As there has been a serious dearth of skate material for an extended period on the blog, I am outsourcing this duty to two authors. I will allow them to introduce themselves as they so desire, and suggest they publish whatever content they deem relevant. If I find the time, I will do my continue the whining section.
Saturday, December 26, 2020
How Will You Spent Your Time, Reborn?
Hey, I got a project, can you help?
If a man asks for help, you help him. I still had a bamboo deck that my sister had given me in detroit, and I fitted some old trucks and hardware and wheels with custom rusted bearings already in place, and gripped her up and took the red line south.
To put it all out there, I can't ollie anymore. I spent some time trying, and got video evidence that technically, I can, but I feel wobbly like a baby gazelle trying to get to milk before the carnivores get there. We lit up the spot for the homie's video project, and talked about the ethics of skating historic spots and 3c showed up with a couple of friends; one of whom is a painter who likes Schiele, and another guy who I was too awkward to find out about but with whom I expect to hang out in the future. We set up the lights, did the interviews ( I filmed a bit of it. Filming interviews is a bit of a bore, but I'll do anything for IS).
It felt unbalanced being sober, in unscuffed shoes, unable to skate, on a mostly new set up. I understand why my back is so fucked up now; too much street pushing for too many years, on the same side. Don't forget to push switch kids. Gonna go back to massage torture therapy Monday morning.
Sunday, October 11, 2020
Epilogue
Skate?
Sorry man, I don't have a board anymore. But I'll walk around with you.
It was spitting rain. The roads alternated wet and dryish. The temperature was perfect though. We met at my old house and went north. IS battled some marble microspots and took some slams.
Even in the rain, longs sections of Taipei are smooth and dry because of the overhangs. At one such overhang, he handed me his deck and I threw it down and ollied a few times, finishing with a powerslide. It felt good.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fi33-cITS0s
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6DXqXPYj3-Y
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2zPIod2wjYE
It rained more so we went up to the green stairs (which are covered) and he went full bore for a ** **** on the top stair. There is no shame in not making it, provided you've left nothing on the table. IS walked away with his head held high. I can't say the same - I've left a lot on the table.
Taipei is still a good place to be (maybe the best place in the world to be). Taiwan is still my favorite country in the world. Business is good. I have least a few hours of work everyday; the relentless schedule is getting tiring, but at least I don't have much time for reflection. It's all a bit like eating what you know to be a delicious meal after you've lost your sense of taste.
Thursday, April 9, 2020
Time to go
I woke up to the building shaking as in an earthquake. Only, the shaking didn't stop. The shaking was accompanied by a roar and grind and smash and waterfall of masonry. It went on for some time before I got curious and opened my door. The smell of black mold and diesel exhaust battered my face, and the sounds were instantly louder. My door trembled with my fingers still on the handle. A dinosaurian yellow machine with a long neck and a pair of pincers where its head ought to have been was gobbling up my building. Each bite brought another tremor. The strongest ones rattled my molars. I've grown accustomed to earthquakes, but this was something else entirely. That noone had forewarned me was a situation that should have made me furious, but instead I felt an overwhelming melancholy.
I had lived in this little place for more than a year since the breakup. It was a symbol to me of perseverance, of inner fortitude, of finding a meaning where there was none, and of realizing, with bloody hunks of meat hacked away from my life, what aspects of my life are actually mine and what had grown twisted and deformed, attempting like the climbing fig to make its way around someone else's scaffolding.
I had prepared a ditch-bag long ago, in case of soil liquification during a massive earthquake in Taipei Basin, or a typhoon that knocked out power for weeks, or a Chinese attack (my plan was to literally head for the hills and hope for the best). But the situations in which I ditched were not such that I could make use of my bag. Told in a fit of rage to move out of our house, I moved to this new one - iodine tablets and fire starters weren't any use that night.
Now, with a yellow monster gnawing on my building, my compass and signal mirror and camping food and wetwipes weren't of any use either.
I did my best to prioritize. First, I packed up my laptop, wallet, keys, ID lanyard, cellphone and charger, and notebook. Afterall, these survival tools are how I pay for my life. Time and again, they have proven their worth.
