The Patient Photographer

"People in Hancock are hateful. Full of grudges. I'm dying and they still are determined to make me serve time for crimes that are 20 years old. I paid my dues. You have a light?"

Thanks. Can't even use my legs anymore, except for biking. But their not going to see that. This may be my last ride in a long time--maybe forever. I served 5 years for larceny. I'll be the first to admit that I deserved five. It was based on repeat offenses. It got in my blood somehow. Family, probably.

That was my wife just now. One thing you'll learn. Women want security. Men want pussy. But if you can treat her like a princess she'll follow you anywhere. Most people wouldn't suspect it but I have my degree. I'm a working professional. After my five in prison I decided I wanted to make something of my life despite my upbringing--despite the cruelty of my mother, brother, and community. And I went back to school and got a degree in psychology. I've been able to help a lot of people because of where I've been. I been down some dark roads and sometimes you just can't counsel certain types of people unless you've walked that road. I know where most of these people have been and I've helped a lot of them out of dark places.

But you, no, you are going to prosper. I can see that. See that in the way you hold yourself. Utah is a hell of a ride and I wouldn't be surprised if you make it and then some. Sometimes you just get a feeling about people. I'm pretty good at that. I've seen so many in so many different places in life. But, I can see that you are going to prosper. You married?

It's like I said about women. If you take care of them, they'll give their lives for you. They're just built different than men. I have a daughter of my own. Teenager. She's back home with my wife. That was her just now on the phone. God I love her but its not easy. Even after all this time. But this judge, he's not going to consider that. My brother used to abuse me. Really mean stuff. Humiliating stuff. Sexual abuse. Physical. I remember blacking out on a regular basis. My mom never gave any credence to what I'd tell her though. She'd just say 'oh Jodie, stop making up stories. You're a big story teller'. My family were pretty low life people. Just like a lot of our neighbors. Sometimes I'm surprised I lived to be an adult. Come to find out later, my dad had abused my brother when he was still around. That's part of the reason I decided to become a counselor. I could see how this stuff gets passed around. People need help to find a way out.

I know as well as anyone that I made choices that put me in jail and I know enough about life as an adult that I can't blame my mom or brother or community. That's a message I have to convince a lot of my clients of. But to think that I'd have to go back to prison when for me the slate was wiped clean.  No drugs, no crime, not even anything petty in 20 years. I'm a changed man. I have a job and people who rely on me. And now the legs. And then this letter came in the mail just a week ago informing me that new information was made known. The judge has missed me. Wants me to do my fair share. Say again?

No, it's not right. But I'm not complaining. Life has a funny way of working itself out. I've learned that in the time since I've been out of prison.

I'm just grateful I can still ride. That is something. Its freedom. I did 68 miles already today. The legs are shit but they can still drive the chain. There's no cure you know for muscular dystrophy. I'll likely loose my ability to walk from behind bars. I'll ride to Cumberland tonight and then turn around for home tomorrow. When I get back, I go in for my hearing.

But that brought me to where I am today--not so bad really. I do love the bike. Its the only freedom I feel anymore. Muscular dystrophy is eating my legs away. You can tell right. Hell yes. Legs like this. There's nothing left but tendon and bone. I can still bike because I still can use my core muscles. But you saw me, I can hardly stay on my feet. And this judge down in Hancock, he's not going to consider that. People in that community are not quick to forget. He's got a grudge and he's going to give me as many more years as he can.

You want to see something amazing? That's a mother and two cubs. Ranger told me he's spent 25 years in the Appalachia and he's never seen one. They're so rare here in the appalachia any more. Sometimes I get lucky. Couple months back, I took this one. Now how many people can say they've even heard of an albino deer let alone see and take a picture of one. I sat in a field for 3 hours and got the surprise of my life when that thing came walking out. And I can tell you, that's just scratching the surface. When I sit still, things just come to me. Uncanny things, most of which I've got pictures of. Sell?

