Once again Tip!

"Skydiving isn't an extreme sport, it's aviation." That was the first thing Utah said to me after we were introduced. This was my second skydive ever, and second this year. The first jump was awesome. Utah's whole attitude was that you're just learning to fly your body instead of a plane. He emphasized not JUMPING out of the plane but stepping out of it. I've gotta say that I was much less nervous this time, it also helped that no one I went with was calling their family to warn them that they might day. This time was also A LOT faster. Where we jumped has expanded and added a hangar, every instructor is super friendly and it is clear that they LOVE what they are doing.

The whole experience really has me reconsidering my current approach to work: suck it up and grab the cash. Anyways, we showed up at 10 o clock and signed a stack of release forms, basically saying we were willing to die jumping out of a plane 2 miles above the ground. Then we suited up, met our instructors and jumped on the plane by eleven. It was a really hot day, at least 90, but as our altitude increased we escaped the heat and humidity. You could even see where the humidity ended, delineated by a small blue streak under the clouds. Last time we went, I jumped first, this allowed me extra time to play with the parachute and drop into some fun spins, but my free fall was a bit shorter than others and my adrenaline was out of control. For whatever reason I kneeled on the edge, and we basically toppled over into free fall for my first jump. I hardly remember it, but the feeling of surrender was amazing. It really is just too much input for your body to process, and after jumping all resistance goes out of your body, you arch your back and fly. After a minute you pull the chord and your chute snaps back, spreads wide and slows you descent.

This time, for my second jump I was told to leave a bit of tension in my legs, just to hold myself up, but otherwise to be like a ragdoll. I just went limp, so there was no fight, and Utah jumped. He told me to watch the airplane as we exited. The first jump all I saw was the earth approaching us, but it wasn't a very good frame of reference. After jumping, I was impressed by how quickly the plane disappeared from view, and totally immersed in the experience. I forgot to arch, but Utah had said that the whole arching thing doesn't matter, this is about staying loose and enjoying the experience, not cutting yourself off from it with anxiety. He reminded me, then we did some arm turns and leg turns. He had me check the altimeter, we played a bit more then pulled the chute. Being the last person out of the plane sucks as far as parachuting goes. You have a lot more land to cover, so you can't spin et cetera, instead he explained to me how chutes worked and we watched one of the instructors pull some stunts. Under the canopy it is super peaceful. If you flare in mid-air everything becomes silent, the wind slows down and you hear absolutely nothing. We flew for a bit longer, then touched down. He had my lean back as we landed and my feet didn't even touch the ground. Shit was cake just like last time. Coming down was wonderful, but the rest of the day wasn't very exciting, anything we did seemed insubstantial and unimportant, all we could think about was how to get back up into the air.

Go fucking skydive!

Free running and Parkour

A couple nights ago my friend linked me to this insane Japanese game show called Ninja Warrior. It consists of a contestant running through obstacle courses of increasing difficulty. The feats of skill and strength displayed are really inspiring, there is just such a great deal of grace involved in these movements. Somehow this led me back to look over some parkour/freerunning clips, District 13 and the beginning of Casino Royale. I then watched Jump London which features Sebastien Foucan and two other free runners running through London. In this documentary Foucan describes free running as an act of freedom, one where all these constructions are meant to limit movement and control people's actions but within free running you take these obstacles and turn them into playthings and thereby completely change their purpose. Aside from being beautiful and courageous, these acts speak to me on a different level, I want to view these obstacles in my path not in a serious fashion but in a subversive one, how can I take this and draw enjoyment from it? Is this rail really meant to keep me in line or is it just a more exciting way of getting from point a to b.

There is a really playful childlike aspect to this sport. Which is something we need to maintain in all aspects of our life for success. So how does this all relate to things other than running around injuring your knees, ankles, and fingers? Foucan says free running is a way of life, a way of escaping from all these controls and defying them. In my life I am only attracted to things so much as they enable me to become free. Free from need, free from thought, free from doubt, free from fear, and this art ties directly into that desire. I am interested in exercise because it frees me from my thoughts and imaginary reality, it grounds me. I am interested in social interactions because they allow me to see the beliefs that still chain me into certain accepted ways of expression. I am interested in certain spiritual teachings because they enable me to see the ways in which my ego traps me. I desire to live a life of complete freedom, not freedom from consequences but freedom from restriction, containment, and limitation.

