Adapt and Let It Die Away

My buddy had "Adapt or Die" written on a piece of paper and stuck to the wall of his business. I looked at it while we were talking about a very important topic: the wide proliferation of R&B during our junior high and high school years. Inside, I was just nodding in agreement to the sentiment that he was capturing. I can feel that statement so viscerally.

I know the common way to talk about this sort of deeply held value or idea is to say you feel it in your bones. I wasn't feeling that mentality bone-deep. When I feel something bone-deep, I feel it as a sort of cornerstone to my being, like my belief in equity, that has served as a bulwark against the constant storms of life and ossified into the core constituents of my corporeal being. For example, I can stand tall in my commitment to equity, because it has animated my work for a majority of my life. No, this feeling was different than that bones-deep knowing. It was something much more charged, less load bearing and more proactive. It was more like the drive that keeps me going is the same force that was holding the sinews and fibers of my being together. It's that little spark of electricity that you feel when you are on the precipice of charging off in a new direction toward an idea or a new project. It's that charge of creation, possibility, and change the we have inside all of us.

The, what I am going to call, adapting and dying nexus is my jam. It's the exact sort of Venn diagram I like to explore, because I have faced so many situations in which life called for a decision that, on its face, looked like an adapt or die situation. I am sure you have too. Life is hard like that, isn't it? My experience making countless of these decisions in my 40 or so years of life, however, is that no situation is ever that cut and dry. I have yet to face a circumstance where I decided to just let a certain dream of who I could be die away and not still carry elements of who that person was deep within me whose experiences could be drawn upon in times of need. Consequently, it is more appropriate for me to call these critical junctures adapt and let it die away moments.

Case-in-point, I got a PHD in sociology but didn't "achieve" my dream of being the theorist I dreamt I could be. After finding Discipline & Punish by Michel Foucault in my freshman "How to Write Good" first year seminar at Denison University, I abandoned my dream of being a fiction writer and set out to write the next great theory of power. I poured myself into sociology and it poured itself back into me. Reality truly is stranger than fiction and often times more predictable. I carried this dream all the way through getting a PHD, but discovered that the juice of writing a "great" theory of power wasn't worth the squeeze of losing myself to the academic grind. Having watched my dad "work scared everyday" of his life to the detriment of knowing me, I discovered that I had no interest in losing myself completely to any one dream if it meant I was not fully here to experience the rest of life as a partner or parent.

Faced with the death of this dream, I learned how to adapt on the fly. I left academia, moved to Colorado with Lily, and I got jobs doing policy work. However, what one might frame as the death in the adapt or die mindset did not coming to fruition. Instead, I got to bypass the difficulty of 21st century academic life (e.g., some of my colleagues applied to 180 schools to secure a tenure-track academic appointment, ChatGPT-written student essays, and tenure) and use the skills I learned in work serving my community and in this personal essay project. I became the public sociologist that I always wanted to be and have contributed to over 40 public reports in my applied practice. Instead of theorizing about power, I contested it. In short, I learned to adapt and let ways of being that weren't in alignment with how I wanted to live my life die away.

Now, here comes my typical disclaimer. I am not here to tell you not to use a more strict adapt or die mindset. You get to make that call for yourself, just as I did for very personal reasons. Such a phrase can certainly be used motivationally as a mantra to muster reserves one keeps in store for a final stand in make or break situations like running your dream business or fighting a possible terminal illness. As an artist, I am not here to tell you what to do. That is sort of besides the point of expressing human experience. I make recommendations in my day job all the time, which are rarely taken. So, I won't do that here. To tell you what to do is to shortcut all the beauty and difficulty that comes from feeling your way through to your answer for that question. There is certainly much to be learned for wading into these critical junctures yourself with a generous curiosity, ready to figure out how you might approach your own key adapting and dying nexuses.

It's impossible for me to not see all the possibilities in embracing death, because I wouldn't be the person I am today without leaving my sociology theorist dream behind. After being in a normal job for a year or two, I needed a new creative pursuit and a way to work with the grief I felt for my mom who had recently died. This is where weaving entered into a void that I didn't even know existed. Learning to weave gave me a way to work creatively with my hands, which I had always craved, and to complete one of my mom's unfinished bits of businesses she left behind before she passed. It gave me a powerful tool that allowed me to set aside the scientific realm of facts and rational argument and to explore the mythopoetic realm of symbol and magic. I am not exaggerating when I say that this was one of the most consequential things that has ever happened to me besides meeting Lily and having kids. It's crazy to think that this may never have happened if Lily and I hadn't decided to just move to Denver and honeymoon down in Santa Fe. But, for all that to occur, I first had to let my dream of a theorist die away and adapt to the new possibilities that life had in store for me.

