musculi immoderata

//musculi immoderata// ^^translate:., (uncontrollable muscle)^^ words by Jamie Marina Lau visuals by Craig Stubbs-Race [[$]]

<h><script>$('tw-sidebar tw-icon[title="Undo"]').text("<").attr("title", "Back");</script> </h> i had never liked feet before i was married, i do now - i don't like it that way - [['podophilia']] i just had never liked the callouses that would end up on them. the feet i would see: the feet of relatives my own and i had been a religious runner myself in my late 20's. i realised upon discovering the body of my wife that in the same way i thought scars were sexy on women, feet were erotically shaped, the more cumbrous they were the more inviting - until it arrives at a certain extent. and then it becomes a very fine line between intriguing and just plain lumpish, fusty. [[ ^^^ ]]

<h><script>$('tw-sidebar tw-icon[title="Undo"]').text("<").attr("title", "Back");</script> </h> [[<<]] in the 1950s, The Penfield Homunculus established a body map exploring the connection of the brain and stimulation via bodily sensation or physicality. Observing that the genitalia is directly adjacent to the feet, it can be attested that foot fetishes are absolutely normal, if not unremarkable. <img src= "http://jm-lau.com/foot.gif " width="700" height="512" alt="strandbyCraigStubbsrace">

<h><script>$('tw-sidebar tw-icon[title="Undo"]').text("<").attr("title", "Back");</script> </h> the gastrocnemius: there is no hidden agenda to its purpose, it is the channels of fibres that run between ankle to knee holding two joints, Michelangelo had a special fascination toward it if you carefully looked upon it enough - he knew the subtlety of it to be the most tender way to depict it. it is one of those parts, after all, that seem so moderate until strained, until flexing the foot, until pulling - //coup de fouet//, crack of the whip the plataris: the binding between [[soleus]]: and gastrocnemius

<h><script>$('tw-sidebar tw-icon[title="Undo"]').text("<").attr("title", "Back");</script> </h> //soleus **** ** //in which on surface, seems so taut. often it is regarded as the 'second heart' as it is the reason blood flow continues through to the lowest sector of the body. it is responsible for the lengthening of the feet and therefore the prettiness of the body in a balletic sense, the //pointe// <img src= "http://jm-lau.com/Strand_comp_3.gif" width="700" height="512" alt="strandbyCraigStubbsrace"> of the calf there are [[two other muscles -]] we're at the dinner table and my wife asks me what it is that's on my mind. 'i know you' she says. 'there is no hiding from me.' [[ ^^^ ]]

<h><script>$('tw-sidebar tw-icon[title="Undo"]').text("<").attr("title", "Back");</script> </h> it is difficult then to not VIEW him, should you ever imagine consuming the writhing flesh of another man, particularly if you imagine consuming an alive (((((in-motion) version of him via red-wine marinated tenderloin so i did view him, again and again i would see him go straight from the elevator to his treadmill. it occurred to me he was therefore failing each time to [[lubricate]] his leg knuckle correctly [[ >>>> ]]

<h><script>$('tw-sidebar tw-icon[title="Undo"]').text("<").attr("title", "Back");</script> </h> among the strange planets of bobbing heads I could see that his was still. i observed it lower and then he left my eye-line, //he must be leaving early tonight.// i went in with the elevator intake after his, and when i came outside i recognised his running body was already so far up the road. it seemed to both anger and amuse me, [[just to see]]

<h><script>$('tw-sidebar tw-icon[title="Undo"]').text("<").attr("title", "Back");</script> </h> // yes, to jolt, my feet had been unpractised and i attempted to level them out as i ran. it had been a few months. i focused predominantly on running by the balls of my feet as if attempting to offset the immediate tendency i was drawn to: to imitate his preposterous gait. my shoulders [[fell]] around in my skin and there was a dull ache behind my neck, but i had almost caught up to him. <img src= "http://jm-lau.com/Skin3.gif" width="600" height="512" alt="strandbyCraigStubbsrace"> [[坍]] //

