Tuesday, February 22, 2011 – 4:29am

So there needs to be a nap in here somewhere, or a 45 minute sauna followed by a nap, but some rest for the foolish figure who decided to stay up, hit the shower/breakfast/brushteeth, jump on the bike for a rip to town and expects to be able to balance his lack of sleep with excessive protein, greens and agua.

Today is a day of days. I told Chris that last night, I’m not sure if he was on the same train I was, mine is notorious for jumping track. What I meant was that today is of such limitless possibility that we can make anything happen if we want them to. I will make. I will channel the limitless energy of the universe and harvest minor samples of wavelength to create an individual, in a reality of the future.

“Living in the future so the present is my past. My presence is my present, kiss my ass.” – Alex Corely’s Facebook status, Mon 21st Feb – 12:30.

I don’t know anymore, but I can learn more viewpoints by inclusion, getting a better picture of the limits of individual reality. Always ask for help, or a challenge, or some motivational hail, and a windstorm, at night, on the seawall. Someone is listening. Scream it at the top of your lungs, and when you don’t catch your breath, you’ll know that you’ve reached a limit. What is more human than that? You then get to participate in the greatest making ever: a choice– to be, or not to be? Breathe, spit, push it, get to the Golden Arches for an iced tea to replenish an electrolyte or two…avoiding any protein-esque offerings glaring at me with neon daggers for teeth, gunning for my intestinal lining.

It’s five now and I must get to the bath and some quinoa and a bike ride, possibly in motivational hail (if I’m lucky). Don’t freeze, layer up. Keep a thermal balaclava and goggles handy for those really gnarly mornings when you want to get to the gym by 7 and it still hasn’t cleared by 6:45. Gore-tex for the win.

Jude’s gonna be wrenching bikes next week, real official like, $40 tunes, +/- depending on financial ability, and eagerness to get ridin’!- but safely and reliably on a smooth-running cycle. Shoot me an email- nrkist@gmail.com, with your name, a brief description or picture of your bike (the more the better) and I’ll start-up a public Google Calendar with everyone’s bike assessments/due-dates. This will let everyone see how hard we’re working to get you on the roads. The more bikes people encounter, the more they’ll think about that possibility while driving. Keep praying for infrastructure money from somewhere rad….hey wait a minute…I think I know just the place. More to come on that…

Have a wonderful Tuesday y’all!
Peace de Resistance,
-Jude

Energy

Energy picked up by a sensor...on December 20, 2010

Mechanical Growth, Errant Navigation (an excerpt).

Embracing the calmed seas brought through carcinogen inhalation, we walk the harbor, settling in front of the “Excuse me ladies, but I’m baked” Staircase on a sunny bench. Rolling clouds threaten in the distance but the wind bolsters the success of our parlay by keeping them tucked just north. Some swift networking and we chart a course for the nearest pub. Most navigators are fired for drinking on duty, my folly is being captain too. Clare was joining us and footing the bill, having come into some chedda, though not by nailin’ bitches, as she would have liked. Abrasive is exaggeration, though used by some; Clare is open to say the least. Another AP Art-room product, her celebratory nature post-graduation from a two year associate degree conflicts with my steadfast scorn for institutionalized artistic industrialism that had filled wholes eaten away by “Creative Process” lectures, feminism, crammed down my throat for being born with a penis. Clare would love my art-history professor. She would also cram gender-free social interaction down your throat for being a moron. There is sound reasoning behind my choice of an eight-percent “Scotch Ale” in the warm covered-patio of Swan’s Brewpub.

I accelerate from zero to intoxicated a meager number of steps from the table to the door, hobbling my grasp of the rules at Camp Butt-Muff. Clare went by Muff to some, lives with Buttons, and has a concise list of twenty post-it notes by which Camp is governed. Interactions with Julian, Buttons, the hookah’s name escapes me, bottles, cans, blend together until I find myself stalwartly grounded, exorcising demons into a porcelain throne. Euphemisms are like molasses– a spoon full of sugar to oil the cogs of mechanical growth.

April, where are you? How did I get here?

In the height of this drunken tempest I recall the treasure map.

As hastily as my motor-skills allow, I focus all remaining brain capacity on my shorthand directions. My right-brain begins to connect dots between earlier misgivings and current euphoria regarding planning. My left-brain gives the right a smack.

“Focus!”

- an excerpt from “Mechanical Growth, Errant Navigation”, an adventure I wrote down.

Let me know what you think! If you comment, I might just let you read the whole thing…

I’m working on some writing projects and some web redesigns for the blog and the portfolio. Don’t hold me to a June 1st release date, though that is the plan. I think I’m going to spend May Long coming home to an empty house and getting diligent, much to the chagrin of some lovely ladies going to Danger Bay for the first time. Conservation leads me to renege on urgent assurances regarding my attendance and I wince at the thought of revealing this truth.