Now, 10 year later from when I learned to weave (sept 9 is the anniversary!), I am weaving woven magic for people to traverse this death and rebirth process that is so natural to being human. WOOHOO! This is literally a dream come true. I ran out of time to give you the weaving studio update rundown this week, because I had to process my thoughts on dying and adapting. There are two specific projects that I finished that will take some time to write about, so I do not want to rush them this week. Before we get to the photo essay, let me give you a short update on what I have been writing the last two weeks, which has delayed sending out a newsletter.

Two weeks ago, I wrote my submission for the excellent Commuter Zine for consideration for issue 3 of their alternative transportation adventure publication. My submission focuses on a Polaroid photography project entitled "A Break from the Theatre of Absurdity" that I maintained for the first year of returning to the office once we were forced to return during the COVID Pandemic. Once I saw one cowboy boot alone in an alley next to a dumpster, I knew that I wanted to capture all the moments of absurdity I came across to mirror the absurdity of returning to an empty floor in the sky catacombs downtown. It wasn't until I started reading the first two issues of Commuter Zine that I realized how good of a fit that this piece would be for that Durango, CO based publication. I think I have a provisional acceptance for this submission! Huzzah, Hooray!

Last week, I submitted an essay and 35mm photos responsive to the theme "Reverie" for Friends of Friends Zine ("fof"). After reading the prompt, I was shook in the best way. I knew that my bike quests were squarely within the reverie theme, as I am constantly in this quasi-daydream-esq mental space in alleys in Denver. I had conceded that I likely wouldn't be able to submit anything for the issue, because I was late. However, a chance message over instagram opened up the possibility that fof would accept late submissions. With a fire lit under my fanny, I worked up a thousand plus words and paired them with some of my favorite scans of a recent Psych Blues #4 hand-manipulated film I got back from Not Another Film Lab. Heck, I even added in a quote from Bachelard's "The Poetics of Reverie." I love that this prompt pushed me back into Bachelard land, which I first encountered through the Homie M. Graves who has introduced me to so many sick tight things. I have not heard back on this submission yet, so we will keep our fingers crossed. Here are three samples of my submission that I posted on Instagram.

I am so so so proud of this piece. It represents a further articulation of the philosophy behind the quest culture direction I have been going with my bike riding and photography. Fingers crossed it gets accepted. However, even if doesn't, I will make sure y'all get to read it.

Finally, I received word that Chains of Strength magazine, our local cycling culture magazine is back for issue 2 and my submission will be included. WOOHOO! I am particularly excited about that essay. It argues that all of us should seek adventure in our communities and create our own quest cultures, rather than flying to Mongolia for bike adventure.

Writing all this down made me realize how much I have contributed to zine culture already, even if I am slow to write, print, and distribute my own zine project. Like I said above, it takes time to adapt our approach to creating or sharing our work. I literally just set my sights toward going print with this project in the last few months. I have definitely taken steps in the that direction to learn about and figure out how I want to write my zine. In the mean time, I will stay in my little corner of the web here on ghost, without any need for another social media feed. No, one social media platform is plenty enough as a repeater station for this pirate broadcast to amplify little quest calls and messages to my community! Ok, onto the photo essay!

Lore Building: a Photo Essay

All these photos are the cream of the crop from the rolls I shot and got developed by Not Another Film Lab in the Santa Fe Arts District this past month. Some of them are in photograph series that I am exploring my way through shooting. Other shots just reveal absolutely mystifying aspects of everyday reality that I am shocked I got to capture on 35mm film, either Psych Blues, Kodak Gold, or Cinestill 50d.

Greg and Bart

G&B deserve their own section in this photo essay. I captured them on Psych Blues #2 (ISO 200) one morning on the way to work when I took a chance on the alley right next to Onefold in between Humboldt and Franklin. That morning the alley was abuzz with activity and wild fire smoke. I found Greg first. I immediately started giggling like a hippo, which I am sure was startling for the construction worker trying to walk through the alley. I told him to come look and he obliged. He didn't even look at me like I was a maniac. Super nice guy, Mr. Constructionworker was.

