Sunday, November 30, 2008
Friday, November 28, 2008
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
Georgia On My Mind.
Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil, a book made movie,
leaves me in a profound need to go see this place.
Not just any place, or any numerous city wonders of Georgia - such as Atlanta. But a very special town, specific to the nature of the author's journey. Maybe that journey is what compelled me to make my own to Savannah.
I shouldn't of been so pressed with leave from work and the time chosen. Mid winter, yet that in itself lead to the nature of appeal left frozen in my mind from the pages I had read. Was it ideally the way the author had described? Yet his fond description was that of summer. What did I expect to find?
It was only a brief getaway, but worth it never the less. A mini vacation... I tend to do those quite often. Before I ventured, I dreamed of 2 children running around the hallways in a candle lit plantation house. Strange, as if some part of Savannah was reaching out to me before I arrived.
When I did arrive, I found myself in the midst of winter, with not as much festivities or occasions to attend. Although, tourism knows no halt based on just weather. I booked a cozy bed and breakfast down one of the many historic streets that ran rampid to and fro. I missed every single breakfast, as I chose to utilize my vacation for some long overdue sleeping in.
All throughout the town one can find statues, memoirs of personal and historical events, plaques, memorials, graveyards. As a matter of fact, half of the houses and streets in use today are actually built over the remains of many lost souls... as the majority of Savannah is a graveyard in itself. Just happens the population ran out of room to build, so they built on top of the old sacred grounds. Interesting.
The architecture is truly amazing from this time frame and one can recapture the feel of living just by being in the area. The homes and mansions, each unique and appreciated.
Nearly all buildings contain haint blue (represents water) in their construction somewhere, usually found in the doorways. A sense of evil eye for this area, or that of the passover with blood - it is to warn off evil spirits. Of course I also went on a ghost tour, it wouldn't be a visit to Savannah without one. The tour was at night and leads you to the Colonial Park Cemetery. I went back during the day to snoop around. It is an interesting thing, reading tombstones from all over... you never know what stories have been left behind as immortal memoirs.
The cold-chilled winter air prevented me from doing much site seeing on foot, especially at night. So one evening, I decided to take a horse and buggy tour across the many squares and parks. A warm thick wool blanket accompanied me in the dark airy night. There are 24 squares in total, 3 which have nearly disappeared into time. This form of transportation literally transported me back in time... to an era without any other means of traveling other than a horse and buggy, and the guide filling my ears with history. History, which had lead me here to begin with.
The Riverfront, absolutely my favorite. Consisting of 19th century architecture restored. Did you know that these buildings were the cotton warehouses and the central trade area? There is this candy shop on the corner where you can purchase the best red licorice in the world. But my most favorite shop on this thoroughfare happens to be the kite shop. After purchasing a really unique kite (which I and others still have not been able to get in flight), I decided to treat myself to dinner at the River House Seafood Restaurant. I don't do much with bread, but this place had a savory honey wheat potato bread that I actually bought 2 loaves to take with me. And the food from the ocean was just delightful - blue crab cakes and a caesar! Come to find out you can actually order baked goods from them anywhere in the U. S., http://www.riverhouseseafood.com/. After dinner I sat and watched the famous tactics of the Savannah Georgia Boat Fire Brigade. That was a real treat!
I ventured into the night life as well, and found a club that suited my needs downstairs. I took this picture of the stairwell, as it spawned my creativeness to venture down wall murals as a side job. I thought to myself, that's easy enough, and I could make money!
As usual, I can't afford to go to all the museums and art facilities places offer, let alone have the time. So I always research, if you will, all in the area and pick one if not two to indulge in. This trip called for a very special house, the Owens-Thomas House presented by the Telfair Museum, depicting symmetrical English Regency architecture. The designer, William Jay, had built it so that every side in every detail was identical to the other side. So if there was a doorway on the left leading somewhere, there was a doorway on the right leading nowhere. If you can't tell why I chose this as the final cut for the seeing, hehe. Out back one could find the servants quarters and a gift shop filled with fine things and antiques.