No. I mean, I'd like for people to see what pictures I've taken but I don't want to sell. It's just hobby that I'm damn good at. People have told me that. And I know people. Like I said, I can see it in you. Those strong legs. This exodus to Utah. Yeah, your going to prosper. I can see that like a painting."

https://www.flickr.com/people/jodypatton/

I then remembered that there were no other foaming drinks at high altitudes

I drank 1 oz of rice wine once without knowing the traditional end of chicken stew in Korea

I drank a coconut mixer with a bunch of God-fearing Mormons--again by accident

I tried wine at a Thanksgiving party in grad-school. 

And sipped 3 oz of fresh ground coffee brew during an Ethiopian ceremony in Awassa. 

And then, one day, in Frostburg, a guy says, 'Hey bud. Long ride eh? Like a cold one?' It was nice how natural it felt to say yes. It was even nicer going down. 

As the good Lord has said, wheat for man, and fruit for the bat, and corn for the ox, and brewski for the bicycle tourist. 

Persistence Furthers

I've never met anyone of consequence at Subway. And I've eaten more meatball marinaras than I care to admit. But there is something about life on a bike that shakes one's sense of routine. Broaching the silence with the grey bearded patron seated opposite me one table away was hardly even a forethought.

"Did you win?"

He had been laughing to himself as he played what I assumed was a video game on his ipad. It seemed strange that a guy that looked late sixty would be playing games--late afternoon--at a Subway. And somewhere in the monkey chatter of thoughts that will cross a mind in a day, someone was broadcasting, 'What a looser!'.

"Yes. I did. I gamble online. Its great fun."

He laughed again, like a kid in an arcade.

Then surmising my indifference he paused and added, "Oh, not real gambling. It's just for fun."

"I won nearly $300,000 before losing it all."

He was positively radiant about this. He had a smile full of holes that nearly pushed his ears off the side of his head. I started laughing despite myself.

I've always been interested in human stories of all kinds and thought even if this one begs drama and inspiration, maybe the man has his reasons for loitering at Subway for hours while he wins and looses fake money.

"You come to Subway often?" I persisted.

He paused again. He had very clear eyes.

"Oh, I come here occasionally. When I need to escape from my solitude. I woke up this morning feeling less than great. But then I walked outside. The ground was wet. The sun was out so I decided to walk. The air here is clean. So I decided that today has a lot to offer. I ended up here and won and lost $300,000! And now I'm talking to you! I can't see what's not to like about today."

Dave Lehrner was a first rate philosopher! Also a dentist and a Jew. He had read the Book of Mormon 3 times cover to cover and cracked jokes about how pathetically sorry he was for Korihor--the outcast trampled rationalist. He thought that was wildly funny too. So did I.

"I'm riding my bike to Utah." I volunteered at some point. "We'll actually I'm thinking of calling it quits in Pittsburg. It's been harder than I thought it would be."

"Well you said you spent time in Asia, so you know some things about surrender right? It's the wu wei! You do realize that you don't HAVE to finish right? If you finish early, that's positively alright. Maybe even a good thing."

"Yeah, I just hate to finish early. I've been wanting to do this for while."

"There's value in that too! You could go another ten. That might not be remarkable but 10 is 10. You could go to Pittsburg and be done. That would be remarkable! It's a long ride. You could ride all the way to Utah. Let me write something down for you."

He scribbled something on a square slip of paper and then humored himself by drawing a tooth with a smily face in the middle. He accented the tooth with shining marks and left his name and email as well.

He handed me the slip and I read, "Persistence Furthers". It was so simple. Almost non-sense. But to me, the riding weary traveler, it was good medicine. I kept that slip of paper tucked behind the seat of my bike for the next 1600 miles. Many 10 mile segments passed. Thoughtless hours with the occasional passing of a farm truck and the clicks and chirps of field bugs. Inevitably, out of the silence, like the slightest tail wind would whisper, "persistence furthers."

The Bumps in All Beginnings

You may pay the minimum for a Randonee. See the 'what you should know' section in this blog to know exactly why riding a bike for a long distance is a good idea. Please see the back of this post, (or the back side of that good journey) for all the clues you need to get you there safely and without care. In other words, forget all about casualty ins.