<h><script>$('tw-sidebar tw-icon[title="Undo"]').text("<").attr("title", "Back");</script> </h> <img src= "http://jm-lau.com/bones1.gif" width="600" height="512" alt="bonesbyCraigStubbsrace"> yes stretching is supposed to prevent the muscle from shortening and growing too tight, it moistens the hinge so to speak. kundalini is all about stretch~~~ i'm told by my GP that the cracking does not matter, it is just the joints catching air pockets [[ 拉 ]]

<h><script>$('tw-sidebar tw-icon[title="Undo"]').text("<").attr("title", "Back");</script> </h> once i gained a steady view of where he was, i noticed the increasing rate of his now-sprint. the fluorescent tag on his shorts disclosed him, how far he was from me. he was halfway up the inclined slope. only momentarily did i contemplate the [[significance]] of the incline on my part. i could feel the whereabouts of my brain being provoked by the sudden exclamation of movement i initiated. my quads and calves began to burn as if connecting to one another for the very first time. i decided to reposition this pressure into my arms and elbows, pumping them in time with the little fluorescent tag on his shorts. naturally, and most usually, i tend to exhale like a horse: through the nostrils. but in this case i attempted the proper running form, which was posted as a pro-tip on a forum I followed: //for best performance, breathe through both the mouth and nostrils//. i tried to mimic his power, i performed his brawn, emptied my brain. supposing with such muscular anatomy he must at least be //moronic//. [[意志]]

<h><script>$('tw-sidebar tw-icon[title="Undo"]').text("<").attr("title", "Back");</script> </h> A work colleague who is interested in expedition had once said at dinner, 'to fall' is to 'get back up again' in Mandarin. [[颠簸]]

<h><script>$('tw-sidebar tw-icon[title="Undo"]').text("<").attr("title", "Back");</script> </h> // <img src= "http://jm-lau.com/Run1.gif" width="600" height="512" alt="runbyCraigStubbsrace"> i had been lectured by my GP 'do not take advantage of the position your body is in' - to not be selfish and (essentially) to not be so 'bratty' about it so as to do any further damage by being prideful - I am in quite a good position for my age and to force the running and to force the high-intensity would only be to disrespect that. // i had never thought about it in that sense, i guess the way i had viewed myself aligned more to that of a machine. [[坍]]

<h><script>$('tw-sidebar tw-icon[title="Undo"]').text("<").attr("title", "Back");</script> </h> i'd never felt such brassy pain, and as i startled to a stop in time with him ~~~ i briefly considered how our limbs might have been entering into some sort of holographic synchronicity. i squinted to the location of him further up the slope. as my eyes adjusted i noticed he was with another body of similar calibre. it seemed to be attacking him. i waited a moment and moved to the edge of the sidewalk onto the lawn, as if aside, [[observing.]]

<h><script>$('tw-sidebar tw-icon[title="Undo"]').text("<").attr("title", "Back");</script> </h> it continued: acute, //almost stylistic// punches to the running man's stomach. the running man's yells could be heard, they were not violent, they were agitated, puzzled. i put my hand to my stomach. i could feel my hamstrings awakened and slackening, the string along the centre of the vertical form of my feet craning torturously. i reached over for the bin left out on the nature-strip, held onto it and continued to watch. the attacker was rummaging him. eventually the attacker came running my way down the slope, as if he were just on his nightly jog. he nodded to me briefly, barely making eye contact, almost embarrassed. i said, 'how're you doing.' by then he was already halfway down the slope. running awkwardly, abbreviating the calves, the quads, the hamstring probably, with lack of muscle fiber support. seemingly he was holding the running man's belongings. but there he ran off as the road became lit again. kept running and collapsing into an attempted sprint, until he checked back up the hill again. he was stopped right at the entrance our gym was located at. he waited a moment. then continued, slowed to a walking pace. walking onwards. [[放松]]