In 1794, my ancestors landed and founded The Pirate's House. A tavern which lead to the great tale of Treasure Island. Har Har Mateys!
On foot, nearly the last day of my stay, I found the Cathedral of St. John the Baptist. This looming structure was built in 1833 and still stands in awe in the middle of the historic district. I went inside, as the doors were open that day, to look around. Even though I am not a religious person, I always buy a candle (to help promote funding in upkeep of the architectural beauties, along with postcards) and light it when in the transept.
In a must see journey to capture some piece of history based on the book, I ventured towards the Bonaventure Cemetery.
This location is quite off the main fairways of historic Savannah, as it is right next to the Savannah River. There Johnny Mercer wrote the song Moon River and was also burried. I sat on his memorial. It is a bench, " Ac-cent-tchu-ates The Positive - Autumn Leaves - Blues In The Night - Charade - Jeepers Creepers - Laura - Moon River - My Shining Hour - On The Atchison Topeka & Santa Fe / Come Rain Or Come Shine - The Days Of Wine and Roses - Hooray For Hollywood - In The Cool, Cool, Cool Of The Evening - One For My Baby - Something's Gotta Give - That Old Black Magic - You Must Have Been A Beautiful Baby".
Then of course it wouldn't be fitting if I did not find the infamous Bird Girl statue, that donned the cover of the book that brought me here. Later in years, a girlfriend and myself attended a performance of the book acted solely by the author with a piano, and of course the infamous Chibli. It was quite a different rendition of any artistry I had seen, and I enjoyed it quite thoroughly.
Being so far away from my original destination... I decided to explore, which lead to the island. It was overcast and grey. The road from Bonaventure Cemetery lead over a bridge
and stretched far off into Georgia's bayou of nature.
The road surrounded by water and mangroves, passed an old lighthouse in disrepair. Once at the island itself, it reminded me of small beach locations where everything was situated on a strip with a handful of tourism appeals and hotels. Yet, here it felt different. It was not commercialized and had a small town feel. At the end of the isle was a tall, looming black and white working lighthouse. Unfortunately, it was late in the evening when I did arrive and closing times had passed a few hours earlier. I had thought that the island was more appeasing to me than Savannah itself, which in turn nearly had me change my life's course in moving to this location about a year after my trip. I came to see Savannah and what did I find, Tybee Island.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IumnmhnPJKQ
(Georgia On My Mind - Ray Charles)
leaves me in a profound need to go see this place.
Not just any place, or any numerous city wonders of Georgia - such as Atlanta. But a very special town, specific to the nature of the author's journey. Maybe that journey is what compelled me to make my own to Savannah.
I shouldn't of been so pressed with leave from work and the time chosen. Mid winter, yet that in itself lead to the nature of appeal left frozen in my mind from the pages I had read. Was it ideally the way the author had described? Yet his fond description was that of summer. What did I expect to find?
It was only a brief getaway, but worth it never the less. A mini vacation... I tend to do those quite often. Before I ventured, I dreamed of 2 children running around the hallways in a candle lit plantation house. Strange, as if some part of Savannah was reaching out to me before I arrived.
When I did arrive, I found myself in the midst of winter, with not as much festivities or occasions to attend. Although, tourism knows no halt based on just weather. I booked a cozy bed and breakfast down one of the many historic streets that ran rampid to and fro. I missed every single breakfast, as I chose to utilize my vacation for some long overdue sleeping in.
All throughout the town one can find statues, memoirs of personal and historical events, plaques, memorials, graveyards. As a matter of fact, half of the houses and streets in use today are actually built over the remains of many lost souls... as the majority of Savannah is a graveyard in itself. Just happens the population ran out of room to build, so they built on top of the old sacred grounds. Interesting.
The architecture is truly amazing from this time frame and one can recapture the feel of living just by being in the area. The homes and mansions, each unique and appreciated.