Because 1 mile from the house, your rear panier will fall off, the hill that you rode a dozen times with an unloaded bike will have stretched its running yellow lines already. In the hour that you left the 100+ year old trees that would be struck by lightning and come tumbling onto the C&O canal may already be earmarked by natures hand for harvest. And you and the newest bike you've owned in years will be caked with trail grime long before sunset. Enjoy those raw almonds for dinner you nut!

You can make your check payable to Shak Hill. P.O. box 3575 Akron, OH. Remember to include your policy number and allow five days for delivery. Nope. No guarantees--not of safety, success, or even a good time. The one thing you can rely on, is that in nine hours, the sun will come up, and it will be light enough to ride on.

First Purchase: fork stem
Cost: $29.95
Place: 115 West German Street, Shepherdstown, WV 25443
Ask for: Jamie
Why: an 8 hour pinch between the shoulders

A bike is a timeless machine, as anyone who has been sucked into the vortex of spinning wheels will tell you.

Last year, during the month of September, I road nearly 1900 miles between where my wife and I live in Arlington VA, to my home town of Vernal in Utah. It was an unforgettable journey. In the coming weeks, I will document some of the most compelling moments of the trip--most of them surprise encounters with the people along the way. A few key phrases will guide the documentation:

• Fork-Stem False Start: $29.95 and the bumbs in all beginnings
• "Persistence Furthers" --David Lerner 
• Brewsky in Frostburg and other memories of foaming drinks at high altitude 
• Jody Patton--the patient photographer
• ____, Missoula Team 
• Pike and Company and why a bike that 'fits' is overrated
• A reflection on Ohio: redefining kindness
• Chicago: The McDonalds Encounter, Persistence Furthers Reprise
• Somonauk: A Personal Definition 
• Ed Brown: A Party Not to Miss
• Muse: Corn, Soy, Grasshopper, Repeat 
• Interlude: Bishop's Biker Bandit 
• Pat's Party Proverb: "I make the kite, but they are the wind."
• The Biker's Shed and why biking is such a big deal in Iowa
• Omaha: Or why bikers should pass through Omaha 
• The Long Road: Stories from route 30 Nebraska 
• Too Much Room in the Inn: The Sedgwick Vision 
• The Stone Man: Magic in the Grasslands 
• Early Winter in the Rockies
• Company on the Road
• Spiritual Ground Zero: More Blue Mountain Magic
• Reunion: Reflection of the Importance of Motion 
  

...opposition series continued

March 30, 2014

On Opposition

We are

A hundred weights

And counter weights

Hanging on the Fulcrum

Of Christ

Where one is cut

Another drops into the abyss

Whipping violently

Its leash (lease?)

Around the fulcrum

Where one is heavy

Another drags

Where one is light

Another sags

We jostle and jockie by size

And make room and apologize

And knock heads

And take sides

And despair

And despise

And defend

And deride

And Abide

And we all together suffer

And we all together strive

Hanging on the Fulcrum

Of Christ

And yet

We are suspended!

-----

I pray to know

And do not know still

And yet it is there

I would be content

With but a hint

Or so I think

Until the hint comes

And then I want two hints

A trail of hints leading

To an X which will mark the spot

Where all my suspicions

Will be confirmed or denied.

All I get

Is the hint of a hint

The inflammation of suspision

And yet it is there.

Vascilating between

Trust and Wonder

I hang as a weight and counter weight 

On a Fulcrum.

----

Agonist

Antagonist

Synergist

Antogonist’s synergist

Antagoinizing the agonist’s synergist

Bone…Muscle…Fascia…

I do not

Stand

Or Run

Or Sit

Or Sleep

Or Shit

Or Move

Or Reflect

Or Improve

Without Tension

The fist that slams

That strangers hams

The cheek that bears

The fist he shares

Two bodies contend

Their motion animated

By Tension.

The legacy of our movement too,

Pivots on a Fulcrum. 

