I was kinda naive. When I used to make art, I had this insane idea that my art would cause people to rend their flesh and go mad and wreck the very culture they existed in. In short, I wanted art that induced armageddon, that reduced experience to dust. Naive, of course, and self-annihilating, too: the artist and his art of self-immolation. Never happened, of course. I got disinterested, then, when I realized that not only was my destructive dream impossible, but that art really only fed itself. Art just whets the appetite for more art. Unconsuming consumption, a neverending appetite. Ah well.

As much as I enjoy capoeira, I think I may just be done with it, for now.

Capoeira is a fascinating middle ground where those who are into fighting, dance, acrobatics, and African and Brazilian culture can all meet and get theirs. But it's a tenuous connection of interests, and the center cannot hold if one outweighs the others.

I came into capoeira wanting to know 1) if I was capable of doing cartwheels and other crazy acrobatic shit at my age; and 2) whether there were any practical applications for this flowing, dance-like art. I thinks I have satisfied my curiosity on both these points.

Let me preface this all by saying that I love capoeira and it has taught me a number of things. But at the same time, I feel like I'm at the end of my rope.

Part of it is just a time thing. Having two kids makes it hard to want to go and train. But that's just part of it.

The Brazilian-ness of capoeira wears on you, as a non-Brazilian. For capoeira as an art form, the connection with Brazilian culture is a good thing: more than most karate or other Asian art forms, capoeira seems more in touch with its roots (mostly). And it's a good thing, stretching your mind to understand different approaches to life and world views. But at a certain point it just gets wearying. I am plain sick of trying to understand Portuguese, and no matter how much you learn, you're never going to actually be Brazilian (I sometimes question whether some other practitioners get this), nor do I feel that Brazil is somehow superior culturally to America (every culture is screwed up on certain things). Yeah, you may be accepted in that culture up to a certain point, but the sort of extreme nationalism associated with the art is off-putting after awhile.

The ambiguity and indirectness of the capoeira mentality was also frustrating and baffling at times. Perhaps it was a product of slaves' inability to overtly express themselves; I don't know. And sure, some misdirection and bluffing is of value. But after awhile, a man just wants to go in and attack. Perhaps that's just my more-aggressive American mentality coming out, but whatever. To be told, in essence, "Now let the other guy go"...in a fight situation, this, to me, is madness. I know, I know, it's part of the holistic learning process of capoeira--generational respect, the more advanced student watching out for the weaker, etc. But for the purposes of fighting: Attack, for crying out loud! It's not a trait I would want to cultivate extensively.

Second, I have always had concerns about capoeira as a martial art (see here and here). Now there are dudes in capoeira who would seriously beat the crap out of me, no doubt, but looking at it from a purely practical point of view, attempting some of these moves is a fight would be suicide. Historically, I think, capoeiristas probably benefited from a) being more physically fit than others; and b) having a surprising set of techniques that probably caught people off guard (i.e. "Who knew these slaves could fight!") While its usually the practitioner and not the style that wins a fight, I just can't get over some of the techniques. Some, like the mea lua de compasso, are amazing techniques. Others I just cannot imagine any sane person using (unless they have an extremely high level of development), especially against other, more practically-minded martial arts.

Sure, Mestre Bimba used capoeira to beat up a couple not capoeiristas when his school first opened, during an open challenge to all comers (although, from what I could get out of Mestre Acordeon, he did not use only capoeira during these fights). But consider: Bimba was like, what, over six feet tall, probably more than 200 pounds. A guy like that could beat the crap out of a good segment of society.

Finally there's just the issue of physicality, and what my body is best able to do. I am a stiff dude. Not as stiff as some, but clearly not able to do some of this acrobatic shit. You can't apologize for your genes. I mean, as much as I would love to learn how to do a back flip, it's gonna take years to get there--and I guess I've got to thinking: is that really what I want to do, after all this time? Surely there are other ways to get in shape?

I dreamed Jenofur drove me up to the corner of Belleville Avenue and Ridgewood Road in Glen Ridge. Here I was to meet my buddy, White Bobby (see also emptygrowler.com). We set off on foot, just me and Bobby, headed toward Bloomfield Avenue. But this Bloomfield Avenue was more like something out of the 1800s, tightly clustered low- to mid-rise buildings, Victorian style, your basic ordinary construction: a couple of old pubs turned restaurants and the like, gas lamps, etc. As we approached the intersection of Bloomfield and Ridgewood, I happened to look up into the sky, and saw suspended there, as if by wires, a giant green garbage truck. "Funny," I thought, and punched Bobby to get his attention. As we both looked up at it, I realized it was actually hurtling through the air, and aimed at the one modern building along the avenue, a water filtration plant. The garbage truck landed ferociously, and there was a massive explosion and the sound of collapse. We started running, only to find a scene of some horror: people stumbling, confused, out onto the street; cops and firefighters everywhere. All of a sudden an old man, nutty, appeared on a iron-ringed balcony armed with a six-shooter and started firing wildly. Bobby and I ducked behind a corner, and could hear the cops shooting at him. END