Nearly all buildings contain haint blue (represents water) in their construction somewhere, usually found in the doorways. A sense of evil eye for this area, or that of the passover with blood - it is to warn off evil spirits. Of course I also went on a ghost tour, it wouldn't be a visit to Savannah without one. The tour was at night and leads you to the Colonial Park Cemetery. I went back during the day to snoop around. It is an interesting thing, reading tombstones from all over... you never know what stories have been left behind as immortal memoirs.
The cold-chilled winter air prevented me from doing much site seeing on foot, especially at night. So one evening, I decided to take a horse and buggy tour across the many squares and parks. A warm thick wool blanket accompanied me in the dark airy night. There are 24 squares in total, 3 which have nearly disappeared into time. This form of transportation literally transported me back in time... to an era without any other means of traveling other than a horse and buggy, and the guide filling my ears with history. History, which had lead me here to begin with.
The Riverfront, absolutely my favorite. Consisting of 19th century architecture restored. Did you know that these buildings were the cotton warehouses and the central trade area? There is this candy shop on the corner where you can purchase the best red licorice in the world. But my most favorite shop on this thoroughfare happens to be the kite shop. After purchasing a really unique kite (which I and others still have not been able to get in flight), I decided to treat myself to dinner at the River House Seafood Restaurant. I don't do much with bread, but this place had a savory honey wheat potato bread that I actually bought 2 loaves to take with me. And the food from the ocean was just delightful - blue crab cakes and a caesar! Come to find out you can actually order baked goods from them anywhere in the U. S., http://www.riverhouseseafood.com/. After dinner I sat and watched the famous tactics of the Savannah Georgia Boat Fire Brigade. That was a real treat!
I ventured into the night life as well, and found a club that suited my needs downstairs. I took this picture of the stairwell, as it spawned my creativeness to venture down wall murals as a side job. I thought to myself, that's easy enough, and I could make money!
As usual, I can't afford to go to all the museums and art facilities places offer, let alone have the time. So I always research, if you will, all in the area and pick one if not two to indulge in. This trip called for a very special house, the Owens-Thomas House presented by the Telfair Museum, depicting symmetrical English Regency architecture. The designer, William Jay, had built it so that every side in every detail was identical to the other side. So if there was a doorway on the left leading somewhere, there was a doorway on the right leading nowhere. If you can't tell why I chose this as the final cut for the seeing, hehe. Out back one could find the servants quarters and a gift shop filled with fine things and antiques.
In 1794, my ancestors landed and founded The Pirate's House. A tavern which lead to the great tale of Treasure Island. Har Har Mateys!
On foot, nearly the last day of my stay, I found the Cathedral of St. John the Baptist. This looming structure was built in 1833 and still stands in awe in the middle of the historic district. I went inside, as the doors were open that day, to look around. Even though I am not a religious person, I always buy a candle (to help promote funding in upkeep of the architectural beauties, along with postcards) and light it when in the transept.
In a must see journey to capture some piece of history based on the book, I ventured towards the Bonaventure Cemetery.
This location is quite off the main fairways of historic Savannah, as it is right next to the Savannah River. There Johnny Mercer wrote the song Moon River and was also burried. I sat on his memorial. It is a bench, " Ac-cent-tchu-ates The Positive - Autumn Leaves - Blues In The Night - Charade - Jeepers Creepers - Laura - Moon River - My Shining Hour - On The Atchison Topeka & Santa Fe / Come Rain Or Come Shine - The Days Of Wine and Roses - Hooray For Hollywood - In The Cool, Cool, Cool Of The Evening - One For My Baby - Something's Gotta Give - That Old Black Magic - You Must Have Been A Beautiful Baby".
Then of course it wouldn't be fitting if I did not find the infamous Bird Girl statue, that donned the cover of the book that brought me here. Later in years, a girlfriend and myself attended a performance of the book acted solely by the author with a piano, and of course the infamous Chibli. It was quite a different rendition of any artistry I had seen, and I enjoyed it quite thoroughly.