Next I packed appropriate clothing - a couple of suit jackets, dress pants, lobster socks, my best ties, and two pairs of work shoes. Without the appropriate clothing, a man can die in a survival situation. The windows were rattling the whole time. My jugs of homebrewed fruit wine sloshed back and forth in tandem. I would have to leave them to hungry machine.
I carried my essential gear downstairs, and left it at the gate so that I could climb the shaking, shivering stairs again to retrieve more possessions. Dust shook off the ceiling and walls of the stairwell as I climbed. The machine had already devoured sections of the building. Crumbled concrete with twists of haggard rebar grumbled and groaned under the treads of the angry machine. I could see into my neighbor's former houses: humble kitchens with the stainless steel sinks so common in Taiwan, a nursery with padded interlocked tiles on the floor and a brightly colored jungle mural, a bed room with shelves disgorging their charges onto the rubble, a white tiled bathroom with happy tropical fish stickers on the tiles and a moldy white shower curtain, a studio with no windows, a recently remodeled apartment with either wood or fake wood on floor and ceiling, and I sobbed, because this wasn't mine, but it was where I had been and now it was going.
Reluctantly, despite the constant tremors and shakes and terrific grinding, I made a few more trips, emptied the fridge, washed out the bathroom, and wrote some letters to the people I hadn't had time to say goodbye to.
After a while, I reached a point where the things left in my house weren't going to be of any use anymore. I had lots of clothes that I hadn't worn in years, if at all. I had bottles of alcohol, mostly empty. I had all kinds of rubbish and junk and jetsam that hadn't been useful even before the machine's arrival. There was a book of small paintings my sister had painted for me. I took it. There was a roll of posters of my mother's photography that had been intended for my exwife's family. I left them. They were too heavy.
It was time to go.
I had lived in this little place for more than a year since the breakup. It was a symbol to me of perseverance, of inner fortitude, of finding a meaning where there was none, and of realizing, with bloody hunks of meat hacked away from my life, what aspects of my life are actually mine and what had grown twisted and deformed, attempting like the climbing fig to make its way around someone else's scaffolding.
I had prepared a ditch-bag long ago, in case of soil liquification during a massive earthquake in Taipei Basin, or a typhoon that knocked out power for weeks, or a Chinese attack (my plan was to literally head for the hills and hope for the best). But the situations in which I ditched were not such that I could make use of my bag. Told in a fit of rage to move out of our house, I moved to this new one - iodine tablets and fire starters weren't any use that night.
Now, with a yellow monster gnawing on my building, my compass and signal mirror and camping food and wetwipes weren't of any use either.
I did my best to prioritize. First, I packed up my laptop, wallet, keys, ID lanyard, cellphone and charger, and notebook. Afterall, these survival tools are how I pay for my life. Time and again, they have proven their worth.
Next I packed appropriate clothing - a couple of suit jackets, dress pants, lobster socks, my best ties, and two pairs of work shoes. Without the appropriate clothing, a man can die in a survival situation. The windows were rattling the whole time. My jugs of homebrewed fruit wine sloshed back and forth in tandem. I would have to leave them to hungry machine.
I carried my essential gear downstairs, and left it at the gate so that I could climb the shaking, shivering stairs again to retrieve more possessions. Dust shook off the ceiling and walls of the stairwell as I climbed. The machine had already devoured sections of the building. Crumbled concrete with twists of haggard rebar grumbled and groaned under the treads of the angry machine. I could see into my neighbor's former houses: humble kitchens with the stainless steel sinks so common in Taiwan, a nursery with padded interlocked tiles on the floor and a brightly colored jungle mural, a bed room with shelves disgorging their charges onto the rubble, a white tiled bathroom with happy tropical fish stickers on the tiles and a moldy white shower curtain, a studio with no windows, a recently remodeled apartment with either wood or fake wood on floor and ceiling, and I sobbed, because this wasn't mine, but it was where I had been and now it was going.
Reluctantly, despite the constant tremors and shakes and terrific grinding, I made a few more trips, emptied the fridge, washed out the bathroom, and wrote some letters to the people I hadn't had time to say goodbye to.