At least I will be out of debt soon.

New Beginnings– complete with oversimplified clichés!

Having revitalized my laptop (hard-drive failure early this month rendered it useless) I have redoubled efforts to put this black box to productive use!

Writing has always come easily to me. The acceptance of this coupled with my constant search for short-term monetary security has me pursuing a variety of markets for short stories, poetry, and prose. My first feat will be to use the next six days to pull a cohesive, compelling tale of no more than 4,500 words together for the Writer’s Digest Annual Writing Competition (url to follow this evening).

Those interested in editing this piece, or casually providing constructive criticism (if editing sounds to daunting and formal), are encouraged to shoot me an email or post yours in a comment so I might send you the manuscript as soon as I’ve finished the last couple-thousand words (if that).

My trip to Victoria, while unproductive on the surface, and socially confounding, may prove fruitful yet. I am ever-so thankful to Axel for suggesting the carrying of a notebook in my pocket as it has allowed me to recall detailed fodder for creative output.

Short and sweet is all you get today. Updates on contests and such as I have things to update my faithful readership with (feel free to chuckle).

Means of Production

Sun warms the fragrant earth sending wrigglers to writhe in insulated depths. This is a fertile patch, though AJ’s ecological wisdom suggests that the amount of moss is an indicator we may not have sufficient drainage. Cedar boughs decomposing into the soil also suggests an alkalinity that will require attention or at least a solid pH test.

Today the sun is out and I am opting to flog my resume after this brief organization of consciousness. If I can be done by three I can diversify my means of production to include round one of digging. Evelyn’s diligence in double digging inspires me to shed the seeming necessity of a rototiller in favour of an under-appreciated bonding with my soil. Most of humanity scoffs and lets the minions do this work, why dig when you can pay cash at the grocery? Because grocery stores are killing the planet. Because the day when perfect, robust, waxy fruit is more expensive than locally grown, sustainable crops is imminent. If you do not know how to produce your own food, you let someone else tell you what to put in your body.

A decided lack of company after a weekend of people moving through my house reminds me that this space is productive: we produce community. Our means of production are meagre, and cash inevitably tight, but we manage to feed friends for simple offerings of unconditional fellowship. The garden will propagate fellowship from its roots and bear community fruit.

Existential crisis seems far from my mind, but that’s because I’m gardening and not actively seeking employment, I’m actively seeking $500/month for rent and very little else. I will continue to barter until such a time as I can no longer afford to due to health or other complications. Until that point I will put all of me into community productivity through gardening; your means of production is directly proportional to the size and quality of your community.

Regitimate Leasons

I have regitimate leasons for feelings of apathy now and again. This city is expensive, ruthless in it’s employment policies/pervasive tendencies, and gives very little hope at monetary gain for all but those with Olympic contracts. The cuts draw beads of the deepest sanguine from the veins of lethargic, comfortable inhabitants. A lack of full-time hours makes me apprehensive about paying rent, let alone removing the ballast of debt from my basket– flight being hindered by yet another lack: capital.

I also have regitimate leasons for hope. Even discouragement of an eye-infection in the middle of a dinner rush give way to the benevolence of kind-souls I have the fortune of calling friends. Alleviated optical disomfort allows me focus on the gifts of those around me, even the kind-eyed drug addicts eager to jam a trainsong outside the station.

I stop for a smoke and a story, indulgent and euphoric, the sunlight beaming white-hot through the single pane. Thoughts of cluttered resumes and follow-up interactions replaced with reality. Humanity clashes as we blunder through the universe justifying our navigational decisions, potential ports-of-call, and routes to magistrates and investors dangling the carrot of desire. You have to accept their terms if you want to eat their carrot, or you can grow your own. I like to garden.

Regitimate leasons for apathy flow back through my hope as I realize that I must attend yet another soulless shift preparing multi-national vegetables for consumption by multi-nationals. Sponge-like in its application, the effort required to wring these deluges dry requires a careful balance of personal exploration and cash-flow; It pains me to continue to end thoughts with valueless cotton and ink. This frustration has built a strength that I dwell on to drain the contents of porous despair into volatile fuel for furthering a cash-free future that seems just out of my grasp.

Regitimate comforts are often leasons for apathy, in a currency-based society, where the continuity between production and consumption has been replaced with a confusing matrix of formula and algorithm resulting in 10oz Sirloins from Nebraska equal to $27 in Vancouver. Why would you ever fight to change this? Cigarettes from the corner store and a a six-pack, Egyptian cotton, LCD screens, Japanese Engineering– all available to make your life as comfortable as possible. Mistaken for the American Dream at every turn, this is actually the result of hundreds of years of justified apathy. Even slave-owners had regitimate leasons, given the socio-political nature of those times.

