Dummy Rant

The #wingchun #woodendummy is a trunk with arms. But it’s the trunk, not the arms! A tool created to help us visualize the centerline, fundamental principle of this art. To help us learn to pressure the centerline. Attack the centerline. Move around the arms and the legs… to attack the centerline. Yet, most people I see using it, are so focused on the arms they never take the true practical effect of this brilliant invention. They learn to fight an immobile opponent instead of moving around the attacker, of learning to flank him and go after the centerline from the new angle. The result: robotic chain punching robots that can’t use wing chun for anything real, who get the art criticized for having weak footwork, when in fact the more I train, the closer I think it is to boxing footwork (though a bit more rooted). Anyway, the next time you stand in front of one of these, forget the arms. They are just an obstacle to the trunk, the centerline. No matter where you touch, make that body shake.* ——————

* side note: there is a considerable difference between the wall mounted dummy and all the other ones in terms of the feedback you get. Once you try the wall mount everything tends to get clearer.

#boxing #mma #kungfu #mixedmartialarts

A new me

Let me take a minute away from the story to focus on the journey. It’s a new year after all.

Jan19

Jan18

Last year was a battle. This time against myself. So far, new me is winning and it feels really good. I have more energy to train and the drive to write recently came back too. Not a coincidence that I finally got my karate black belt and finished the book after the 100lb lost! I must thank all the support I got from family and co-workers, plus the crowd at my martial arts school too. I wouldn’t have done it without you. Also the healthcare professionals who took such good care of me. Now onward. Keeping the weight off, moving life ahead, training like a mofo and getting this book about #kungfu and #artificialintelligence out of the door. Hope you like it once it’s done.

#karate #taichi #wudang #martialarts #wingchun #boxing #weightloss #bariatricsurgery #scifibooks #writing #novelists

Kung Fu vs Artificial Intelligence

Finishing a novel about #martialarts and #artificialIntelligence – follow to show the world that fans of #fighting like books too (You won’t believe how many times I heard people asking if martial arts people like to read)

#mma #taichi #wudang #mixedmartialarts #boxing #karate #kungfu #wingchun #martialartist #muaithai #bjj #judo #taekwondo #femalefighter

Hashtagananza

I learn so much when I start a new book. What other activity would allow me to have, on the same month, a conversation about 1) soul alchemy in daoism, another on 2) thought suppression on the brain’s neocortex, one about 3) antagonist algorithms in artificial intelligence, one on 4) the differences between playing and non-playing characters in Minecraft, one on 5) the different rooms at the White House, one on 6) take down defense in mixed martial arts, one on 7) intersectional feminism, one on 8) the similarities between the i-Ching and the divination systems in Nigeria?

Just think of the hashtags alone: #Wudang #daoism #neuroscience #minecraft #whitehouse #artificialintelligence #mixedmartialarts #taichi #literature #feminism #intersectionalfeminism #iching #yoruba #china

Crazy, but fun!

My name is Tigress

tigerstripes1

Girls should be at home this late. Especially little Asian chicks like me. Never running, alone, in the dark streets of Oakland. Except that when dudes see you so comfortable and confident by yourself, they think you are either crazy or are hiding something.I am both. Crazy and hiding.

From a fence ahead, I hear a scream. The mouth of an unsecured construction site. I go check. Behind a huge stack of lumber, a hooded figure holds a scantily clad woman by the wrist. She tries to shake him off, but he doesn’t seem into her plan.

The thing with Oakland is: it’s predictable. Shit always happen in the same places. There’s where the junkies get fucked up. Where cops get gifts. Where blacks get shot. Where dumb fights break. Where girls get roughed. If you want to avoid trouble, you stay away. Otherwise…

“Hey, Sir? This aint how you treat a lady,” I yell from outside.

“Fuck off!” He responds and laughs his drunken laughter. To my ears that’s an invite.
I pass the fence. He pauses. More intrigued than wary. With the sleeve of his jacket, a stained, too short jean one, he wipes the messy bush growing around his mouth and opens a wide grin. Yes, it was an invite.

