Mart-deBlog

Always been a person of Martial Arts.
I still remember all the fights, movies, and knocking games.
The endless stories with my brother, in which we created
worlds of battles and morals, heroism and superpowers.
Together we fought father's skilled PrikVinger, and he
gave us our training, made us ready for the rough world
by showing us our Icons: Bruce Lee, Van Damme and Conan.
Fifteen years of Judo classes, from the crying weakling
to the brown belt and the approving smile of my sensei.
And now, all so easily interpreted as expressing the struggle
against prenatal demons of low self-esteem and sadness,
and oversensitivity and insecurity and dark depressions.

How stupid to forget the battle when the war is won,
settle steady in conquered lands. The horrible moving of
age from the simple lessons and words of clarity:
to fight is what you must!

But here in Hong Kong, where nobody watches me,
I watch them: the Kung Fu classics of slicing and wise riddles,
not as pulp, not as camp but with a serious smile
and the slow rejuvenation of tempered drives to demolish and kill.
And with this reawakening of the raging urge to conquer
comes expression, egographed appearance,
and the beating Wardrums of vitality.

M.A.L.
Martial Arts for Life.