Being so far away from my original destination... I decided to explore, which lead to the island. It was overcast and grey. The road from Bonaventure Cemetery lead over a bridge
and stretched far off into Georgia's bayou of nature.The road surrounded by water and mangroves, passed an old lighthouse in disrepair. Once at the island itself, it reminded me of small beach locations where everything was situated on a strip with a handful of tourism appeals and hotels. Yet, here it felt different. It was not commercialized and had a small town feel. At the end of the isle was a tall, looming black and white working lighthouse. Unfortunately, it was late in the evening when I did arrive and closing times had passed a few hours earlier. I had thought that the island was more appeasing to me than Savannah itself, which in turn nearly had me change my life's course in moving to this location about a year after my trip. I came to see Savannah and what did I find, Tybee Island.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IumnmhnPJKQ
(Georgia On My Mind - Ray Charles)
Sunday, November 23, 2008
The North House.
Often a time, my route leads me doing transactions with a old man who lives off the beaten path. Literally, a nearly uninhabited island in which he calls home. Plus this island is full of wild raspberries for picking. In living this way, all his daily living transactions (shopping, food, mail, banking) are done in a fashion where only special vessels can get to his location.Each time I step foot on his island, I find myself stopped for a day of experience. After all his business is sorted, I pause before I head out and we discuss things. Yet, it isn't so much as discussing, as it is just gibberish... as each one of us hardly understands the other. He speaking a special dialect, the equivalent for Pig Latin. And I in my broken language. Yet we laugh and I seem to always learn something new from him and his stories, if even minute.
Met by his odd gait coming out down the hill, I wondered what today would bring. This eccentric old man in his French painter's hat and long grey hair and beard, a farmer, yet in younger a day I gathered rode motorcycles and was even a soldier at war. Occasionally he tries to sell me odd ball things he has collected over the years. I don't think money means much to him, yet with today's society he needs to have income at his age and his current location.
Today he starts the conversation out in German. No wonder I can't understand half of what he speaks, he mixes and meddles the languages he knows! He spoke of schooling, which he hadn't had much - 5 years. Enough for his time I suppose, reading and writing and arithmetic. But he explained he was fluent in German, Finnish, Romanian, Norwegian, and Romany (very interesting indeed as that implicates his lineage as a Gypsy). Five languages, equally challenging and with very little education as a background. He confessed he was never interested in English, and didn't know anything except a song... Then he started singing...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=88DIh9vgyr8
(You Are My Sunshine - Flower)
And he was so enthusiastic with the tune even though his English was absolutely horrible, I couldn't resist singing along. So we sat and finished the song. After we were done, we laughed and laughed. At the end of each visit, he gives me chocolate as a gift.
These are moments in life shared with persons who reflect in you.
Saturday, November 22, 2008
Stranded.
A dance across the ocean water.
In the the water ridden cabin, we bailed.
Floating now to a deserted island.
Desolate of everything but nature,
In the beauty of itself.
Survival, steady love.
As it grows, we grow and find ourselves
Washed ashore to find the meaning.
What we came for is forgotten.
Now as we learn how to live, we make discoveries.
Through skill and working we notice the change.
The change is not only shown in subtle differences, but felt.
Now we look at what we noticed we were,
And now have become.
As we watch the sun set past the dolphins,
We saw the light.
But were not in acceptance of the freedom of going back.
Our decision was to remain, as we returned to what we had built.
The better choice has turned our eyes to what we are now,
Stranded in the midst of love, happy.
Floating now to a deserted island.
Desolate of everything but nature,
In the beauty of itself.
Survival, steady love.
As it grows, we grow and find ourselves
Washed ashore to find the meaning.
What we came for is forgotten.
Now as we learn how to live, we make discoveries.
Through skill and working we notice the change.
The change is not only shown in subtle differences, but felt.
Now we look at what we noticed we were,
And now have become.
As we watch the sun set past the dolphins,
We saw the light.
But were not in acceptance of the freedom of going back.
Our decision was to remain, as we returned to what we had built.
The better choice has turned our eyes to what we are now,
Stranded in the midst of love, happy.
(Written in 1997)
Friday, November 21, 2008
The Truth Is Out There.
Are all these words true?
I know not what I say.
But what I feel.