Then I see a flash. Bright, blinding. When the light fades, I am somewhere else.

It’s been happening since the event on the lab. The flashes. Memories so vivid, everything seems like the present. A hiccup of conscience of sorts. They never come at a good time though. Now it’s dark. Night. A tunnel… The subway locals call Bart. Such a funny name. Perhaps the cabs should be Lisa and the buses Homer? The cable cars should be Margies! I am only 19, freshly arrived in America and life still feels like I’m inside a TV show. The train stops, I get in. The wagon is almost empty, just me and a man wearing a grass-stained khaki overall and a bright orange helmet full of partially ripped stickers. He looks at me weird, but I want no trouble, keep walking to the other end of the car. Sit as far away as possible.

The Bart moves and once out of the station and it’s dark, I hear steps lurking behind me. Remember to breathe, Yinyin.

Flash! Back to Oakland. Good. I march toward the asshole in the alley. “Leave her alone, sir!” The drunk cackles and lets go of her hand. “Huh, looks like the little Chink wants to join us, babe. Isn’t she cute?” He takes a pocket knife. Pathetic. I keep moving forward–same speed, same determination.

Another flash. The man in the subway. I look back, wondering what would possibly sound so similar to a zipper, just to see the eye of his dick staring right into mine. He grabs my hand. Bad move.

“Eat tofu,” I say, immediately knowing that didn’t come out right. In Mandarin, it would have worked much better. Whatever. “Fucking depraved,” I correct. Now he understands. I turn his wrist in one direction, twist his elbow the opposite way. So fast and far, I feel his tendon snap. He screams. I pull it the other way and stand, pushing my hip against his and up he goes. I sense his feet unroot, fly over my shoulder. Almost in slow motion. His helmet first and alone, ricocheting on the chromed bars and away from the skull it was supposed to protect. I think I hear the music. Shifu’s flute, playing calm long notes like the ones he used to pace my tai chi. Then BAM! The rest of him smashes the metal floor. Head first. He stays there. The lights from the windows blink on and off, he shows no sign of life. Shit! Did I kill the man?

The flash drags me back again.

The woman has giant legs and even bigger boobs. Both as exposed as she could without technically being naked. She looks at me and screams for the fence. “Somebody fucking help!” Thanks for the confidence. I gaze at the knife, crack my knuckles, then pounce. Watch that, bitch.

Real fights aren’t like those in the movies. They are messy and unforgiving. You have to deal with your dumb opponent, make sure you don’t kill the fucker, that he doesn’t kill you, and that you don’t step on a nail or trip on a ladder. I manage to avoid all that just to get hit by another flash.

The Bart stops. The creep still lays there like a rag doll and a memory of Shifu washes me in shame. He wasn’t a violent man himself. Would rather spend his time training people on the comprehension of the Dao and the healing aspects of Qigong. So, when he allowed me, and even pushed me to let my beast out, no one understood. “You will get it, someday, Tigress,” he told me. Daoists are fond of their paradoxes, like accepting of the wrong as a path to the right. “All the philosophy is packed into the moves. The yin hiding inside the yang. One day, you will see. But you must promise to avoid death. Daoists do not hit to kill.” A solemn oath I may have just broken. Above us, the dragons roared on Shifu’s behalf. Maybe he roared with them too. Then, as announcing an undeserved blessing, I feel a sting burn in my arm.

Back to the alley. In that moment of confusion, the blade nicks the side of my shoulder, right over the tattoo of my home town! Why did you have to do that?

Wudang, its mountains and fog, its mighty tigress and the swarm of bees Shifu cursed me with, are now all covered in blood. You’re so fucked, jackass. I grab his forearm and get my body against his, hit him with the back of my head. Not a pretty move, but it works. The blade is mine. One more kick on the chest and the fucker is on his butt, still trying to understand what happened to him. Yes, buddy. You’ve been owned by a woman.
I turn to the girl: “Go.”