Object

Only a thing, but in space a king

That holds a place in time; a being

For when the arc of time will bend

This thing will profer us an end.

in imitation of:

Only a thought but the work it wrought

Cannot be pen nor tongue be taught

For it ran through life like a thread of gold

And the life bore fruit one hundred fold

Reflections of the Chesapeake, 1608
July 24, 2009

O Mother River
who has carried me
so long

O Father Tree
who has long pointed
the way

O Brother Grass
who has given me place
to lie

O Sister Wind
who makes the earth
to sing

I hold Thee
like warm sunshine
in my heart

You fly from me
on the wings
of an eagle

And echo long
in River, Tree, Grass, and Wind
my Home

when all the earth was clean it was most alive
all she had to offer was evidence of this
the birds songs were long and happy in the trees
the trees sent roots down and long branches up
they moved only with the wind
they lived and died just as long as they should
they gave back all they took and more
leaving the earth richer, open for new growth
scented sweetly with green and brown mineral
and the rains fell in pure color then
speeding from cloud to earth in pure light
saturating earth
bubbling in the pond
pooling in the stream
flowing in the river
crashing in the ocean
dissolving in the sky
falling again in clear light
each time the earth celebrated with motion
the things the water moved in its force and before that
the woods creatures all moved at the coming
the leaves and blades of grass trembled
the birds went mute and turned their song to diving
like pools of black and fluid light in the sky
revel in the rain
the rolling cloud silver at their backs
the lightning glinting off their wings
the thunderous motion of the wind
making them light up the sky
seldom so free as when the rains come
but all this is forgotten
when the lifting clouds part like a curtain
and the face of everything shines
in yellow sunlight
then for moments all the surface of things sigh
caught in transition
happy to be wet and drying
thankful for warmth
for light cutting down in strands
through the grass and leaves
water lilting at its surface
fish quiet in their frenzy
begin to nap in cool shaded banks
the birds take to singing again
a prayer for rain
the earth is clean
it is most alive

Response to Cave of Forgotten Dreams

Reflections on Chauvet Cave

When first he saw his hand

Then he became a man

First laping water like a dog

At midnight

At a stream

With and hiding from

Other animals

His eyes only for them

His ears only for them

See how they move

Shoulder blade punching through

Paws flaired

Hungry to eat flesh

Hungry to make flesh

Hungry to rest a while by the water

He saw emotive animals

Lapping water at midnight

They took refuge in a cave

Bones of prehistoric bears

Cast eternally in cave drip

Saved for all time

In the belly of their mother

Smears of smoke

Dressing the walls

30,000 years ago

He pressed his hand here

His first signature

Pressed indelibly by his own fear

Of the unknown

Of death;

He made life

He pressed a rock to the wall

And gave birth to a lion

A lionness—troubled by the lion

A heartsick lionness

Flairing paw for food

Flooding a glacial plane

With tears of frustration

Oh how they move!

Oh how he knew!

And then he saw his hand

This one we call Adam. 

TNT_2

Week 1 Observations:
1. tendency to raise shoulders, draw neck forward, and clench right hand, including tension prior to beginning in anticipation
2. in response to a clenching right hand, I removed right hand from notebook: right hand still unconsciously tense, pacing is slower, left hand more deliberate
3. success with 'reversibility' early during one day while listening to the news. Thought: "maybe I don't know"
4. improved legibility with a change in medium from pen to pencil
5. most legible when writing unconsciously

TNT_1

observations:
 1. tendency to clench paper with right thumb
 2. clumsy left to right movement, regular adjustment of left hand on page
 3. tendency to draw neck forward towards page
 4. spell 'tongue' wrong repeatedly when typing, not so when writing

time: 10 mins
words: 160

Project TNT, part I, Introduction

Introduction: Project TNT

This project started in 2010, fizzled in 2011, died in 2012, and is being resurrected in 2013.

A week ago a family member directed me to an obscure web-page hosted by a Korean star-gazer who told me that in 2013 I would be, "like a dragon without teeth",--not a good omen in context of the last three years of semi-un employment. I have decided that I need a shot of potency in the arm. I therefore return to project TNT.