Regitimate leasons are justification; excuses without the responsibility, morals without soul. The choice of happiness is the only replacement for this viciously cyclical quest for regitimacy.  Inspiration derived from a smile on the skytrain. Reverence for the dynamism of mountains. Acceptance of the means to a beginning, and the resulting time frame. I will continue to regitimize my apathy, and wring it’s spongy exterior dry on occasion for a boost of productivity. Cash is not productivity. Community is productivity. So why do I find myself connecting a mutual exclusivity to those variables? Regitimate Leasons.

More Like Trial and Error.

Wind and cold bite at my exposed exoskeleton. This bike is too small and the subtle guilt is starting to penetrate my psyche- Press On.

“Aquarius: in a constant state of emotional, social, or existential turmoil,” she relates; on some level so do I.

Procrastination is the name of the game as the comfort of a friendly glass, an infinitely understanding mind, and the softly-illuminated midnight hue break down some barriers. The flood is a bit overwhelming when Noah is behind schedule and struggling with a lumber shortage. Chords in the kitchen rouse me from this tranquillity calling on suppressed synapses propelling me toward common goals.

The sky outside is less than motivational; Classic Vancouver: windy, rotating cloudiness propagating wardrobe confusion, not a chill to the wind but a nip to the air. A minor headache and a monumental hunger drive my engine forward; sunbreaks are expected, providing solar energy to flatline the “existential turmoil”. RD understands. Mutual ADHD provides connecting points and soon we are conversing on over-thinking; redundancy lost on our careening trains of thought. The wind rattles the windows. “The Bus Mall” combined with imminent breakfast provide defiant sunshine. It bounces off the glamorous technicolour comfort.

“There’s only two outcomes, either you did and no one noticed, or you stole someone’s only form of transportation.”

Matt mentions nothing as I return to The Chalet, as I have come to think of our little commune, so for the time being I suppress yet another unfavourable interaction for a later release. The sun shines through the tarot root, the fire goddesses- inspiration gleaned prompts creative energy to swell my psyche. Diligence follows creativity, though the to do list is long, and I must begin itemizing. Divide and conquer. Conquest is much easier in the sun.

Garden, Bake, Business as usual- more like trial and error. At least my network is filling with kindred spirits.

Taking a Sad Song, Making it Better.

In loving memory of my Grandfather, Richard Kornbacher.

Who bestowed upon me an appreciation for capturing moments, and developing an eye in me that is relentless in it’s compositional experimentation. Acoustically blessed and tremendously generous, Grandpa Dick would lead you through a brush-covered forest floor to the edge of a cliff, but insist that you sit back while he follows the deer trail- nearly to peril on the rocks below. Complaints were silenced by the constant pace sent by this graying guide in his leather mocassins and trusty creature of some species clinging to his side. As the world has evolved further away from nature, I think Grandpa simply identified more with the survivalism of animal kingdom, more than the skewed and depraved society of man. He has returned to this ideal in relative peace and, though I miss this magnificent example of compassionate humanity, he will live on as constant inspiration to survive this jungle as free as the crow he nursed back to health after a bad Windex commercial went horribly worse

As the crow flies
my path may not be straight,
as the light dies, I might speak ill of fate
as the flowers bloom
I find myself in gloom

I find another photograph
One that always makes me laugh
I realize it’s alright
Mourning is a choice as well
Like almost every emotion

So Grandpa if you read this, from some tree or den or bush
Know that I’m shooting lots, and making a redoubled push
To live the dream- frame by frame, no shit, no dame, maybe with a cane

Take on the world- ignite a flame and say I came, I saw, I conquered: lived through diligence, community, and honor.

Successfully moved my phenotype to Vancouver Base Four: Code Name “S2P”, and am excited on all the projects that have I now have space to work on, and more driven to get the on-the-go stuff off to the presses! I’m feeling less than eloquent so a prioritized list will have to do:

Jude’s Top 10 Tasks for March:

1. Salt Spring Slasher, MLTCC, Portfolio, Ian’s Glass- GET THESE WEBSITES PUBLISHED!

   My good friend, and talented local designer, Ande Kuric, has bequeathed a wonderful secret to finishing on time: Set Deadlines early, avoid incessant tinkering! That’s the name of the game with these overdue projects that life has been getting in the way of lately. All play and no work makes Jude a broke, hungover, jerk.