But instead, she starts striking me with her tiny handbag. A dozen times. “Are you crazy?” A single little distraction is all it takes. The man comes back in our direction. I thrust her with my shoulder, right between her giant breasts and the blond flies three feet to safety. The guy now has his head and arms wrapped around my waist, the woman has her chest covered in blood. She shrieks. This time real loud, louder than Oakland. Police will come. “That’s my blood!” I point at my bleeding tattoo. “See?” She breathes relieved. Waves the handbag again: “Leave him alone!”

What?!

I let my stance sink so he can’t raise me off the ground, and over his back, I extend my hand. Stick my finger into his ass. Now he shrieks too, like a cartoon. Hooked in his rear end, I flip him on the air, he crashes hard on his back. He wheezes, searching for air, and I grab his scalp. By the hair, I force him onto his knees. He’s mine now. Him, the fight, the battleground. Everything. Sun Tzu would be proud. Peace at last. Suddenly, nowhere in the world is quieter than Oakland. I can hear the sounds of the tv from a neighbor somewhere. Enjoy the colors of the sign from the titties bar beyond the gate reflecting on a large trash bin. Blue, red, blue, red. From the wall, a cat quietly scans the place for rodents. From another, an owl stares too, probably looking for the same unlikely dinner. I think it’s funny. In China, owls are called cat-faced eagles. So it sounds like the beginning of a joke: a cat, a cat-faced bird and a girl nicknamed Tigress walk into a dark alley… The Dao can be funny sometimes.

The stink of booze, cigarettes, and lack of showering awake me from the wandering. The stench makes me want to throw up. Instead, I take a deep breath and stick the knife into his thigh. Right next to the crotch, full blade in.

He screams, and I scream back at him. Louder, crazier, inches from his nose. So deranged, his voice dries out and he stays there, bugged eyes and open mouth. I throw the bloodied knife away and say, “How about that, honey? You’re a hermaphrodite! Your own slit and all. Good, huh? Now go fuck yourself and get out of my sight.” He limps for his life, bouncing on walls, falling over himself, and disappears beyond the corner.

“Good job, Tigress,” I tell myself, then brush away some of the concrete powder and sawdust on my running clothes. A glimpse of a smile creeps in. Behind, the blonde continues to yell, “Stupid bitch! You are one person. He is every fucking man on the planet. Will you beat them all?”

Yes, I will, sister.

Hi. My name is Tigress. I am an immortal and I can help. But before you open the package I sent, you will have to listen to a story. My story.

 


This post is part of a book currently being written by author PJ Pereira.
Please don't copy/paste it anywhere. Links are ok.

The meaning of Kung Fu

Let’s go Wikipedia so you Westerners understand: “In China, it refers to any study, learning, or practice that requires patience, energy, and time to complete.” That’s right, the term actually refers not to martial arts but to extreme skills adquired through very hard work. Which is the kind of work ethics the old fighting masters always imposed to their pupils. Hence the confusion.

Now, since we are on this theme, it’s interesting how old school and new training is becoming so similar. Take a look at the photo above, then the video below:

This is the kind of shit an old Chinese monk would do to their students if they had the equipment. Repetition, conditioning, unbalance… until excellence is second nature. Kung Fu. #kungfu #mma

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Video is a Repost @paigevanzantufc

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@coach_dave_wl making sure I keep that punching power without irritating my forearm. UFC I’m coming back!!!!

For all women

One day, a woman is gonna break into culture and be known as the one beating the guys. May happen through movies, competition, the news… who knows. What I do know is from that day forward, whoever looks like her is gonna be feared and respected as “maybe she knows that karate shit too” kind of girl. I’m working to become that woman myself but hey, I’ll settle for any of us.

Wanna know how I know? It happened to Asians when this guy came along:

Happy International Women’s Day

……

#femalefighter #unitedbyblood #womensday #internationalwomensday

* this account is fictional but the themes aren’t.

