Stage to Horizon

To many, magic is the sea. To me, it's the shore; as familiar as the samurai to his sword, or sunlight to the eye. It's an excuse to walk around and practice Bushido- no lie. It's a lopsided sculpture of myself in disguise that I constantly chip away at, with every show I do or crowd I run through. It's a portal to the outside, where I can say what I need to say in front of all the people in the way. It's a way, I was once told, as valid as any road. It's a journey that goes in a circle; around the world like an eagle and back; around the ego and back. I literally traveled the distance on this craft, meeting as many characters as RPG games are a blast. I crossed the sea and met my fiance in the Philippines, in that one specific class I did a show for. I suspect, magic is a way to love. I am in love with magic: a grain of sand in a universe of things I could have chosen to do. I could have been a recluse chopping bamboo! Instead, I am mastering myself whenever I step out of my cave and perform for you/me/doesn't matter who. I have nothing to prove. Magic for me is unproven alchemy: work turned to love, turned to God, turned to her, and into every important thing in the universe that I believe a soul should visit. I leave magic for love-work on Monday. I know it won't go anywhere, like the seashore. I'll miss it. 

-antidote

Secret Showoff

The allure of getting into magic makes me shake my big head. It's the cool! I will fully reveal that I liked magic because it made me feel like I had super powers in middle school: that I could do things others can't. If I want people to like me, I'd show them what I knew. I wasn't an aggressive performer though. I kind of kept what I did to myself. Until college! I really rode that as my cool wave. Haha! If weren't for the House of Flying Cards, I'd be just another wall flower at all those parties. I didn't really go to parties that much, though. But I was very un-ninja with my magic powers. I'd take every opportunity in college to let them out and be seen. I wanted to be known as the magician: no secret. Wow! I can't believe I fell for the cool. I fell for magic in a way I'd consider to be shallow in retrospect. God provides when needed. I guess, I needed magic. I did! I wouldn't have been seen in my fiance's class if I didn't do that show. God provides us with the tools we need to write our stories. I am grateful. Magic is cool. I'm really just a nerd. Hahahaha

-antidote

Magician to King

I have a new effect: Magician to King.

Being self-employed is a monarchy, and like all monarchies, it has a tendency to one day fall. I'm amazed at every day I wake up to learn that I am Houdini-escaping from the confines of the traditional 9 to 5 cubicle. I know my time with this art as work is borrowed, and I'm taking the chance to practice deeply.

Over the next few months, I will be working on a new video project to capture my moments with my art form in the corners of my late-night practice sessions. I know soon, I will have to be selfless and transfer ship to a 9 to 5 job, to support my fiance and upcoming family. But until then, I will sleep late and spend as much quality time with magic as I can.

The project is called "Cardboard Kingdoms", and introduces anyone who cares to follow me on a journey through a world of card magic routines performed to poetry. Each routine is its own frail, fleeting kingdom- kind of like a city of dominos that is destined to fall down with only me watching. I don't really get to express or perform these routines at my gigs that much, so these deep-night practice sessions are where I can really visit them, and get lost in the art I have grown to love.

The first of these kingdoms is the Sky, and is inspired by my long distance relationship with my fiance Agnes Pasco. Enjoy your stay, and if you'd like to see more, subscribe to the Cardboard Kingdom channel www.youtube.com/cardboardkingdoms, as I'll have a new kingdom ready for you to explore every few weeks or so this whole summer.

-antidote

Magician to Rival

New post by HOFC Founder and President Antino Art.

Read at http://www.antinoart.com/blog.html

Peace!

Magician to Alchemist

I have a new effect: Magician to Alchemist.

The purpose of this blog is to report my findings in my study of magic: my hidden findings; not the ones that involve learning new effects, routines, or even performing principles. The purpose of why I practice magic with the fervor of an alchemist is and always will be hagakure: hidden beneath the leaves for me to reveal.