2. Build Touring Wheels, Start increasing lung capacity and cardio-endurance- More Excercise to rebuild legs

   I will post pictures up after I go talk to the physiotherapist (likely next week….busy as can be), but basically what I’ve come up with after all the diagnoses and braces that don’t really help and stretching that makes it pop worse and all this jazz, the simple observation that my knees are not straight when I’m standing “straight”, when coupled the knowledge that there are (*gasp) Four Quads in your legs that are supposed to fire evenly but often don’t when downhill skateboarding, produce a telling tale of misaligned tension; the directionality of the weakness is rather astonishing to me. Combating this with a regimen of yoga, 20-30k cycling loops, and two hours, three times a week, at a local pool/gym (high protein diet wouldn’t hurt either…)  should catapult me into top-racing condition by next season! Then I just need to chase Raggie English down Megarun in Caulfield a couple (hundred) times.

3. Assess Eligibility for Economic Action Plan Money- $$$$ in the Bank

   Through Self-employment and possibly EI I should be able to offset a solid percentage of my monthly expenses. Develop a good business model and smart marketing for Downhill Photography and media creation/design help (as well as diversifying as much as possible, really putting myself out there for projects, ideas, experience) Riders, Companies, Distributors are all looking for help navigating the confusing and non-traditional audience that is attracted to DH.

4. Build the Dick Kornbacher Memorial Darkroom- A light-tight storage room in the basement has been approved!

   When your DSLR gets up and walks out of your house, a fact your neglectful ways have blinded you from for a number of days, it seems as though someone is telling you to use up all that photo-paper and film. If I can get the business (specifically the web2.0 theming action) together and try to make some cash off the photos I do have, I’ll be able to eventually afford a new DSLR!

5. (List to be continued as I think of projects, right now I must go empty my Fridge and bring the last things (contents of the fridge) from the stoop to the ABSOFU*KINLUTELY AWESOME new house.)

It rhymes if I say so, like my kitchen flex mad game bring neighbourhood fame and crowning stews reign down- raining down on the hungry and friendly, bring together unitedly, fellowship through food, appreciation of the earth and her bounties, increasing agricultural use of counties, bring it local with the vocal echo 100 mile, diet mimic for a while to reduce my emissions, but I don’t succumb to remission or silly superstition keep it fresh, rock the local, and together we’ll get down wit the whole world, united we’re divided by too little these days. So take it all, words that I says, and heed the data from the left and the right-wing prayers, all players, starting to realize, strategize, plan for longevity, cause it’s the only way you and I are gonna see an end in wealth and harmony.

The Frailty of Youth- Longevity comes at a cost.

Anticlimactic avalanches break over femur ridges
Neurons make white-hot bridges,
kneecap floats, pain flows, and my day is toast.

The shakedown rolls, convulses, heart pulses
I realize skin obscures the situation from my eyes, pain tells no lies
not designed for extremes, contemplating suitability of cubicle based design teams

Namesake aside I always take these sad songs and make it ride
MRI’s and hospital visits, drive one to refocus energies on business.
Motivation comes hard, must think of reward, retard, not stupid- just slow down, drain fluid

Hiatus is a great-test, and the greatest know the value:
gotta be true to YOU, your bodies voice, a choice, based on longevity
Only 20 down, and I’ll be damned, If I’m not skatin for another eighty
Rehab for a month or six so the knees don’t leave my legs useless sticks

So it’s a eulogy, skateboarding epiphany, gotta help the scene instead of rippin-
like a pimp gone legit but I got game, a new name for it: Photrippin.
Ride for free and exchange media, promotion, content, in this I’ll be content.

The rush will come again, like multiple orgasms, gotta lay the groundwork, cease the knee spasms.

Wanna jump up in my Lamborghini Gallardo?

Someday I’ll learn to speak rhymes, till then I’ll keep on typing these lines.

Synopsis:

I stretched out ligaments in such a way (while skating the British Properties) that I can barely carve on my board now- something to do with lopsided quad development…from tucking too much in the past several years. Going to take a hiatus and work on some yoga and strength training to get back up to speed. Until then I’m going to refocus my skating energy into productivity on the photography, promotional media, and web-design fronts with an algebra/pre-calc/calculus chaser (MIT Opencourseware FTW). At least the lack of skateboarding will reduce the chances of being shaken down by power-tripping VANOC security and associates.

If anyone knows of a great, cost-effective, knee-surgeon, please comment below!

-Jude

I got a feelin…

Tonight’s gonna be a good night…

So here’s the dilemma:
The system is flawed as all hell but it allows those of us blessed to live in the “first world”, if that’s what you want to call it (synonymous with Currency-centric Soceity), to do awesome things like socialize freely without having to worry about food and shelter- they’re paid for.

Reap the benefits while they last but understand the true cost of these actions. Your monetary wealth and societal comfort costs millions of people around the world their time, physical well-being, and lives across the boards.

I understand this, but I love going to shows, dancing, sharing drinks with good friends, etc; Seeking the rush, as it were.

Enjoy the freedom, accept the longevity, or lack thereof, gear up for the years to come.

Positivity, cause-
I got a feelin’….
That tonight’s gonna be a good night!