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

Dear Great American Spectator

I have great compassion for you, whether or not you have love or hate. I promise to treat your event with meticulous care, like an artisan potter with a mound of clay. I will represent my art form properly and prolifically at your event, and will add a dimension of entertainment that will surpass any amount of decorations or hype you can build up. I promise you I won't hold back, and will give you my magic in it's fullest form: effect for effect, moment for moment. I understand you work for your money, and I do as well: I will work diligently to make sure my magic is something you and your guests will love. I love what I do, and I intend to project that unto you when you are done seeing what I have to show you. I have a show for you, my great American spectator. I work for my bread and feel blessed, while you enjoy the finer things in life such as a slice of discretionary income for you to spend on your event. Live magic performance is an awesome thing to treat your guests to: an art form for the ages, a feeling as primal as a breath of fresh air. You will be wowed, in one way or another. I will see to it. You are in my hands for the hour or two that you book me and my show. I may not like you, but I love what I do more than any disposition you have can sway that. See you at your next event.

-antidote

Limbo

There's a delicate balance I wish to achieve with the magic I make. It's as fragile as a moment on a tightrope. On one side sit commercial mages of the gig circuit with their invisible decks and their snowstorms in China. On the other, effect junkies of the club scene waving their newest torn and restored cards and signed coins jangling in bottles. I don't want to stand on either of the two towers, but right here, in the middle of the two: nowhere magicians would feel like going.

I have a knack for falling out of any population I find myself in. I want to express myself out of it, like a lonely passenger on an express train out of Tokyo into the hermitage of the mountains. When I am alone with my magic, I fall in love with it. When I see the way other magicians can rape it, I feel bitter. Maybe, the way a lyricist would feel seeing Hip-hop music turn into drunken party chants on the radio, or a vocalist seeing an autotune junky get so much airtime.

As I regain consciousness from my reflection on the tightrope, I find there is no way to walk the thin line between magic as a creative art form and magic as a money-making form of entertainment- art being penny-less, and entertainment being the bread winner. The way is to be still. I am resolved in my position, not to sell out completely to either camp, because I disagree with both sides equally. I do not agree with the effect junkies who perform for no one and spend their days worshipping creators and chasing them around the convention circuit. I do not look up to the commercial magi who spend all their time performing the same played-out material that everyone else is doing, with all the same corny jokes that they all use for the sake of a reaction. And the few famous celebrity magicians like Criss Angel on the billboards across the street? I don't want to be them, because they are who I am not. I don't want to be like any celebrities for that matter, for fame is a fume that can be addicting and deadly.

If there was a balance I'd want to achieve, I'd have to fall several times to figure it out. The way I want my magic to go is up, and away. All art is a bridge to heaven, so I'll lay down on this invisible string and stare at the sky in between the two towers, levitating in my place.

-antidote

Jadu Jedi

The purpose of what we do is to spread a feeling that know other art form can articulate. It is a smile that cracks deeper than delight. If it's a laugh, it's a wonderful mix of being terrified and awe-struck, like standing before your first love, and willing to submit every bit of yourself to the gravity of that moment. It's a way of opening your eyes to the expanse of what you don't know, and absorbing it for the first time, like the light from suns you've never seen. The Hindus called it Jadu; like jade, or something precious. It's a string of curse words spoken spontaneously- the WTFs, NFWs, and OMFGs- as if running to God himself and asking Him to shake off the spell the magician has cast over you. It's frightening and funny, like discovering a spider on your back. The reactions of magic crack open and crumble even the finest of minds. It's distinct, instantaneous, and pushes buttons no other art form can touch. It caves you in like a sinkhole into your psyche. When done right, magic moves its audience, as fast as a free fall. There is no trickery or secrets around the reactions we spread. Magicians everywhere are united in that purpose, like the Knights Templar, or Jedi of Jadu. We are few and far between, so seek us out: we are bringers of a feeling found no where else.

-antidote

---

Also, random props for this inspiration goes out to our magi crew counterpart in the Philippines, a troupe of doper than dope magicians called the Magic Window. They are essentially spreading what we spread, the raw, organic way we do it, on the other side of the planet. For more info on the Philippines' Magic Window crew, check out http://www.facebook.com/themagicwindowcebu

The Magic Window of Cebu City, Philippines

New Promo Trailer

So here it is

We tried capturing the reactions more, which any good spectator or aficionado of magic knows that's where the art is. Enjoy!

-antidote

Perfect

Time stands still for the performer who stops short of perfection. I love what I do, but that is not who I am. And the idleness that comes from decelerating out of a performance, a set, or an entire gig makes me restless. I can't sleep. I want to stay up all night, studying ways to make my street show better, and the effects stronger, and the delivery more compelling, and the tip lines more selling. But for what? I must keep reminding myself why I practice: for the service of others. There is much to practice in the ways of light and good through this practice, and they're cleverly hidden in the crevices of what I'm studying. I've been so technical lately: so exact. So exactly what is my goal? To become the best? To top myself night in and night out? I want to loose self, and loose my eyes in my heart. I want to radiate something positive into the crowds I conjure before. If I do it well, than my messages can be clearer. Immaculate reception. I don't know why I'm trying to do what I do so well. Maybe, it's just love. You want to do a God job: perfect. I have sharpened every angle of every set and effect I do, and it's never-ending. There will never be mastery. I don't want to loose sight of the whys. That would be un-wise. It's so late, and I'm still thinking about how I can make my sets better. Why? The desire to better the self is what happens when you want to live up to something you love. Or someone you love. It's not pride, or ego building. The sharpest sword cuts down monstrosities along the way. The polished blade reflects the conviction most clearly. I don't know what I'm saying, or thinking. My intentions are good. It's too late. The mystery is a mess that keeps unfolding.