Not what I see,
More than heard.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=G1CP5Wor2_4Thursday, November 20, 2008
Giving In.
My fantasy was shattered.
Into my reality,
Nothing really mattered.
Until yesterday.
When a birdless soul told me about flying home.
To be free.
Throughout all, this bird was with another.
The two were inseparable in mind, in soul.
Until the creature needed the toll.
Whether it be jealousy or secret,
The creature gave in to both.
What lies ahead is no telling,
Now that the two have departed.
When each longs for the other,
One runs away.
The other becomes hollow.
Therefore, they have gone far away to distant heights.
Protected from other's thoughts.
Flying home.
The birdless souls fly to be free
Of one's own.
Into my reality,
Nothing really mattered.
Until yesterday.
When a birdless soul told me about flying home.
To be free.
Throughout all, this bird was with another.
The two were inseparable in mind, in soul.
Until the creature needed the toll.
Whether it be jealousy or secret,
The creature gave in to both.
What lies ahead is no telling,
Now that the two have departed.
When each longs for the other,
One runs away.
The other becomes hollow.
Therefore, they have gone far away to distant heights.
Protected from other's thoughts.
Flying home.
The birdless souls fly to be free
Of one's own.
(Written Years Ago)
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
My Medium.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QbJd_cck8fo
About one year ago, I chose to pick up a brush again. Not knowing where it would take me, or what creation it would conceive... mind to hand to brush. My medium, this time, is acrylic. I decide to make more Oriental artworks, yet this time as gifts for friends and family. No money being exchanged, nothing wanted. And also another attempt at my very own wall mural for a change. One out of 4 projects I did complete. When will I have time...
See, the last 6 years have been nothing but art for money, nothing but wall murals... and other people's wishes. I lost all passion for my skillful craft. Once it was a gleeful hobby, with a satisfaction of I am the artist and I am the best, and when works were completed they were tremendously appraised. But as soon as money started shifting hands, after about the third go, I lost interest. You could see in my artwork, where I frayed. Well, accordingly no one noticed anything different, but I the perfectionist had.
Recently, off shore, I have been toting a sketchbook around with pencil for spur of the moment rantings of smudge on paper. But this past year in my one completed Oriental artwork and my 1/4 finished wall mural of my own, I noticed that my style had changed completely all together. My colors aren't right and not as fluid. It just seems that my gusto has been lost. Or maybe my prior disgusting ambition has left this residue of an uncharacteristic form and color representation. Plus, over all the years I leaned towards pen and ink anyway. So it is possible that I have lost touch with blending techniques of paint. I am unsure, but time will tell. As any practice, out of practice can have faults. But yet, the other 2 projects hold my special flare and keen eye?
The History:
As one grew up on a sailboat, one had no chance of drawing, coloring, or the like until a later age and date. My true talent was not found until that of second grade, as school drastically pulled me away from the oceans. We all sat around a lab table in the middle of a classroom, where a vase of fresh cut pussy willows stood in the middle. The teacher instructed us to use pastels and draw the vase and plant as we saw it. Did I mention I dislike pastels, yuck, what a mess, and then the hairspray (I have worked with them over the years a few times and still find myself cringing when it comes to pastels). At the end of the session, I had presented a realistic representation of the still life we had been asked to copy. My mother was shocked when I brought home this piece of art, my very first artwork. Still to this day she wishes to have the original, I think I might frame it and give it to her as a gift. With my new found talent, my mother hired a private art teacher. Under this teacher, I used every sort of medium there is known to man for art. Pastels, pencil, silk screen, pen and ink, oils, acrylics, watercolor, stencil, you name it - I at least tried it once. Over the first few years of my young life, I had grown found of pen and ink and acrylic, yet watercolor had its appeal at times as well. I applied to a well to do art high school, which I ended up moving away from (which is just as well - school and art mixed would of totally killed my ambition). But all through out school, I was commissioned to odd jobs, even to the extent of classmates paying me to draw on their skin (haha, I have to laugh at that one, which I gladly accepted their money knowing that they knew it wasn't permanent). Which in turn gave me good practice as I apprenticed at a tattoo parlor later in life. But all through the years one thing has remained the same... I can create any art type from fantasy to surreal, cartoon to real life, whether it is my own creation or that of a direct copy from sight to hand. I am the best at what I do, open to constructive criticism, and am egotistically so about my art. I am that good and I'm not conceded, just convinced.