I am a proponent of seeking the secret to mastery, like some rare earth metal or a planet with the elusive conditions to support life. Mastery is as elusive as time-travel, or getting into heaven on worldly works alone. I admit my faults and falls along the way, and my ego stares them down like an adversary yet to be defeated. I hate rivals. They bring out the fool in me, and I'm convinced to try and chase them down like shadows and catch up to their every move. I hate praise, and its allure, because it sways me away from my journey like a siren with its attractive words: praise God, and no one else. I wish to impart that on everyone I perform for, including the self I see in the mirror of my practice sessions. I fear criticism, like praise, because it can cause me to believe completely in the public opinion of others, and seek to validate every second of love-work I put into this art form with their judgement. I don't want to impress them, or to live in the shadow of proof. I don't stand behind proof, and instead, aspire to love what I do without proof. I have faith that I am in love with this art form; with my fiance; with God; with the belief that any good that comes from my magic is God's doing, and that any bad is from my own human imperfection. I am a horrible magician. I am naturally clumsy, socially awkward, set in my ways, and as oblivious an observer of people as they come. How I'm getting away with doing this for a living, I don't know. I know that I am capable of bringing out the God within through this alchemist-intense practice of this art I love only second to my fiance, my family, and God. The people who are not my audience for a fleeting moment of time, where praises, worship, and paychecks are at my grasp, are the ones worth practicing magic for; and getting good at it for. I hope to master this art in secret hopes of mastering self. The magician is the character of transformation.

I'm just going to be upfront with all the magicians in the scene that happen to be here reading this, and amazing me with enough non-indifference to come visit me here in the late-night corners of my alchemist-like lab: f**k learning new effects. The best effect learned in the practice of magic is the transformation of self. Do that, and I believe the reactions you'll get will go far beyond words, bookings, and tips.

And if you don't care to take any part of these findings I am humbly offering you an entire page of after years of laboring in the lab, oh well: God bless!

-antidote



PS Go HEAT

The Archer

The trick to catching a leaf is to let go; to relax your senses, and let everything else fall off your mind, so you don't know. It's the kind of madness that makes you not blink, and blank-stare into space. When I reach for it there, I grab air, I think...catching leaves is tricky: cranky, I chase. It's like pursuing a moment, and sealing it away in a box with no locks. The wind is ready to keep things unsteady, and the leaf gets let go like a dream I keep forgetting: I'm too slow. Catching leaves changes the way our eyes move. Surprises are expected; reflexes improve. And if you miss it the first time, you have nothing to loose! The wind picks up again, and I follow the leaf to its zig-zagging end: it flips, eludes, and spins out of control, until I'm lost, dizzy, and in the mood to fold. Catching a leaf on a windy day keeps me busy: it's my goal, so stay focused, despite the changes in direction that shake me off balance. I stay in my spot, and notice a leaf move down from the top into the mess the wind has made into a challenge. Despite the stress, I stay with it. If I look close, it'll stand out vivid. The trick to catching a leaf is to make the others disappear. My vision goes blurry. Everything goes clear.

-from Cardboard Kingdoms:
a collection of card magic routines done to poetry
DVD + Chapbook available summer 2012
at www.antinoart.com 

On Riding Bikes

There's a certain familiarity that resides in a box of Bicycle playing cards; the feeling of control in my hands; of expertise at the tips of my fingers. The way a strike-double hits the tip of my index triggers a shot to the memory, and lingers, as slight as an after-taste on the palate of the distant past. I see flashes of where I've been light up at every turn in the winding streets of my age-old routines, so I run through them with my eyes closed just to remember what it feels like to have the ground beneath my feet. The technical coreography carves its way through the chaos, and memory lanes open. I ride through each one on my Bikes, and breathe freely. There's a bold sense of belonging with the cards in my hands. Whatever in hell is chasing me at the moment vanishes completely. I'm home once the card box opens, like a genie back in the lamp and free from all outside demands for the time being. The painters of ancient China used to block out the present, and re-visit the recluse huts in the mountains of their finished works, as an escape to the turbulence that comes from the speed at which the world spins. Time sits in the palm of my hands like a monk in lotus position, floating in the familiarity of mechanics grip and twisting at their own leisurely pace down the paths my age-old routines can take them. Familiarity is mine once again, whenever I want it back, in situations that shuffle me out of control and make me want to retreat into the cardboard box of my Bicycles. Often times, comfort zones reside in boxes like these, and I find fifty two familiar faces inside mine waiting for me, whom I've seen the same way time and again in times of uncertainty. I thumb through each one like meditation beads, to make sure they're all there, as the things that surround me fall apart and I loose control of everything else.

