1 juli 2013

Out of there

"I love my mind when it is fucking the cracks of events" /Jenny Holzer

 Sick + tired of following protocol, skating within designated areas, fine-tuning stunt maneuvers, and comparing against benchmarks of established standards. Never went very far with that crap. Still, skateboarding feels stifled, eroded, self-obsessed. The monotony of competition has seeped in there; the need to repeat, to conquer, to seek confirmation from others. Fucking the corpse...

 On the other side of that barrier, though, there is still play, art and magic. 
Bye, bye!

5 mars 2013

winter past

Skateboarding and writing don't go well together. Mostly, language aims to pull the world together while good skateboarding blows it apart.
Reading, on the other hand, go well together whith skateboarding, especially when travelling. One passage from Paul Auster's "Invisible" especially sticks, this afternoon in Copenhagen:

"... this is probably the city's most inspiring hour, the transition from work to home, the streets thronged with men and women rushing back to their families, to their friends, to their solitary lives, and he enjoys being outside among them, encircled by the vast collective exhale filling the air."
Unfortunately, the one thing that is filling the air in Copenhagen at rush hour, is petrol and diesel fumes from the thousands of cars brought into the city every day. It is a collective exhale of pollution that fills the air, as commuters wait in long lines, creeping by, slowly burning petrol as if there were no tomorrows.

And then there are places, down the rabbit hole, that are free from cars and the routines of daily, desperate flight from office hours emprisonment...

Back to the subject of writing:
To write can be a slow process, often taking place after the fact. In this sense, many texts on skateboarding have very little in common with skateboarding. There are poetic exceptions, erruptions of symbolic representation and exploriation of further implications, in the present moment. But such texts are heavily outnumbered by reports, articles and retrospective interviews. Visual art and film photography covers more common ground with the momentum of a skateboarding session. Small surprise then, that skaters primarily watch videos and flick through magazines and digital mediums, looking at the photos, skipping most texts. 

 For a text to sync with the mode and mood of skating, it must give up its ambitions to make sense and open up to the spontaneous, incoherent fuck off! that runs deep in the currents of skateboarding energy.

The text you have just read, very much lacks that quality. It dips into one aspect of the presented day in Copenhagen, for the rest it adds completely irrelevant information about contrasting subjects. And working with contrasts - widening the picture beyond what is even remotely present - may be the one path left open, beside the immediately poetic.

27 jan. 2013

Back to the wall in Las Palmas

Slappy at The Swede curb, some years ago.
La Isleta, Las Palmas.
Last time in Las Palmas with Restposter, was a one-day street thing. Now we return, for 7 days of spot-searching, up and down the hills and coasts of L.P. with surroundings.

Las Rehoyas. Unknown k-grinder.

 This time of year (November-December), weather fronts from the Atlantic gather around the volcano and north part of the island. It is low season for tourism. The locals crowd to the surf swells that come in from the northern Atlantic. Spots and skateparks lay deserted on most days.

  Out of town:
The worst cracks and holes
of Maspalomas skatepark
have been fixed recently.
But worry not - 
it's still rough enough.

6 jan. 2013

Down the drain

  Shall we give up the narrow path,
The plodding byway -
Chose swift transport and false delight;
Destruction's highway?
"The Longest Mile", song from The God's Gardeners Oral Hymnbook
/Year of the Flood, Margaret Atwood   

"In the world I see – you're stalking elk through the damp canyon forests around the ruins of Rockefeller Center. You'll wear leather clothes that will last you the rest of your life. You'll climb the wrist-thick kudzu vines that wrap the Sears Tower. And when you look down, you'll see tiny figures pounding corn, laying strips of venison on the empty car pool lane of some abandoned superhighway."
/Tyler Durden, Fight Club
 Between the highway and the old road. Fenced in buffert zone, next to the eternal stream of fossilburners on the east coast highway.
Not in the industrial area, commercial centre or the residential quarters.
In between. Off the(ir) map. Still just a few steps away.   
 Unused water drainage will soon be a memory - from before the weather change & floodings started. If some part of europe would endure in really f-up times, it could vey well be the canaries, cast off as it is outside the coast of morocco / west sahara.