-antidote

Streaks of Light

Today, I performed my show at a hospital clinic for the elderly. What a joyful audience! The overwhelming excitement and buzz in the room that built throughout the show was amazing. I can't stop marveling at what magic, and poetry, or any art form in general, can do for the human spirit. It is uplifting to see people uplifted. Simply put, I killed it: I did an excessively good job at this particular show, which is somewhat rare. It felt like I'm a basketball player and scored 50 points in the game to win it, and put smiles on the faces of everyone in the stands. It wasn't a bright-lit arena: it was a clinic! A waiting space of diagnosis and medications. I actually did the show in the waiting room, and turned it into my own magical theater. I don't care where it goes down. I'll perform on the moon if I'm asked to, for the astronauts stuck in their space shuttle laboratories. Magic is like light: it can go anywhere. So I took it as smoothly as I could into the eyes of these old people, and my poems into their ears. I'm exceptionally excited, as this was the first show where I actually bounced between doing straight magic, magic-poetry, and my poems by themselves. The reaction I received from this new approach was startlingly deep. The attention of the room funneled to a single point so clear after each poem, that I could have done the worst magic trick in the world and they still would have reacted. I'm glad I have this "sidekick" artform to help my magic out. It feels like I have Wade and Bron on my team, or Shaq and Kobe. Lol I've been watching them playoffs. It feels good to do a good job, and to see people happy from what I do. And even better knowing the income I'm getting from whatever this is making is going to take me back to the Philippines, where I can see the girl I love again. Life is astonishing. I am overwhelmed with God fortune.

-antidote

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."


-antidote

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.

-antidote

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!


-antidote

Magic Words At Work

"Illuminating"
Female/45

"...Brought me to another level"
Female/40

"Very unique"
Male/45

Audience! I tried "Magic Words: A show of magical poetry" for the first time on a gig audience tonight, and it worked. I'm so happy- you have no idea how happy I am. I've been wanting to cast this spell on an audience for so long, and it worked. They dug it. It was just me, and them, in close-up sit down show setting, and they dug it! They felt it. I felt it. It clicked, as if the marriage between my poems and my magic was supposed to happen this whole time. I just never had the courage to put them together like this. And they melded! It was a crazy fusion- just the feeling of the entire room zooming in on me like a vaccum as I spoke in strange, imaginative dialogue and whimsical rhyming patterns while flowing through my normal sleight of hand sequences was amazing, and so much more artistically fulfilling then performing magic in the traditional fashion. I always knew this kind of expression through the art of magic could be achieved, I just didn't have the courage to try it. The poems in my show are poems straight out of my chapbooks, and have little to nothing to do with the routines in my existing magic repretoire. But I discovered a shred of relevance in each one. For example, "Cafe Awesome", a poem I wrote about a beggar in a cafe eating bread, was paired with a routine where I produce a cheeseburger from a flaming napkin. It's good, audience- it's good to finally see my artistic visions finally come to fruition. It's "Magic Words: A show of magical poetry". Hit me up at antinoart@yahoo.com to bring it to your next event! And check out the rest of the House at events near you- http://www.hofc.webs.com/ for our full performance schedule. Looking forward to all of it



-the antidote



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Also, if you want to check out my work, I have poetry books available for sale. $10 a piece + $2 for shipping, or $8 a piece plus $2 for shipping if you buy two or more books. Email me at antinoart@yahoo.com with your mailing address, and I'll give you the address you can mail payment to.





















Book 1: Wandering Magician




















Book 2: Skies and Scholars





















Book 3: Mayday























Book 4: Himala

We Have A Theater

We're not famous. We don't have our own commercial, or full-length evening show on the strip, or our names up in neon signs and marquees. We were on TV for an annonymous milli-second. Sam himself almost made it onto the NBC Show Phenomenon, but those people weren't ready for his skills. We have 94 combined friends on Myspace. We don't have our own clothing line. But! It's chill that way- the perks of performing in the underground come with an artistic freedom not enjoyed by those with agents, managers, press, public image, and fans to please.

We have a little fold-up sign, a compact sound system, and a theater the size of a park. It's actually a park. It's the ArtsPark in Downtown Hollywood- a cool, manicured median of grass and playground on the corner of US-1 and Hollywood Blvd. It's our spot, and we are fortunate enough to be able to land bi-weekly bookings with the city there. Our audience? Anyone who walks through the park. We're the only entertainment within a five-mile radius, and our little street show is as good as any live show you'd see anywhere else.

The size of the park can allow us to swell our crowds well into the hundreds. Lemonade vendors and popcorn stands provide the refreshments. There are restaurants- Japanese, pizza joints, italian bistros- all around the park, so we can call our act a dinner show. The sun or moon is our spotlight, and ancient oak looking trees and bamboo gardens our backdrop. The winding park paths are the isles. And anywhere we set up is our stage. The entire park is our stage, our jam space, and the freedom that comes with performing there is a blessing that I think we've been taking for granted ever since the city started booking us in 2007.

So with that all said and reflected upon, come see our show. The House of Flying Cards at the Hollywood Artspark. We've just been booked up through September, so check our site http://www.hofc.webs.com/ for show dates. Shouts to the City of Hollywood for the theater, the Card Sharks for coming out and jamming with us week after week, and all the performing artists out there without a theater, manager, agent, fan-base, press, etc. You're not poor- as long as you and the people you love have food on their plates, you're okay.