with a lil something. It's all in fun and in desperate need to be the only thing I can be, human.

Changed my hair to be a winner

I tried to grow it despite my lack of dinner

When I changed the color

I soon realized I was a broader version of my mother

Then gorged on avocado to make it grow

A thousand days through rain and snow

I found it pleasant when it shielded me from the cold

On my way in from the weather

Wrapped round with this stringy leather

One false move I tripped on a hose fell flat on my face

and broke my nose

When I made my way up my room

My chilly toes with ample hairs

lost their traction

There I went tumbling  down the stairs

My hairy friend his name is Scotty

Took his scissor bite

trim me with no remorse

Needless to say the cut was shoty

When I sported this new cut

As I entered a dancing club

No one seemed to notice the twelve foot hair that wiped the floor

The single hair survived now tangled in every foot from the wall to the door.

In the darkness my head was jerked

In every direction

fuck yeah it hurt

No one saw the reason

They thought it was just the new dance in season

A pretty lil lady soon came to danced with me

At least as much as I could see

My face was in pain and a lil bloody

When the music finally ceased

I got on my knees

Holly fuck that was scary

When she saw me she thought I was playing

But said yes anyway now we're married