<h><script>$('tw-sidebar tw-icon[title="Undo"]').text("<").attr("title", "Back");</script> </h> i looked either side of the road and crossed it, hands in my pockets. i expelled a chesty cough and continued to walk along the other side of the road, came directly opposite the running man and didn't look. it felt as though i had inherited him. i was walking to the next bus stop over. <img src= "http://jm-lau.com/chest1.gif" width="600" height="512" alt="chestbyCraigStubbsrace"> [[完]]

<h><script>$('tw-sidebar tw-icon[title="Undo"]').text("<").attr("title", "Back");</script> </h> Luce Irigaray says, “If we don’t invent a language, if we don’t find our body’s language, its gestures will be too few to accompany our story. When we become tired of the same ones, we’ll keep our desires secret, unrealized. Asleep again, dissatisfied...”

<h><script>$('tw-sidebar tw-icon[title="Undo"]').text("<").attr("title", "Back");</script> </h> // i continued to think about the image of the running man that night (my father told me I must have photographic memory, the time my mother divorced him) i continued to think about the image many nights ahead and eventually walking home from the studio in one instance, I noticed him run by me. his heels were again striking the path first. the texture did not seem a problem. i watched, the sun setting heavy behind me as it mirrored a bright smudge of orange-jewelled light upon the brown skin stretched over the both of his calves. it is his [[soleus]] [[ ^^^ ]] //

<h><script>$('tw-sidebar tw-icon[title="Undo"]').text("<").attr("title", "Back");</script> </h> i went to the gym studio's restroom, wiped my face according to the mirror, acknowledged my own tiredness. then i went to turn on a treadmill three treadmills down from him. though my GP had advised me to the kundalini, i could not help myself. i'd told my wife i would be later than usual (i had observed he ran from about 6pm to 7.30pm, then ran home as long as the sun was setting around 8pm, which it shall do for a couple more weeks. the kundalini usually ran from 5.30pm to 6.30pm). ~ ~ ~ i went at a walking pace as the treadmill brewed to a start and did this for the first half hour. in that time my mind back and forthed between discussing with him the necessary practice it is to lubricate his leg knuckle correctly. i decided against it, then went to the stretching area. from across a plethora of mats i decided to watch as a short-haired woman lowered herself into a split. she buckled her eyes with mine as her pelvis grew closer to the mat. i lingered to see if she enjoyed our connection, but she immediately retracted not only her eyes, but her legs too and proceeded to rearrange herself into a 'forearm lunge'. [[then i returned to the treadmill, no further thoughts]]

<h><script>$('tw-sidebar tw-icon[title="Undo"]').text("<").attr("title", "Back");</script> </h> i spaded around the wine-drenched tenderloin with my fork. in the quiet contemplation, paired with the way my face shifted according to the meat, she became concerned. i guess i had been imagining that the mangled stringy thing in my mouth was somehow related or cousins with the running man's calves. was I //turned on// by this conception? was i infuriated with resentment for him? did i want to consume him, i couldn't help but wonder if his heels hitting the ground made the fibres in his soleus more sapped or impervious. if sapped, which part of him - the large man! - would take on the weight of his toned, dark muscled torso? would it first be the [[feet]]? or would it perhaps be the knees? [[ 拉 ]]

// did you tell everyone that you were going to be here? in this kundaliniकुण्डलिनी class? ~ ~ ~ inhale deeply, now exhale ~ ~ ~ i was standing at the window of the gym-studio after class, watching the sun die as the cold evening ensued. i pulled my cashmere sweater over my shoulders, contemplating possible design schemes for a plate set to suit our new dining table - - the one my wife brought home without consultation two nights previous. there was always a general smell of sweat, especially with the //spin// class finishing up in the next room. so i was playing with my keys by the elevator when a man caught my eye. he was running on a treadmill and it was odd to watch him. it took a moment for me to realise that it was the way he ran; it was hypnotising yet jutting to me. well, it was as though his heels were hitting the belt first. [[>>>>>]] //