June 16, 2020
When I do a sport, I obsess over the minutia. All my thought leads back to it, in this case kickboxing. If I begin a disciplined attempt to think about a piece of writing, I will emerge from that thought process some minutes later (like awakening from, or becoming, conscious) only to realize I’ve been considering the flaws in my switch-kick. Is this because a sport includes both the body and the mind? Do stories exist only in my mind? Do I not sometimes feel them as a migraine? Or is that the frustration and self-loathing at my failure? (“Writers write with their butts too.”). Do I enjoy Kickboxing more?
A switch roundhouse has taken me years to master. You begin by skipping your lead leg to the rear and your rear leg to the lead. Keep in mind to not skip too wide, too narrow, or too high and also to angle your lead foot at 45 degrees when it lands.
What about your hands? If I assume orthodox and Thai style you will swing your right hand down as you begin to launch upwards off the right foot (surging through the calf). The left hand will then swing down as the right hand returns to the jaw and the kick is launched. These motions generate power. (Don’t forget to return the right hand to the jaw to block and to sweep the left hand either across the face of the opponent or to lock the chin behind the left shoulder).
Other notes to remember, and some of these conflict (depends on the situation). Lean back. Stand tall. Lean off the center line. Shoulders, then hips, then leg. Bend the leg. Keep the leg straight.
That is the kick. Missing is how you set the kick up or what you do once you hit or miss or the opponent grabs your foot. What about hitting a moving target while you’re exhausted and afraid and being hit?
The kick reveals itself as one statement in a dialogue or narrative.
For the loser there is a always an attempt to discern meaning and pattern as in a mystery; but the epiphany never comes, and the detective is defeated by an enemy too fast or subtle.
I wander in circles. I circumambulate. I run into R. We talk about dadding.
“F. says, Go away Daddy.”
“S. says, Push. Go. Push.”
F. kicks. S. pushes.
Before R. I stopped at both Habits as well as Sherwood. I ate lunch at Uchida. Salmon Don. I spend too much money.
“Sometimes the reality of an action is manifested to us in its consequences (I should say it is always manifested in this way.” Piglia, The Happy Years (53)
WHITE SCREEN
A boys voice: How do I explain to you what it’s like? Can I? Let me walk you through a day. Any typical day. Why not like fucking yesterday?
(As he speaks, what he speaks is illustrated in B&W)
I have to wake up. I wish I had died in the night. I say good morning to my mom and eat toast and butter and bowl of Special K with 1% milk.
I have to run to the bus, not because I’m late, but because I have to wait up the block otherwise someone will do something. Might call me a faggot. Spit on me. Threaten to punch me. I don’t really care. I know they all hate me. I’m faster. They’ve never caught me. I know, because two of them used to chase me home. Other times they talk about me like I don’t exist. It’s better to just stand up the block behind the maple tree.