-antidote

On Pinball, 1973

The key is to make a scene. The presence of a crowd, even of three or four people, looking at the same thing is already something to look at. They say in psychology, if you point and look up at a point in the sky, someone else might involuntarily look that way. That's what I try to do. I want the first few people who watch to be my arrows, pointing in my direction: a person who doesn't really like being the center of attention. I sit at the back of buses and walk to the park without a nod to passing neighbors. I like to shoot basketball by myself over playing in pick-up games. My coffee and beer, I drink alone. I put on a hard hat of tolerance when it comes to the hour or so at gigs. I have to be the center of attention. So to do that, I make a scene. The key is to create gravity. I like thinking of my 360 crowds as asteroid belts, and I this strange, mystical world they are orbiting and looking in on. I like it when my crowds cave in, instead of my reaching out to pull them. My center of gravity- the core- is a small wooden stool I've been calling the Lotus. It holds my three poetry books like a make-shift bookshelf. I also have a pole next to me with a giant sign that says "watch". I stand in front of the Lotus with Hagakure- the name for my deck of cards- out in my open hands like a fishing pole. I would cap off this living backdrop with the Lightning Rod- the short sword I use in my final demonstration- which I conspicuously lay on the ground right in front of the Lotus like a free throw line. And thus completes my storefront for attention. Sometimes I fall into a lull. Despite the out-of-the-ordinariness of this scene, people would readily pass me without a second glance. Some would look away. After no more than 10 minutes, though, someone extroverted enough would be bold enough to approach. They approach me! I love how its reversed like that, because most magicians end up approaching their spectators.

I have no idea why I am writing about all this. I am not at work right now. I was just reading this book called "Pinball, 1973" by Haruki Murakami, and he has brought to light to me the uselessness of being good at something. I think I'm fairly good at making a scene; giving people something to look at, and do, like a pinball machine in the corner of a bar, flashing its lights while waiting for someone to stop by and play.

That's what I do: I am a pinball machine at gigs. This is great to know! This is humbling to take in.

-antidote

Props to my Props

Magicians are known to carry props. Some have boxes and wands. Others have ropes and rings. I respect all weapons out there, and do see a magician's tools as his weapons. Further, I go so far as to name these weapons and give them as much credit as a coach would his players on a team. I can't sleep, and am sort of thinking of magic, so I felt like shedding some props on the props that take me through every gig and have given me the opportunity to see the world.

Name: Hagakure
Meaning: hidden beneath the leaves

Experience: 13 years

Effect: Ups and Downs

Position: street show crowd collector

Description: The family name for all my decks of cards. Whatever deck is on me, it will share the name and soul of Hagakure, to remind me that the purpose of why I do magic is hidden beneath the cards. The act of holding it out and unsheathed creates a gravity that helps me draw the first few spectators of my street show crowd, and is the dough from which I bake a poetry-based ACR entitled "Ups and Downs"

Name: Biji

Meaning: breath resonance

Experience: 6 years

Effects: Freecap, Bookworm

Position: street show opener and middle

Description: The name of the pen I carry with me at all times. Its name translates loosely to, "write what you feel, when you're feeling it," to ensure the freshness and vitality of all words and ideas that flow out through me. I depend on this guy gig-in and gig-out to carry the load of the routines "Freecap" and "Bookworm", which consist the meat of my street show as far as astonishing the crowd and keeping them there goes.

Name: The Lightning Rod

Experience: 3 years

Effects: Laido

Position: street show closer

Description: The name of the short sword that I carry with me to all my shows, which I use in the closing demonstration called "Laido". A lightweight weapon passed down by Mark, my good friend and brother in the artistic and spiritual pursuits, this weapon is humble in appearance but efficient in cutting. Its chipped-up wooden scabbard and blurry blade reflect years of use. The name is inspired by the nature of lightning, and how it gets straight to the point with no hesitation and without holding anything back.

-antidote

Hagakure

Hidden beneath the illusions I create are purposes that extend to serve things greater than themselves. I am a deluded practitioner at times, sharpening my swords blindly with the intent of getting good for no one's sake but my own. Musashi would have been pissed. A certain chaos swirls out of slashing in vain. My ego is inflated, and the very essence of why I have chosen to pick up this sword of Magic becomes Hagakure: hidden beneath the leaves.

The samurai of long ago served their lords until death, with a selflessness that feared neither humility nor defeat. I revisited my samurai inspirations and have noticed that my reflection is blurry. Why am I struggling to be good? Who is my adversary? The competitor in me strives perfection without a second thought, constantly measuring my ascent with that of my peers, and racing to the top with no idea what to do when or if I get there. The top is lonely: an elusive point in the sky that can do no one else any good by being there because there is only room for one. The reasons I do magic have become as Hagakure as the world beneath the clouds: far away, and out of reach.