If everyone were an artist

In Paris I wonder how anyone goes to work so nonchalantly, how the people cannot marvel in the beauty of their city, and why they are not all artists. I traveled to Paris and stayed for only six days. It has been called a city of the eye, everywhere I go I see beauty. The pastel colors of the buildings along the Seine draw my eyes up to the sky which is pale gray and filled with clouds. I watch the clouds momentarily, as I sit on the tip of Pont-Neuf relaxing. I watch as the Seine rolls towards me and snap a couple photos. I find it impossible that anything gets done in this city. I imagine everyone here constantly calling-in to work and sitting along the Seine, sketching the beautiful sometimes bare-breasted women as they sit and take in the sun. I think about what would happen to the world if everyone was an artist. The President would show up an hour late to his meeting with the leader of Iran because of a sudden inspiration the night before, which kept him awake until 8 in the morning frantically sketching strange vibrant pictures of a world on-fire, and then slept his traditional 8 hours since all great artists need their rest and arrived when he got there, as brilliant artists do. Instead of arguing over world domination, and neo-imperialism government leaders would fight over possession of art-works. France would be assaulted by diplomats seeking to regain their nations prized pieces, the Louvre would become the victim of terrorist attacks. Fundamentalists would not pursue Islam but instead classicism and deface all non-classical works, with the exception of only the best neoclassical works. Most of the bombs planted by the neoclassical fundamentalists would not explode, apparently the bomb-maker was more interested in a pleasing aesthetic, and could not bear the restrictions of traditional chemistry. This would all be for the best since the bomb was intended to be flushed down a toilet, but the toilet was out of order and the plumber was photographing it, focused on capturing this powerful image of bassesse, the toilet overflowing with shit, the plumber adjusting his shutter-speed and the lighting in order to fully capture the awfulness of the scene instead of repairing the toilet. Had the bomb exploded the terrorist would have been picked up by an ambulance which would arrive somewhat late, due to the driver taking the most scenic route and when he arrived the surgeons would first do a couple preliminary sketches of what the surgery would look like just to get a good handle on the line and to make sure the surgery was somewhat aesthetically pleasing or even better, had an allegorical or perhaps biographic aspect to it. Perhaps the terrorist had blown open the left side of his belly, in this sort of case a surgeon could take two entirely different routes. He could pursue either an asymmetric approach or a symmetrical one. In the first case the surgeon would repair the patient's internal organs as best he could but when sewing him up he would make sure to draw attention to his work, possibly signing his name in the skin of the patient in order to leave no doubt to the provenance of the piece, the second possibility would be similar aside from the fact that the artist would needlessly stitch up the right side of the terrorist's belly as well, and then work from there perhaps pursuing further unnecessary surgery within the space between the two stitchings. The stitchings themselves might have a great degree of patternization, or perhaps call attention to various idiosyncracies of the patient's body. After surgery, the patient would rest in the hospital. He would be fed meals and taken care of. Depending on the cook, the food might be very uneven but at times spectacular, as is the case in the oeuvres of many of the great artists, or perhaps a bit more cautious at times reaching a pinnacle and then slowly ascending again to another peak. Sometimes breakfast would be standard-fare just so the cook could ensure he still had the basics down, but other times the cook would restrict himself to preparing a meal made solely of carrots, he would display a great appreciation for the nuances between one carrot and another, seeking to show a wide variety of carrots and emphasizing their own uniqueness. Some meals would seem to have a particular theme, such as if the patient were to be fed a meal of grapes, pomegranates, and snake served in a bowl with trees, and a naked man and woman engraved into it. Other meals would seem to have absolutely no method to them, and be barely edible, blackberries, potatoes, salmon, and syrup might be described by the chef as a meal created to illustrate the chaotic nature of life and challenge the viewer, or eater's preconceived notions of what a meal was. Aside from the food, the terrorist was somewhat uncomfortable with being sketched at all times by the nursing staff. He would step out of the shower and be told to hold that pose, or take a step back into the sun-light. The trial would go on almost indefinitely with the lawyers interested more in creating moving speeches of infinite length, rattling on and on about the human condition, their heartaches, the battle raging within even the most banal and acceptable citizens, stopping at nothing creating arguments of poetic worth with little attention to logic which would be dismissed as a modernist approach to argumentation which has been completely outdated. Needlessly arguing logically would be a sure-fire way to turn the jury against their client, the jury was not there to determine right or wrong but whether the law was in fact interfering with the development and expression of a nascent artist. Only the bare minimum of law would be upheld, no rape, no murder, well except in certain cases, but public nudity would be encouraged, obesity would be popular only in baroque areas, many facets of life would become greatly complicated. Setting an appointment with your dentist could quickly become impossible: “Hello, Doctor, I'd like to come in for a cleaning on Tuesday if you have any openings.”
“Sorry, I can't just force myself to work, I need inspiration.” “My teeth hurt!” “I work on my own terms sir, I am not a simpleton, my work is my life!” Eventually, your dentist might bust through your door perhaps at 2 am as his muse struck him and moved him to finally clean your teeth. The tooth cleaning would go quite well, but perhaps he becomes inspired by your left bicuspit and decides to curve it into your mouth or outwards, arguing that the tooth has become symbolic of the struggle for individuality in a highly commodified culture. Your dental records or any other medical records would include bizarre anecdotes concerning your injuries or allergies, “Don is allergic to amoxicillin and patronizing women, not to mention he has a general distaste for authority and leans toward anarchy. This could stem from an overbearing mother and a father who was a dolt and preferred Matisse to Picasso to give an idea of how out of touch he was...Don has actually never been an alcoholic but having become a writer we felt it would only be appropriate if he followed in the great footsteps of Faulkner and Hemingway, if not in reality then at least in our report.”
“Jeremy's fifth heart bypass surgery is really no surprise to me as a surgeon or as a human being. His heart is backed up completely, he expresses hardly anything in his sterile modern work, and his relationship with his children is completely stilted. While they are here to check on them, there really appears to be little true concern, simply an ersatz of compassion.” This is of course because neither of Jeremy's children, Marvin or Melanie felt they could adequately express their feelings to complete strangers so they thought best to exaggerate and do their best imitation of B rate stage actors, their performance piece mimics the way in which the media creates a spectacle out of death and removes compassion from it. Unfortunately, everyone is wrapped up with their own creations and can barely notice their inventive performance, perhaps there would be a huge shortage of audience for all these would be Mollieres and Degas. Eventually art would reach a point where it was so confrontational that even the apathetic, or self-interested artists would have to react to it. Construction workers would drop wrecking balls from 40 stories high as commentary on the daunting nature of mortality and seemingly random acts of fate.