Outside of the House

I have an idea what you're all thinking, if you're familiar with the House of Flying Cards: is the troupe founder going homeless? Think of it as a chance for me to stand on my own two feet, outside of the House, and breathe some fresh air. I'm not going anywhere, loyal spectators and mages of the House. I live and breathe that! That's actually where I grew up magically, and where all my closest friends are. And the bread I've made being there! Without the House, I wouldn't have been able to travel 10,000 miles to see the girl I love, have the money to pay for gas and car repairs, and gain all the performance experience I have gained up to this point. I wouldn't have met my mentor-brothers Mark, Sam, Datta, Sean, Nunky, and other mages with unique perspectives and energies that make life interestingly open for more discoveries. I am still and always will be representing the House of Flying Cards wherever I throw down a set. And this site? It's not a storefront, or an attempt to get bookings on my own. It's just, as of now, a dojo where the kind of magic I create can exist on it's own. And be appreciated and seen. I don't have any intention of abandoning my magicianal comrades whom I've been working with for so many years. The House of Flying Cards continues. Check out http://www.hofc.webs.comweeblylink_new_window for more info, and peep some of the dopest mages on the planet. I'm nowhere without those guys. Book them- us- before you book me by myself. We're a thousand magical tricks coming at you from all angles. You have no idea!

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Mangos

Let me tell you about performing magic in the Philippines: Jadu! I do what's needed, and that means no decorum, or fancy poems or patter. I am no longer a professional, just doing my job. Every effect there becomes this act of simplicity, and compassion, and anything I am able to show those who want to see what I do there is a favor I feel God asks of me. To see what is unseen or rarely seen is a gift or a myth, so I give it when I can- a simple card trick or coin vanish. To do what's needed, is nothing! It's so easy and within my reach.

I love making things more complicated than they are. I love my poems, and want them to be with my patter and magic as much as possible, but in the Philippines, they lay low and quiet so as to not interrupt the magic from doing what she needs to do: Jadu. I Jadu! It's what's done most there in Cebu, and when I show, I share, and barely say a thing over there. They understand English, of course, but when something is too amazing to happen, speechlessness ensues. I say nothing, and let them stammer or smile in belief.

I hate the way I perform magic in the Philippines. It's not me! It's so selfless, and casual, and there is no such thing as Antino Art on any of those 7,000+ islands. My art is history, and whatever I give is wrapped in simple, wordless moments for them to remember. I am as faceless as a messenger there, and perform in this choppy, informal, and bad and sloppy and unprofessional, non-expressive or artistic way- they love it! Its raw. They love the things I show them there, even if I can barely lift a double in the tropical heat with my cards all fat and sticking. I loose my cool when performing there. It's all in the baby mind, collapsing as naturally as possible on what I do. There is no spotlight! It's me in the background, taking it all in because I barely did a thing. Magic is not done by me there- it's a third entity, and I simply am there to deliver them the essence of a healed and sealed soda miracle or a hot cheeseburger out of a burning napkin. My patter there is a pure reaction. I barely move, or speak- its so not me. It never was me. I don't even speak their language!

The magician in me vanishes in the Philippines. I don't know how I do the things I do there, but for some reason, I get more love there for magic than anywhere else in the world. With all these paying spectators, tip lines, paychecks, clients to please, and gigs to feed, I sometimes get lost from what the essence of what I do is: Jadu. It's what I Jadu. And I do it really well in the Philippines, because to them, it looks like Jade, or something precious. It feels more than just me. Its a mystic way of performing. Its a humbling experience. Its her, beside me at the end of each effect. Magic there made me meet her, and is making me better. The mystery unravels. I love it.

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Meeting Mr. B

Today, downtown, in the far reaches of the festival circuit, I had the honor of conjuring alongside local magic legend Mr. B, or B-Magic, as he goes by. A sweet old soul with a Santa Clause swagger, this old mage from the charming streets of Downtown Gainesville is a master of silks. He can turn a red silk into a blue one with the snap of a finger, and multiply them in his bare hands at will. He can pull endless yards of streamers from his mouth, make sides disappear and re-appear underneath shells, and produce giant dice from thin air. He is a retired fire-fighter, the first African American firefighter in the city of Gainesville, and rocks a cool, mellow Jazz-man voice while performing. He congratulated me whole-heartedly after seeing my show, and took me aside to tell me that I'm swift with the pen. I walked with him to a busy corner talking magic like how magicians do, and suddenly found myself street performing alongside him! We hit duel card sets and racked in the crowds like fish in a net. We were surrounded, but we were rolling- a performing chemistry I have never even found among other magicians in the House! Kids and adults alike were smiling and stunned to see our art in action, brought to them by this young asian fellow and this jolly old Jazz man. What a strange combo! But we were smooth with it, and easily threw down some of the sickest duel mage sets of my career.