The purpose of this sword in Magic is to serve: to transcend my own selfish desires for others. I need to be with my fiance: to travel to that far side of the world to see her, and to eventually close the distance by bringing us to one place. Magic will make the money I need to do that. My mom also needs money: she's never going to be out of debt, and works too much to try to pay it all off. The money I make from gigs will help her with that. Jadu- the precious feeling of baby-mind astonishment that people rarely feel- is a light that needs to be spread. Magic lets me to serve this to those around me. The House of Flying Cards, a dojo of practicing magi whose love for magic is what unites all the members, needs my magic: to hold that community together, help members grow in love with what they do, and hopefully be a light to them on their journeys. Also being in a dojo keeps me humble: always a student and never a master. The soul mirror: only in doing one thing with the diligence of a polisher can some kind of inner clarity be achieved. I read once about a monk in the Tang Dynasty who achieved enlightenment by chopping bamboo, and I seek the same inner clarity through disciplined practice of magic, slaying demons like ego, pride, and greed on the way. To praise God for his blessings: the act of doing magic as a job alone makes me prayerful enough to give thanks and praise before every gig. Meeting RPG characters on my journey, and putting me in a position to be an RPG character of my own to them on theirs: my light can only be spread only if I'm out there, meeting people face to face through performance. Otherwise, my reclusiveness gets the best of me and I end up staying at home, seeing no one and holding whatever light is in me back. Seeing the world: my magic has caused me to go places I wouldn't have been to and meet people I wouldn't have met otherwise. Seeing the world can only bring me closer to my real self, and destroy any rigid frames of mind that stand in the way of getting there. Love: the act of doing magic teaches me to love what I do. Being in magic is being in a relationship, and if I can stay in love with what I do, this sword can only be a humble precursor to loving at greater levels. I once heard any art form is a bridge to heaven. If that is so, then climbing to the top might not be so bad.

-antidote

The Great American Spectator Volunteers

I am not a mentalist, but I have a feeling on what you're thinking:

Whatever he's doing is stupid. Why is everyone standing around him? How dare he make himself the center of attention? I hate him already. I don't want to take part. If I do, it would be like participating in the macarena, or the electric slide. I refuse to conform and do what he says. It might be fun, and I will feel stupid: that is what I am afraid of. I am angry and offended already at the notion. Why is everyone happy? I need to get closer. I don't want to see, because what if it's good? I might hate him even more. I don't want him to see me. Good, he doesn't see me. I'll just watch this from the outside- I'm okay watching from where I'm watching, from the outside looking in. I can't play along, because I'm not an idiot. I'm an adult- a passerby, full of pride and preconceived notions on how the idea of watching a magic show is stupid. I know it looks fun, but so does the macarena. He's looking my way. He just asked for my name. I secretly wanted to join this stupid game of "let's watch the magic show" the whole time. Okay fine, I'll play along. I apologize for hating. I find myself smiling. Thank you so much for making my pride vanish.

Signed

The Great American Spectator

Magic Meets Word

Publicity feature on the House of Flying Cards' founder and president.

See full sized article at http://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=226895514056472&set=a.226895507389806.55097.116333738445984&type=1&theater

-antidote

To Be Continued!

Dear Audience

Today, I watched About Schmidt, and Jack Nicholson asked himself a very important question that poked me: what have I done on this Earth that is making a difference? The same question was posed in a book I'm reading called "Dance Dance Dance" by Murakami: is the world doing okay without me and my work? I've wondered how things will be if I never did a single show again; if this last trick I showed you would really be my last. After a long stretch of no work, I went out of 2011 riding back to back gigs, and feel revived to just be in front of a room, performing again. My show is the one thing I do that I have a comfortable certainty doing. Ironically magic is a mystery to most, but to me, the things I do that aren't magic are the mysteries: falling in love in new ways with the girl I'm engaged to, finding God, and believing that my story will turn out alright. What I'm trying to say is, magic is the one thing I know, front and back, in a universe swirling with things unknown. I cannot just drop it at the end of this year. Even if I may find myself working a 9 to 5 a few years from now, I know the world will be okay without my magic shows. But my world, internally, will not be okay. How will my mind be without this practice? The great swordsman Miyamoto Musashi discovered his purest state of mind through perfection of the sword. I can only hope to continue practicing for that same purpose, regardless if there is a paying audience in front of me many years down the road or not. I can't stop magic, even if I tried: to do so would be to vanish. That's impossible, as I'm still here at the end of the year, breathing and alive. There are so many more places to spread my magic to. I'll never be finished. My magic will continue like a universe, unfolding with or without my control in every direction for all to see.

-antidote