My time here for this season is short, so I will only be able to share a little of what I have created.
So stay tuned...
About one year ago, I chose to pick up a brush again. Not knowing where it would take me, or what creation it would conceive... mind to hand to brush. My medium, this time, is acrylic. I decide to make more Oriental artworks, yet this time as gifts for friends and family. No money being exchanged, nothing wanted. And also another attempt at my very own wall mural for a change. One out of 4 projects I did complete. When will I have time...
See, the last 6 years have been nothing but art for money, nothing but wall murals... and other people's wishes. I lost all passion for my skillful craft. Once it was a gleeful hobby, with a satisfaction of I am the artist and I am the best, and when works were completed they were tremendously appraised. But as soon as money started shifting hands, after about the third go, I lost interest. You could see in my artwork, where I frayed. Well, accordingly no one noticed anything different, but I the perfectionist had.
Recently, off shore, I have been toting a sketchbook around with pencil for spur of the moment rantings of smudge on paper. But this past year in my one completed Oriental artwork and my 1/4 finished wall mural of my own, I noticed that my style had changed completely all together. My colors aren't right and not as fluid. It just seems that my gusto has been lost. Or maybe my prior disgusting ambition has left this residue of an uncharacteristic form and color representation. Plus, over all the years I leaned towards pen and ink anyway. So it is possible that I have lost touch with blending techniques of paint. I am unsure, but time will tell. As any practice, out of practice can have faults. But yet, the other 2 projects hold my special flare and keen eye?
The History:
As one grew up on a sailboat, one had no chance of drawing, coloring, or the like until a later age and date. My true talent was not found until that of second grade, as school drastically pulled me away from the oceans. We all sat around a lab table in the middle of a classroom, where a vase of fresh cut pussy willows stood in the middle. The teacher instructed us to use pastels and draw the vase and plant as we saw it. Did I mention I dislike pastels, yuck, what a mess, and then the hairspray (I have worked with them over the years a few times and still find myself cringing when it comes to pastels). At the end of the session, I had presented a realistic representation of the still life we had been asked to copy. My mother was shocked when I brought home this piece of art, my very first artwork. Still to this day she wishes to have the original, I think I might frame it and give it to her as a gift. With my new found talent, my mother hired a private art teacher. Under this teacher, I used every sort of medium there is known to man for art. Pastels, pencil, silk screen, pen and ink, oils, acrylics, watercolor, stencil, you name it - I at least tried it once. Over the first few years of my young life, I had grown found of pen and ink and acrylic, yet watercolor had its appeal at times as well. I applied to a well to do art high school, which I ended up moving away from (which is just as well - school and art mixed would of totally killed my ambition). But all through out school, I was commissioned to odd jobs, even to the extent of classmates paying me to draw on their skin (haha, I have to laugh at that one, which I gladly accepted their money knowing that they knew it wasn't permanent). Which in turn gave me good practice as I apprenticed at a tattoo parlor later in life. But all through the years one thing has remained the same... I can create any art type from fantasy to surreal, cartoon to real life, whether it is my own creation or that of a direct copy from sight to hand. I am the best at what I do, open to constructive criticism, and am egotistically so about my art. I am that good and I'm not conceded, just convinced.
My time here for this season is short, so I will only be able to share a little of what I have created.
So stay tuned...
Sunday, November 16, 2008
Into The Abyss Of Nothingness.
I have nothing to say. Nothing to report. Nothing to remember. No poetry flowing. No creative hints, what-so-ever. Yet, I choose to write on this drought specific. Is it a drought, truly? Does that mean I have removed all chaotic thought from mind and entered into a lull? Or does it mean I am just too busy to maintain a creative splurge? Ah, here comes a memory...