I was honored to be a part of Mr. B's magical legacy, even in his old age. He had been practicing longer than I had been alive, and his work has been enjoyed by generations of audiences all over town. "The kids I used to do birthdays fo', I'm now doin' they kids' birthdays," he told me. And sure enough, later a teen of about 19 approached him and said that he remembered him from when he was 6! His reputation is a humble one, and I was inspired by the way he treasured his magic.

I would open each set with the pen thing, because he'd excitedly grab a few passerby and tell them, "you gotta' check this kid out. Hey, show 'em what you do with that ink pen, show 'em, show 'em." That's how our sets began! And I'd twirl my prop into my manipulation piece, until the crowd became sizable. And then Mr. B would draw out his weathered old cards and perform a swift and jolly Monte for them! The way we transitioned and pulled the crowds in was genuine, and the way we'd ad-lib off each other was cake.

The art of magic is the art of people-meeting, and memory-making, and I'm still amazed at the encounter I had with Mr. B and his magic. Later that day I overheard him talking with some spectators after a set we hit about his true struggles, and his true magic, and that is going through what he has gone through. He had lost his daughter, and his family, years back to diseases. He had been diagnosed with cancer and had several operations here and there. He had grown up in the time before the civil rights movement, and was exposed to a great deal of racism and mistreatment being the first black firefighter in Gainesville. One of the only things he had at present was his magic, and he used it to conjure away his past and present troubles into the astonished eyes of the crowd watching at the moment.

The life of the itinerant conjurer is mine to behold. I travel the world this way, and let what falls in front of me fill my sights, as I tell each crowd I take care of to do nothing else but "watch."


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Magic for Apples

I spend all-souls day airborne, as free as a ghost. My card-hand takes a rest, as it took me all the way to the northeast, where it's cold and the leaves are as orange as the jack-o-lanterns that this holiday brings. You'll never know who you'll meet or re-meet on the way in the life of the itinerant conjurer. My magic has been seen by far-away eyes, and my poems have been spread across the countryside: mission accomplished.

I watch myself restlessly, as I watch the city lights of New York dwindle in the distance from the plane's window. Money-making doesn't matter, I think to myself, and minds of peace cannot be purchased. Why am I restless after doing a good show, a good job?

My childhood friend comes back to life, with the art of magic, and I wish like a genie I didn't have to let him pay me to do that. Astonishment is a priceless gift, no matter how many plane tickets to Cebu I'd like to buy, or how much bread I'd need to put on the table. I wander the skies with a show over my shoulder, now tucked away neatly in the backpack under my seat. New York was cold, but made me feel warm with the hospitality the wanderer in me was shown. I savored the fleeting attachment, the temporary bond, as my "client" let me into his family for the past few days, and made me feel welcome with homemade pulled-pork sandwiches, a couple of beers, and a bag of freshly picked apples for my family back home.

I offered them what magic I could. Do mutual exchanges, or transactions, have to happen? I wish for the freedom to work for free: to be a sword for hire, for nothing. Love is what moves me. I would let the money I made from this past gig fall out of my hands and out the airplane window if I could. Doing what you love for those who show love back should be priceless.

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Port Toilet

The life of the itinerant conjurer continues, this time to the far flung gulf coast town of Port Charlotte, or "Port Toilet", as one of the disgruntled locals playfully put it. "There's nothing to do down here!" she said with a grunt.

We showed her magic. Mark hit Crazy Man's Handcuffs, Remy broke her cigarette and put it back together, and I would have done something, but was too busy watching her mood go from complaining about Port Charlotte to being happy in the moment of what she was shown.

Enter the Holiday Craft Fest Extravaganza, a two-month early outdoor Christmas party with hay, pumpkins, merchants, lemonade, and swampy Florida heat. We drove down here across endless stretches of Everglades, u-turning steadily from Ft. Lauderdale, down and through the grassy desert of everything west of South Florida, all the way to the gulf coast and north. So far! And so interesting, to see this forgotten town and their tiny festival.

I met a couple- a mom and a daughter- who had been reunited after 16 years of being apart! The daughter was 18, and ecstatic- they were already having a good day when they came to see my sidewalk show. I simply hit my go-to sword set for them- 1000 pieces to Freecap to Bookworm- and they bugged out! The faces I painted on them with these effects was liberating, for them and me. I feel like I might have helped them bond a little more, and gave them something to remember the day they got reunited by. The girl herself was a poet, so she particularly enjoyed it. I am so glad. They didn't tip me at all, and before I could drop a tip line, I held back, and realized they already paid me in appreciation. I loved that set.

I don't know who else I met that day- all the sets and crowds were a blur, since we were busking and grinding and working so hard because we didn't really get paid for this one- but that one little set in the forgotten coastal town of Port Charlotte stood out. And to me, it made it a cool place. I'm glad those people exist. I love the people who love the magic that we love to show them. We rode out of Port Charlotte that night, exhausted but content, with a little over $100 in tips, divied up three ways. Sam said he felt like a stripper, his pockets stuffed with ones. Mark said he hated work, and that the gig sucked! But he laughed about it, so that made it okay. I don't know if I told them about my set, but I left falling more in love with what I do, and knowing that the $33 I made that day can be used to by my girlfriend Agnes like 10 nice merienda dates at the restaurants in Ayala Mall in Cebu! I love how magic has served me- I serve it back, to others, and let my travels take me to awesome places. The saga continues!