 This project has five elements. The first of these is a goal to write left handed everyday for ten minutes. The long term objective is to become as comfortable writing left as right. To undo, is as much as I can, what my mother did when at three years old, she shifted the paint brush from my left hand to my right. This part of the project has a very experimental aspect--in that I am interested in learning how this shift can improve plasticity, reversibility (in a feldenkrais context), creativity, and spontaneity.

In 2010, I completed a full left-handed transcription of 3,933 words of Coleridge's Rhyme of the Ancient Mariner . In 2013 I will begin with one month of an anonymous four line poem:

 Only a thought but the work it wrought
 Cannot by pen nor tongue be taught
 For it ran through life like a thread of gold
 And the life bore fruit one-hundred fold.

This will be documented with a photographed index of the writings over time as a means of observing changes, improvements, anomalies etc. in the writing style itself. At the end of one month, a new work of text will be selected.

The Alma Sonnets

Alma 5:38
Behold, I say unto you, that the shepherd doth call you; yea, and in his own name he doth call you, which is the name of Christ; and if ye will not hearken unto the voice of the good shepherd, by which ye are called, behold, ye are not the sheep of the good shepherd.

The shepherd calls his bleating lambs to keep
Within the well-spring of His voice to hear
A whispering that wakes the lambs from sleep
And in the hollows of their hearts will sear
His name, his name that echos like a drum
Reverberating kind benevolence
Ears once stopped once stupefied once dumb
Must shed the mufflers of insolence
And sear upon the ear’s own sounding board
The holy name Christ the shepherd good
And train the ear to grasp His voice and score
These whisperings stored up as heavenly food
Then deep within they hear the Shepherds call
Or else be left to wander, wither, fall.

Alma 5:15

Do ye exercise faith in the redemption of him who created you? Do you look forward with an eye of faith, and view this mortal body raised in immortality, and this corruption in incorruption, to stand before God to be judged according to the deeds which have been done in the mortal body?

Can you with honesty recount this day
In which your itching flesh did steal about
The carnal streets of life in which you play?
And in that frenzied dancing find but doubt
In He who made thy form to slither through
These littered streets of opportunity
To shed these weighty scales and doubt eschew
To trust in His redemption coming free?
Can you then with scale-less eye more clear
Perceive the deeper meaning of the itch?
Feel it soothed abetted in a smear
Of the Creator’s healing balmy pitch?
Can this same eye now see that frenzied dance
When hammer falls like you beneath His glance?





Alma 5:52
And again I say unto you, the Spirit saith: Behold, the is laid at the root of the tree; therefore every tree that bringeth not forth good fruit shall be down and cast into the fire, yea, a fire which cannot be consumed, even an unquenchable fire. Behold, and remember, the Holy One hath spoken it.

Mark it that a voice from heaven warns
The ax the tree the image to inflame
The fruitless mind the fruitless life to shame
Reveal the barren soul but food for worms
Now see the flame with fangs bared out to feast
Now see that wooded though not fruited tree
An everlasting scorched sterility
Made house for seed again in flames that cease
Not even in the end. When time roles out
His parched and leathery tongue like carpet bags
Long stayed long baked beneath the long day’s sun
Not setting though the day is done. A sprout
May spring from heated charcoal then these fags
Mark the heavenly voice that says ‘it’s done’!


Alma 5:26
And now behold, I say unto you, my brethren, if ye have experienced a of heart, and if ye have felt to sing the of redeeming love, I would ask, ye feel so now?

There was a song that once upon a day
Sang out a lovely tune upon your heart
A heart that felt vibrations pulse and sway
Resounding in its caverns every part
Beating out that chamber’s sour dis-chord
Beating in a kinder harmony
Setting free the chambers gated hoard
Of humming, purring, sweet felicity
That then within the violin did ring
That then within the piper’s pipe did tweet
That then within an angels’ chorus sing
Within these beating chamber walls so sweet
Has that sweet song now faded to a din?
A droning pandemonium within?

Memory Project cont.

(Early March, 2011)

Memory as Honesty

What would if mean
If you told her you loved her
But could not recall it?

Can a lifetime of color
Be washed to dull-edgeless gray
In one bad day?