All these thoughts running rapid in my mind, only preventing one from pure sleep or relaxation! I wish I had a switch to turn it off, my inner computer. Wouldn't it be nice to think of nothing. Just nothing. Nothing at all.
Sighs.
Now that I am there,
maybe this is pathway to zen.
Saturday, November 15, 2008
Friday, November 14, 2008
Where Do They Take You?
Day by day, my dreams capsize.
As I think in deep thought,
Of wishes I could be.
Only a few popped into my head.
I wish I was a jet.
So I could soar through the spacious sky.
Cut through the white puffs of cloud.
Glide above the water as the dolphins and the whales splash at play.
No, a spacecraft would be neat.
To go to far and distant places.
And look at the beauty of Earth from afar.
How its white, blue, and green blend in such harmony.
The most exotic would be a dolphin.
Living in the underworld of light and dark.
Seeing treasures, ships, and sailors.
Making contact with all the living marine creatures.
Jumping out of the sea to catch that special glance of the land ahead.
And the hot pound of the sun that hits my sleek, silver grey body.
All these that I speak,
Someday,
I pray that I will go and see all the dreams
I want to be.
(Written 15 Years Ago)
Thursday, November 13, 2008
刮痧
A traditional ancient form of Chinese medicine.
Gua Sha
Strokes, in an ordered fashion. From head to foot, follow the meridians in which you seek. Best used with Kwan Loong Oil. Petechiae forms as the skin allows wind. The Chinese use this hand held tool, until the skin bleeds.
Mine is made of an animal horn.
If no sha appears, then the area of location does not have ailment.
Please boys and girls, do not try this at home without proper training... it is important to have the correct positioning and indication locations in a proper order of treatment. If not, you confuse the working meridians within and can make yourself worse or it can cause other problems.
I have tried many western techniques in regards to physical therapy and other types of treatment programs. After years of acupuncture and this new found non-invasive form, I am convinced that those of ancient knew what they were doing in how to defeat ailments of the body, along with promoting health and longevity.
Strokes, in an ordered fashion. From head to foot, follow the meridians in which you seek. Best used with Kwan Loong Oil. Petechiae forms as the skin allows wind. The Chinese use this hand held tool, until the skin bleeds.
Mine is made of an animal horn.
If no sha appears, then the area of location does not have ailment.
Please boys and girls, do not try this at home without proper training... it is important to have the correct positioning and indication locations in a proper order of treatment. If not, you confuse the working meridians within and can make yourself worse or it can cause other problems.
I have tried many western techniques in regards to physical therapy and other types of treatment programs. After years of acupuncture and this new found non-invasive form, I am convinced that those of ancient knew what they were doing in how to defeat ailments of the body, along with promoting health and longevity.
Tickled.
I would of never thought that buying hockey skates would feel so... satisfying.
Always in the form of being on the water somehow, I put my land legs to use on frozen waters at nearly 5 years of age. At the age of 12, I traded my figure skates in for the boy's toys... hockey skates. By the age 14 I was nearly the only girl who even played, let alone used that type of skates. I haven't really skated since the age of 16... life changes lead to other hobbies and such. I think maybe I went once or twice in my early twenties, didn't miss a beat. It was like riding a bike, you never loose touch.
I just recently went to the sports store, in search of a long ago passion. Once found in the correct size, I stated "I'll take them". The feeling that came with saying those words was as if a piece of me had returned. Now I just need to find some usable ice.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BGSW1jCsmCQ
(Vanity Fair - The Ocean Blue)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BGSW1jCsmCQ
(Vanity Fair - The Ocean Blue)
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
Obsession 2.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lIkuduk0JMM
(The Gift - Way Out West)
(The Gift - Way Out West)
Nature's way of brightening a day.
Simple in fractal and pattern.
If you look to the sky, you might even see Saturn.
The westward breeze rustling the leaves and trees.
Clouds moving onward.
Waves of tidal cycles without fail.
The purest of forms. Only found in nature.
The one thing in life without chaos based on entropy.
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