Continue reading

How to chose a martial arts school

Any mildly serious martial arts training has to give you three things. 1) a system of techniques that can protect, cause damage and transition from one another under pressure; 2) physical and mental conditioning to allow you to survive the effort of a fight; and 3) a routine that allows you to eat some pain without panicking, so you can survive until the the opening for your final move. (The idea you can get into a fight and leave unharmed is only for Hollywood)

That reminds me of a quote from #BruceLee : “A fight is not won by one punch or kick. Either learn to endure or hire a bodyguard.” One can take endurance here as enough cardio and muscle resilience, but knowing @brucelee ’s obsession with practicality, I bet he also meant the ability to eat some pain during the fight.

That’s particularly important for women in our #McDojo times. Some will try to lure you by offering the cardio and strength workout, or even a few techniques that are better than none. But unless you have a chance to spar, to get hurt a little, to feel the mind-forging power of pain, what you’re doing ain’t #martialarts — It’s just gymnastics. Will keep you healthy under safe conditions, but will not protect you in the real world.

Of course the opposite is also a threat. Some schools focus too much on the ability to take pain and end up causing deformations on the body and long term impairment. That’s dumb too.

Those two kinds of bad experiences — pain free McDojos or torture chambers with too much of it — aren’t privilege of a style, but rather a trait of the place and the instructor. For any style strong enough to survive its creator must have at least some martial validity.

So don’t get fooled or dragged into fake schools either way. If in doubt, stop by and ask the Tigress.

#girlpower #girlfighter #fitness #unitedbyblood

* this account is fictional. For more details, check the about page

Photo is an Instagram #Repost of @femalekickers ::: @kispec a fierce #kyokushin fighter

Taichi for real fights?

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. Took me a flight to America and being in a cage with bigger men to understand the training. How fighting is timing, form and power, and how my slow and precise Taichi allowed me to move and hit with more strength and speed that my outside body looked it could do. Because of Taichi I learned to put my entire body, and gravity and momentum, on any different part of my body. If on top of that you know how to deal with someone coming to crash your skull, no matter how big they are, you can always knock him down.

In a fight, yin is difficult, yang is way more exciting. I am far from being balanced. Very far, in fact. But if there is one reason why I can put men to sleep when few girls my size can, it’s because of the inner power I developed with Taichi.

#taichi #taichichuan #mma #femalefighters #femalemma #internalmartialarts

* this account is fictional, for details check the link on the bio

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Instagram Repost @taichi_universal

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Thanks to @georgethompson.uk for his amazing video. 🙏

The Inner Power that we are said to get by practicing an internal martial system such as Taijiquan or Baguazhang gives us a much more subtle and potent power; not for fighting a physical attacker, but for fighting off disease by keeping us in a constant state of balance and to enable us to cause ‘things’ to happen in our lives! This may sound mystical but it is quite a natural thing. The human brain is tremendously powerful with the ability to make us ill, make us well, make us happy or sad, and enable us to gather wealth or to change our circumstances in some way. And this is the Internal Power that we gain by doing for instance Taijiquan. But by doing Taijiquan in the manner it was invented, lends itself to an excellent way of self defence as an off-shoot of training to gain inner power.

By erle montaigue

Fighting, for women

For a woman, fighting is different. Technique matters more, intelligence matters more. We can’t rely on our weight and muscles so much. Need leverage, footwork, speed instead. But more than anything, we need inspiration. Not everyone is lucky to have been born in a family of fighters like me, to have been raised by one of the greatest Shifus to ever live. For everyone else, redemption comes from examples of other girls who show we can all be badass in our own way. Build our body the way we want, and kick any fucking ass that dares to mess with us.

The lady on the photo is Ronda Rousey. She had a couple of tough, painful losses, but she still did more to grow interest for female fighting that anyone I’ve ever seen.

Xiexie, Ronda.–

#femalefighter #femalefighters #judo #mma #ufc #rondarousey #femalemma #unitedbyblood

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Instagram Repost @rondarousey

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Favorite picture of my judo career, en route to winning my first World Cup at 19 – pic by David Finch