I grew up doing Taichi under the shadow of Wudang. Shifu never explained why or how, but he would make us perform the slow forms with precision and power, then when we had to fight, he pushed us away from trying to use the moves and positions. “No fantasy,” he would say. It infuriated me. … Continue reading Taichi for real fights?
The giant threw a table against the wall, the food for the moon festival all spoiled. Drooling, with his unruly beard and barrel waist, the massive monster roared and kept moving in our direction, spitting vulgarities along the way.
Master grinned. And told me a tale of a time when the first leaves began to fall in the magic forest, and a hand-tall bird challenged the magnificent dragon for a fight. Frail but brave, she huffed her feathers and lifted her wings as if she was a big white crane. The fire breather laughed so loud he was heard on the other side of the world, for each of his scales were bigger than the puny fowl. So hard, the mere air bursting out of its mouth threw the bird against a rock and she passed out. Next autumn, the senseless tiny one was back. A bit fuller, but still diminutive compared to her foe. (...)
"White supremacists, racists, sexists, abusers. There is something positive about how emboldened those slimy critters have been. In power, they are easier to sniff and attack. Yes, I confess I love seeing them turn into punch dough by the small hands of an Asian girl. I'm a Tigress, after all. The Queen of the cónglin. Pouncing is my nature and they are my diet." (...) --- read the full story here.
Americans. They can buy into their own witchcraft so quickly, but make it foreign and it’s silly. I nod and explain. At the very least, it's a good philosophical ritual to perform, sometimes. If you don’t trust the divination part, the results still get you thinking. In my case, the Dao says I am approaching zenith, with all its glory and triumph, and need to think abandonment, cause decline comes next. I glance around and it doesn’t seem like zenith or triumph. Except for George. He makes me happy, despite having to live in his bizarre schedule. He’s worth it. (...)
I gaze and say nothing. I’m way more verbose inside of my mind. His eyes meet mine and suddenly he flinches. (...)
I walk in. House smells like orchids. Beyond that, a mess. Lights on, the mirror, clothes off: ripped t-shirt, big red stain; sports bra. Sweatpants are a size bigger because I like it that way. Better for kicking, if you tie it tight. George thinks I am sexy. I'm not so sure. I like the ink … Continue reading The Hermaphrodite
She spat no grunt, despite being the third time she got hit on the face since they entered that room. Digging her chin to the chest, she pressed the pupils against the eyebrows. He gasped. Yinyin Yang, her name, was an attempt to undo the curse of the family name. “Double softness of chi, to … Continue reading Yinyin’s silk hands
My first night in the cage was a few years ago. The place smelled bad. Piss and beer. They used to allow the animals to drink, until the day an idiot started a brawl that sent twelve wire-heads to the hospital. Following day, police was making questions, and alcohol was forbidden. The Pit didn’t seem … Continue reading Buffalo