What demon shadow is this
That follows me always
But when I am alone?

I confess I have been untrue.
A heart decided knows
What it has said.

___

Memory as Motion

Mostly I remember the sweat
Of distaste
Of displeasure
Of dispute

Only I am robbed by the stuppor
Of inaction
Of indecision
Of hesitation

Truly I am trouble by the vacancy
Of momentum
Of connection
Of comprehension

Surely I am more than these:
Sweat
Stuppor
Vacancy

___

Memory from the deeper past

The harbor was green and singing then
Untouched
By an iron-clad foot.

It's waters teemed with life
Unfettered
By fear of discovery.

I ran about like a lunatic then
Moonstruck
Mindless of my place

In the order of things
Unfettered
By the bonds of awareness

The harbor and I sang together then
Calling out
The almost unseen dawn

Drawing out the darkness of the woods
Unfettered
By the obscurity and ignorance of night

Memory Continued

June 24

Memory after forgetting

I forgot it was his birthday
For the first time
But remember many in-between.

There were simpler times
When a warm cup of joe
And four lines of poetry
On a frosty moonlit night
Were enough to fill us.

Now of necessity
We pursue money
Mountain tops
Stability.

And those simple times
Are cached like Rhodes Gold
A golden luster
To seek and find
In a different time.

----

I once forgot how to sleep
So busy counting sheep
Coming one by one
Like a rhythmic beating drum
Braying and Baaaeing
Coded messages relaying
Through the window--a sun beam
And then--I slip in to a dream

Memory Project cont.

July 8

Memory as remembrance

The Book says
"Remember, Remember"
Because the author knows
That the reader soon forgets

Busy seeking countless pleasures
And relief from daily pressures
It is not easy to remember
The pain I'm longing to forget.

And yet
I find when my mind
Will relax and remind
Time--

Wherein the words
Of an oft read page
An oft spoken word
From a wisend sage
And the whisperings
Of the dead in their graves

Restore me
To Remembrance

________


Genetic Memory

When Grandpa finished his speech
He was red as a beet
Proud of the light
He had shed on his crowd
And yet on his brow
Hung a little gray cloud
Of self-doubt.

I know this man! I thought
For I saw in the speech
And the response of the crowd
And the doubt on the brow
Like a little grey cloud
But an echo
Of long ago
And presently--me.

Memory

Memory as smell

I woke again today
For the first time
And caught a wiff
Of burning cedar wood
And remembered
All I had ever wanted
And thought it funny
That I should ever forget
Something so simple
_________

Memory as possession

You can't take it with you
That black Sierra Designs pull-over
The A5 on the trail to Gannett
2 wallets in 2 months--gone!
Thursday night's laughter
You can't take it with you
Unless...
You secure what is worth keeping
You remember the pain of forgetting
And the joy of a good thing relived
All things remembered are eternally possessed
Unless...
_________

Memory as joy and ritual

I remember her
Charged with my provocation
Fangs bared
Head wagging
Beneath the aggravated ruse
The shared joy
Of a lazy evening ritual
_________

Memory as appreciation

Is the fruit of appreciation
Long ripened
Freely shared
Abundantly consumed
A fixation on the silver lining
Of all things

Bothwell Bleak- Midwinter series

Late January Sunset in Bothwell, Utah, west of Tremonton. The Bleak Mid-winter provides occasion to trudge through the unbroken snow for some shots.

MA in East Asian Literatures and Languages / Korean for Career Professionals / PPT Presentations...

My diploma arrived in the mail today. So its official. I'm a Master of something--at least on paper. I feel like I've a long way to go with Korean yet, but then again, I've come a long way. Anyway, the best part is I can demand that people refer to me as Master Wiscombe now. wow, that has a nice ring to it.

Matters of the heart

My Heart is a Bell Curve

My heart is a bell curve
Deep at its center
And Built for collecting

But it spins on its hinge
Lays waste to its content
And drips before filling again



My Heart is a Butterfly

My heart is a butterfly
Pearched on a snap-dragon
Ready to fly or be eaten

It flys when it can
And rests went it can’t
An flutters when smitten