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

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

The Great American Spectator

The great American spectator has seen it all before, now, and after. They watch you, the magician, and their watches equally, as if continuously weighing if what you can show them is worth their time. Spectators like these are spoiled by attention- from Hollywood movies and their special effects, from ADD-style commercials, and the hundreds of apps on their smart phones. The great American spectator is smart- an intellectual from birth. They are trained to know it all, and receive points for it. The geniuses in the audience can never be impressed, God forbid fooled. The magician carries the threat of putting their precious brains to the test. The feeling of astonishment is too childish, because the great American spectator is a grown up. They are trained to think critically, financially, and quickly. The great American spectator feels nothing. They watch you with glazed eyes, as if dead to the magic you can show them; applauding politely, then turning away.

Bring it.

-antidote

Alakaspam

Egos as aside as possible, I take pride in saying that my man Remy Connor aka Sam has slayed me once again with his performing superiority. Right after suffering from a major car accident, I visited him to see that he was okay. He was cheerful and positive as ever, and I was glad to see him there in his apartment playing videogames and laughing, instead of in a hospital bed with a neck brace on. He would have still been laughing and being cheerful even if he was there in a hospital bed, and find a way to say "awesome" despite the non-awesome things a car crash can bring.

Here is a video I randomly ran into of him performing at a gig we did on Las Olas. This was actually the last time I performed alongside him since his car accident...

And so I the antidote am reminded of my former rival, the smoke-breathing serpent mage who manages to stand head and shoulders above the rest of the House in performing prowess. Sam is bar-none one of the best performers I know, and I delightfully envy the dynamics, grace, and potency of the way he delivers his magic to the minds of his spectators. He is alive, and well. He is not dead. He may be working less in magic these days, and sitting in an apartment playing videogames despite his physical injuries. He is still saying "awesome" even when life is telling him your car is totaled. I am so glad this isn't a eulogy. I feel like it is quite the opposite. My rival lives. He is still the insanely powerful magician I remembered him as when Mark and I met him at a magic convention many years ago. This lady who took the video could have posted Mark's set, or my set. She posted Sam's set. Sam slayed us. I am honored.

-antidote

Chopping Bamboo

So, as the mighty founder of the rogue mage dojo the House of Flying Cards, commanding armies of magicians at my disposal like Gengis Kahn to conquer crowds wherever we go, I secretly freelance at a 9-5 desk job every now and then. It's great! It's so laid back. I pick up the phone and ask people if they would like free movie tickets, as opposed to picking up the phone and convincing people to book our shows. I sit peacefully in an air-conditioned cubicle surrounded by movie posters, as opposed to standing under the hot sun in front of groups of strangers waiting to be impressed. It's low-intensity, and stable. I have tasted this world. It's humbling, and there's peace in low-brainpower tasks such as shipping boxes of movie posters and stuffing envelopes. I once read that a Buddhist monk from the Ching Dynasty fled the bustle of the imperial city to retire in the mountains, and chop bamboo. He achieved enlightenment this way. It's a change of pace, the 9-5, but the more I do it, the more energy I store up energy for my next run on the performance grind. I love the way things balance out: low-intensity office hours and high-intensity gig runs. I can appreciate the balance both bring to my being!

-antidote

Ego

A good friend and mentor of mine Alex Geiser has had a profound impact on how I approach this art. He also does a gangster coin matrix that is too hardcore to compete with or comprehend how hardcore it hits you in the brain. Anyway, out of all art forms, magic has the potential to inflate your ego more-so than music, painting, and the like, because you get instant props! Like the response is right away. People will tend to worship you if you did what your supposed to do correctly. This is bad. Ego is bad. Let it go like sand.

-antidote

"The root of this behavior lies in the ego. A lot of people think they understand ego because they are aware of the definition of the word. The one’s who are cocky may be that way because of ignorance. We are magicians, we are supposed to be people’s people. If wer’e not, how can people like your magic if they don’t like you? Or better yet… how can you make people dream if their too busy thinking you are a douche? To fully understand, you also have to be aware of how you are percieved. And that’s why you should be the respectful gentleman. The main lesson of this topic is, ‘ Let go of the ego’. Your knowledge will increase because you should understand that everyone has something to bring to the table."

- Alex Geiser on the Ego

for more info on the gangster hardcore magic of Alex Geiser go to http://www.myfavoritemagician.com

Fooled

The hidden lessons of my practice are becoming apparent: they flashed! It's not so much about taking what I need from the magic advice I'm given: it's giving a compassionate ear, and the opportunity for my advice givers to speak their peace. My dad is my mentor, and loves being that. I don't care if I don't agree with 50% of the advices in magic he gives me. I'm learning to love being able to give him the opportunity to mentor me, and humble myself to take what he suggests to heart. An open ear is a gift: I don't care what I learn after that. It's not about learning to make myself the best. The trick is to stay as humble as possible no matter how good I perceive myself, or my crowd perceives me to be. The better you become, the harder it is to do that! It's not about creating an awesome show to get more gigs. It's being selfless with the money I make from them, and serving the highest possible quality Jadu I can serve to my audiences. It's not about beating myself up for doing a bad show: it's forgiving, and learning to not take things so seriously. I think I have it figured out. I think I'm learning magic, but there is so much I don't know that's being secretly taught. Mastery of the sword precedes peace. Poems precede calm silence. Loving those around you precede God. I think I get it. I'm so fooled!

-antidote

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.

-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

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.

-antidote

God Loves Magic

A holy man from Cebu City, Philippines, came to my place today to lead a prayer session. While eating, he walked up to me and asked if I still did magic, and if so, how was it? "Maayo ra," I tried to say to him, showing him I had bisaya up my sleeve. Means "it's good," I think, and I proceeded to say "akong trabajo" (it's my work). He said he loves it because...

it makes people happy. And asked me to keep doing it for that reason.

When I was in Cebu City, my girlfriend Agnes said she loves watching the reactions of the people I do magic to. They are the paintings, I told my friend mark on a drive across the state of Florida. We divulged on this topic for some time. I once remember a horrible set I hit at Agnes' apartment. It was one hour of me freestyling under-practiced sleight of hand on her skeptical cousin in laws. I could seriously hear them calling me out on 50% of my sleights during the set, as my bisaya has been improving with each visit to that city. I remember later that night, she texted me thanking me for the set, because I had no idea how happy it had made them. While I was busy focusing on me, little did I know that it made them laugh and smile and end their day memorably.

People are happy, and if you can make them that, or bring that out of them, you are doing God a favor. You are blessing their day with a moment of positive energy. It's an intangible contribution to the world, the feeling of astonishment, happiness, laughter- all of the above. To extend a simple coin trick to a kid in a corner is like giving them a million dollars.

I'm more and more realizing the position us magicians are in to serve God and love one another through this art form. The simple un-indifference shown by taking time out of your day to show someone something incredible, something they've never seen, is an honor to transcend.

I do magic, because people like it. People love it. They smile when they see it. They see differently when they see it. They feel deeply when they see it, and sometimes forget explanations and blindly believe. This feeling of Jadu, or jade, or something precious as the Hindus call it, is a slice of nice. I have a pie of that in my existing repertoire, and skill set, regardless of my bad sleight of hand and performance imperfections. I serve magic. I Jadu magic. Dr. Irizari, the holy man from Cebu simplified everything I do to one reason only: it makes people happy. And because of that, I am blessed to say that I am happy with what I do.

-antidote