Then I kept rolling down the alley and found BART. GREAT ODIN'S RAVEN! What sort of luck did I have this morning? It must of been karmic payback for having to spend the rest of the day in the sky catacombs. Whereas Greg was excited to see me, Bart was a bit more Harrumph-y. I did catch them in the middle of parting out this bike that was resting on them, so I could have exhibited a bit more decorum in my approach. After I showered them in praise about their rug, they did relent in letting me take their picture though. Bart, Greg, and I are BFFLs now.

After seeing the shots of G&B, I immediately started printing 4x6 prints for everyone. No one even asked me to bring them the photos. I just did it of my own heart and soul. I just knew that people did not need any lords or saviors, but they did sure need to invite those mischievous rapscallians G&B into their life. Aunties that take care of my son? They got G&B. My Homeskillets that teach my daughter? They got G&B in their life. Photo homies? G&B'd. Farmer Jade who grows most of what I eat? Greg and Bart asked for a personal introduction, because they wanted to apprentice with Jade n' Co. If you are in any way waving your freak flag in our incredibly vanilla society, I am printing up the patron saints of rabble rousing and waving yo freak flag: Greg and Bart.

Right before I entered G&B's kingdom, I took this shot of an OHURT in morning light shining through the wildfire smoke. I really really really like this photo.

Another OHURT up high off larimer on the Pscyh Blues #2.

I learned to weave in this building and now its gonna be a whack message chair business front. Hella eye rolls.

OHURT and LURK LURK with the Atlantis – the one bike to rule them all.

OHURT, LURK, and SMUT outside planned parenthood. Holding it down for Reproductive Rights.

I want this to be Grandpa Jimblers' Analog Emporium for yarn, weaving, tapes, bikes, coffee, zines, and stationary. Lily (my immortal beloved) would also sell Eli & Barry clothes in there if she wanted. I have not cleared this idea with her, so I am not forcing her into my dream if she doesnt want to.

"Press Button to Reset Earth." I have nothing else to say about that other than I was chortling with glee when I saw this. The stop light pole at 12th and Colorado always has the best random stickers and tags.

"AI Drone Swarms are Coming" 😦| BUT a good Nomi right next to it 😀 Will someone tell Naomi that they are the Bee's knees for me?

This is a public sculpture by Clark Richert that is part of Densely Packed, which I knew nothing about until I wandered by here while riding and took a photo. It turns out that this sculpture lights up too. I love art spaces that feel like they are derelict and not maintained. That may be the perfect level of attention paid to a space.

Do you think churches that don't have congregations in them anymore have lost the faith? I think this is a daycare now, which we need. We have a childcare crisis in Denver.

Psych Blues #4, ISO 200

This used to be a bank, now its a ghost town.

Even Subway can't keep up their sign. Now, it's a ghost town

Everybody was pulling up on this one: entuo, nomi, exwife, jayu. This has already been buffed, so now this is the archive of what once was.

Across the street looked so good too. Look at that big Jayu in red. PHEW.

Its all just layers of meaning.

One from the Thee Grand Mandino scavenger hunt on Louisiana and Pearl

East Colfax BRT construction continues to provide a clean palette for writers.

it just gets confusing sometimes too. I know I say in most of my essays that a tag will stop me in my tracks. That's mostly out of someone exhibiting a certain cleverness or use of line//color that I find interesting. Then there are the ones that just leave me dumbfounded. This is a tag on a local masonic lodge. On the far right side of the building, the writer tagged "God wins." Say what? Am I happy to have captured this image? yes, but mostly out of confusion to have a record of it. It was buffed within 24 hours.

I mean we all probably should just "ignore the machine." Santa Fe Art District

Thanks for sticking around. Tune in next week for the big weaving update. I have 2 tapestries to give y'all the run down on and another one that I just started that I can talk about. I am already excited to have that 4 hours set aside to update y'all. As always, thanks for reading. If you know someone who might be interested in this piece, feel free to send it their way. That's the best way to help out this little project if you are keen to help an old fibrous community wizard out! Also, if you made it this far and haven't subscribed to this little newsletter, go ahead and under your little email address down below, little buddy! It's free!

Best,

James