The clockwork perfection of creation on cue, solstice as last of the daffodil trumpets wake in unison to witness  big bright Mamma Luna, full in all her heavenly glory. coincidence you say? one prime reason for promoting in park training is the lack of space / funds excuse so used by slackers international. at least we in colder climates have the elements to blame when lazy bums in fairer lands need be more inventive with reasons not to yipyip. a proud stoat skips cross my path and dives into bushes with his wonky tail high as i enter my my new temple square of dirt. shared with his bushy tailed cousins in the trees, rude boys, bench drinkers international, babies plus mums and dog walkers.com a box caught between rail way tracks a motor way a canal and another rail way line and a sea of council estates. the lions share going to the peasant cult of running  around after a ball ooh blasphemy! a tiny play area that i am too old to enter, and beside the car park patches of raggedy over grown red spongey play surface. relics of long gone swings and a round about. ghosts of children past playing in my ears as i begin to jump rope the cleanest least over grown square. i think i can recall playing here once as a boy. with the first sweet dandelion flower tea of the year and cheating on my bench tastily i sit getting eaten by mozzies, out of the blue a good morning from a stranger, am i in England? yes. recently i found an old obelisk to the Gods of commerce by the canal from the days when they were the veins of the empire. still in Rome. this spongey play surface is well good on the knees for jump rope skipping. puffed out i lower volume as the clickety click clack freit freight train comes in on percussion accompanied by tree top jazz horns. we invented nothing. music is Gold, forked out queens heads on Badu's new album. have a smoke on flexito Mamma. throw rope to the air and bang on em. within seconds of poppin im surrounded by five giant black boys in similar prison school uniforms to what i once served in. they loom over me smiling. feels like summer again. please forgive the melancholy blog last. re borne with the leaves and many years of ghetto teachin i near mastered this ability to dance till i see a flash in the eyes exposing what they like and forcing them to learn something. most demand a performance, rear times a cat shows out strong, all leave with something, all leave teaching me something. if they stick at it or not does not matter to me, im not looking for students, just that the dance touches people, not cults. love of the music and movement is what we all need so much and  the reason the birds gifted us. we can name it what we will but will never own it. dance can not be created or destroyed. bboyin is  my yoga now, better than yoga, self realised, channeled pure energy. i seen little kids mastering themselves without any teacher or guru, just instinctive. this culture frees slaved and breeds sovereigns, the folk dance of the folkless.  have you ever moved house into the hood and not know it was hood for like a month because the place you were before blinkered you? only now can see the street walkers and after dark stand on the corners reeking of disaster. feels like home, i got mad council estate love fam. best hood ive lived in, in time. i pray. other day two lads passed me in the street practising waves and tuts. i dint say a thing just watched em showin out. internet made hip hop academic, it belongs here. they need it most. O.G Skeet was rappin to me about the concept of enlightenment through dance. interesting. i was more after salvation and absolution through dance. she makes me whole, connects me, besides breaking my heart. out of all the styles i find locking most tricky, i have seen some master all the moves but not get a sniff of it. elusive like hunting unicorn. i guess i am a locker like i am a pagan, in love with nature but u wont catch me in robes at stone henge, just same i am devoted to Funk but wont be found in Paris wearing a colourful suit. recently had this cat talk to me ish about preserving London locking style. see this is the problem when dealing with boffins turned artist. they twist any human interactions into a working in the field type anthropological study. that is not how to use the mythology baby, you cant preserve an era just like you cant put a party in a bottle. you can but try to document something in your own art. it was cool back then  but MJ impersonators are just scary strange. vandals spray chemicals across the skys and shitty tags on the trees. how can you tag a tree? trust i like nothin better than to board a freshly bombed out train but how can you tag a tree? even without the aid of tropics i can spend hours wrapped in the majesty of a flower. flash back 85 falling in love with a girl wearing daises in her hair. why don't we wear flowers any more but at weddings? that flower power stuff always seemed dated and white middle class. i guess all second hand truths get twisted and thats why i cant commit to your book brother. were did the hippies go? did any one tell that the wars never stopped.  gem of a tri green shaded wood pecker swoppes down  just to break my thought and show how she is just as glamorous as any imported parrot. all leaf coloured and kinda sneaky looking. so beautiful. just the other day a cat asked me if she was doing a locking move right. as if there was a sanctioned right and wrong way to do anything in dance besides making it look nice or not. i often ask myself and dancers that key question. do you think that that looks nice? see putting movement on top of your physicality is never gone look right over some one who has pulled spirit up and out from understanding the purpose of what they are doing in the bones before the brain box. that is how we can give life to it life again, by reinterpreting the mythology through self appraisal. our one and only obligation is but to be simply beautiful. take a limb any limb. now this limb is a work of anatomical perfection. if used  correctly and pushed to the very limits truly it is a thing of beauty as will be the movements to perfection. it is also circular, the quality of movement forges the body. anatomically correct movement develops a healthy beautiful limb, and ugly movement = ugly posture = and so on, who decides what is beautiful? well Mamma Nature is a good place to start. the beauty of our forms is to be discovered in the quest to find what it is capable of. we are obliged only to be beautiful. my new slogan is that hunching is something to be fought not taught. our father star kisses my face in this new temple park as i fight to stand straight with tree tops jazz as my inspiration.