After a while, I reached a point where the things left in my house weren't going to be of any use anymore. I had lots of clothes that I hadn't worn in years, if at all. I had bottles of alcohol, mostly empty. I had all kinds of rubbish and junk and jetsam that hadn't been useful even before the machine's arrival. There was a book of small paintings my sister had painted for me. I took it. There was a roll of posters of my mother's photography that had been intended for my exwife's family. I left them. They were too heavy.
It was time to go.
Saturday, February 29, 2020
No Children
I rode the night train to the east coast cause I was miserable. The whole country was asleep, at home in their warm beds. The train was almost empty. The rain made the also almost empty streets glisten. It sparkled and streaked on the windows. I felt sad. I couldn’t see much, but I didn’t want to. I read “JM Roberts History of the World”. I got in the wrong train and got delayed for an hour at an empty station. I got in the next train and rode all the way to the beach. I showed my woefully underpaid and incorrect ticket to the stationmaster (who was wearing gangster shorts and flip flops) and he stared at me for six seconds and said “welcome come to taiwan” and he waved me through because doing the paperwork to make me pay for my fare in the middle of the night wasn’t worth it. Then I hiked to the spot. Now I’m looking at very many stars. East coast has very many stars.
Saturday, February 22, 2020
White Men Can't Eat
AG, my Moroccan neighbor, is moving out. Our landlord took us to eat with her friends and their families at an glamorous upscale restaurant. The foreigners were gently mocked for only being able to eat such tiny portions. The food was top quality, and I was shoveling it into my mouth the entire time (3 hours), because my mandarin is weak and after my apparently impressive personal introduction, I didn't want anyone to know how bad my language abilities actually are.
Aziz and I had a round of beers on the roof last night and I asked him about his impressions of Taiwan.
"It's nothing but eating, all the time," he said, "Only eating. It's very safe from crime, and the people are lovely, but the traffic is like Morocco, especially in the south. But most of all, it's just so much food."
They are all partying downstairs at my landlord's house, eating round two. I'm not going to be able to have anything for at least 12 more hours.
Also, as we chatted last night, I was chopping chili's for a fermented pepper sauce I'm making. I scooped the diced bits into the big honey jar with my left hand, and my hand is still on fire, 12 hours later. It feels like I dipped my hand in fluorosulfuric acid. Actually, I heard that you don't feel that cause it dissolves the nerves or something. Maybe the Gom Jabbar is a better analogy - my hand isn't red or swollen or otherwise visibly affected, but I can feel the skin curling black on that agonized hand, the flesh crisping and dropping away until only charred bones remain. But I won't withdraw my hand.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=18scg5TBIok
Aziz and I had a round of beers on the roof last night and I asked him about his impressions of Taiwan.
"It's nothing but eating, all the time," he said, "Only eating. It's very safe from crime, and the people are lovely, but the traffic is like Morocco, especially in the south. But most of all, it's just so much food."
They are all partying downstairs at my landlord's house, eating round two. I'm not going to be able to have anything for at least 12 more hours.
Also, as we chatted last night, I was chopping chili's for a fermented pepper sauce I'm making. I scooped the diced bits into the big honey jar with my left hand, and my hand is still on fire, 12 hours later. It feels like I dipped my hand in fluorosulfuric acid. Actually, I heard that you don't feel that cause it dissolves the nerves or something. Maybe the Gom Jabbar is a better analogy - my hand isn't red or swollen or otherwise visibly affected, but I can feel the skin curling black on that agonized hand, the flesh crisping and dropping away until only charred bones remain. But I won't withdraw my hand.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=18scg5TBIok
Saturday, February 15, 2020
El amor en los tiempos del coronavirus
Unwilling to go outside until driven there by hunger, I wished for a mask to hide behind. I went to Shida's nightmarket and had soup and stared with hollow eyes at the passing crowds. There is a fruit crepe place there with a friendly owner who made a smiley face on the crepe and wanted me to be happy but I couldn't pull my face up. So I went back home.
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