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Wandering Magician Returns

The life of the itinerant conjurer is mine. I'm blessed to entertain my own romantic perspective with one of the oldest professions in history. I do travel city to city with my craft tucked away in my knapsack and slung over my shoulder. With my traveling show in my trunk, I take to the road, and drive into and out of sunsets. I cross cultural barriers on a weekly basis, spreading my cards before urbanites in upscale Miami to country crowds in the far flung corners of the state. I speak in poems, as I've always dreamed of, and imagine I'm reciting ancient incantations as I conjure away on my drawing board, making coins, rings, balls, and silks vanish and appear at my will. I meet mages of all swords and styles, and travel with them, like characters in an RPG party. Being a magician, is being in my own RPG game! I have summons, potions, maps, and scrolls containing only the moves that point me in the direction of my ultimate goal. I am on a winding sorcerer's quest to find my best self in my magician self- to transcend the illusions of the world in favor of something real and pure. I pray constantly at chapels the evening after a busy festival gig for this peace. I scribble in my journal, which is looking more and more like an artifact, any information or revelations that may lead me there.

In one gig alone- the Thornebrooke Festival in Gainesville this past weekend- I felt the blessings of this professions completely. I literally walked into the festival with nothing but a backpack slung over my shoulder, my raggedy suit on, and a fold-up table under my arm. I was ready to go! This place had been a proving grounds of sorts in my magicianal youth, as it was one of my first gigs as a professional. I walked leisurely into the heart of the event, taking in all the sights as I went- paintings, pottery, oragami displays, baskets, and other trinkets lined the sidewalks like a marketplace from Final Fantasy. I asked at various stalls for Bill, the event director. He looked exactly the same as he did in my youth! He did not recognize me, as it had been five years since I saw him last. He said I've grown up. I argued otherwise, with a smile. He showed me to my spot, right underneath the big wooden clock tower just like before. I set up shop and began.

The festival was full of colorful characters, who thoroughly appreciated my magic. I was able to express myself freely, without having to resort to crowd-pleasing effects or entertaining one-liners. I performed in poems! And everyone dug it, including the kids, which was strange, because I'd normally predict to go over heads with my poems. I was able to blend my poems and magic once again with success, and the fulfillment of realizing my artistic visions gives me a high like no other. And meeting the characters! As a mage, I'm exposed to the most interesting people every day. There was the overly observant abstact painter, who kept busting my chops every time I began an effect, only to express his appreciation for the work I put into it. He gave me a free painting of an earthy looking sky, with crystalized snowflakes over the icey surface. An RPG item! I met a fire-dancing gypsy from Detroit, who wandered the festival dancing with a floating cane and an overly big smile on her face. Perhaps she was that happy to get out of that stone cold city? I met up and reconnected with an old House of Flying Cards ally: Datta the Jazz Man himself! The rope master wielder greeted me and allowed me to sleep in his hammock for the night. I met a child named Paloma- what an interesting name- who was fascinated particularly that she was able to break infinity and restore it (in the hands broken and restored rubberband). I met, myself! My old self- the one that delights in romanticizing the regular. Being a magician is one of the most irregular professions I could ask for, and I can confidently say the way I saw it this weekend has made me fall more in love. I don't fall out of love with things- I fall more in love with them. I love magic just as much, if not more, than I did when I first picked up a deck of cards. And to think that the paycheck from that gig will lead me to my plane ticket to see her! I love you magic! Thanks for always finding a way to keep me amazed.

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Hi Magic

You have been so good to me. You give me work, and bread- it's not about the money entirely! You give me plane fare so I can see her. You give me, an escape from the stress of missing her. You give me an outlet for when I have no one else to turn to. You give me the crowd! To loose myself in, and immerse in their reactions. You give me the ability to make people happy! You give me social skills, because I am a social retard at heart. You give me a passion I can pour my heart into, and if I do, you love me back! I love you, art of magic. You give me something to commit to, and build, and stay with for the rest of my life. You give me knowledge of self, and through you, I can see all my flaws and imperfections, but also my strengths, too. Because of you, I know I am slow: in speed of mind and hands. Because of you, I have patience, and the drive to polish my mistakes. Musashi had his sword, and the reflection of himself on his blade. I have that, too. You are my sword, magic! And I serve you and others through it. I find God through your practice: the divine feelings of baby-mind astonishment I give to others, the compassionate heart of wanting to perform for others, the peace of accepting how things come out, the freedom of being able to embrace my eccentricities in performance, the rhythm of being able to dance with my hands, the sight of things greater than myself in showing my spectator something amazing, and...her! I met her through you, magic. I don't know where I'd be or what I'd be without you, magic. I love magic. If you are a magician and are reading this, examine your relationship with this awesome art form, and fall more in love!


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