an incomplete guide

Return

2011-01-18T12:31:00.001+09:00

Just came back to this blog. Hoping this will keep it active. What a great record for me!

A Few Lines in Some Manner About a Book! #4

2008-06-04T21:28:00.000+09:00

A Brief History of Nearly Everything, Bill Bryson, 2003
Over due from the library, though always enjoyable, half-read; a book that taught me everything I should have learned, and then I forgot most of it. From the pop of the Universe to our knowledge of it framed by the thinkers and scientists themselves who discovered what we now know: so much (560 pages), and so little (560 pages). I learned that objects are solid because of magnetism. Woah! Bill Bryson has a charming way of making science interesting and I kept picking it up until the library demanded it back. Will someone tell me how it ends?

The Life of Pi, Yann Martel, 2001
I like this especially for the description of the zoo in the beginning. Check it out. Other than that, nice writing, and a good tale. An orange tail.

And Then, Natsume, Soseki, 1909
A young man, doesn't play by his father's rules, how does he survive. So much of this, so many young men struggling out from their fathers, finding the world doesn't offer support in the form of cash quite like pop did when he was satisfied.

The Inquisition, Michael Baigent and Richard Leigh, 1999
Picked this book up because of the pictures, grotesque etchings depicting torture and burnings. Starts as a heavy book, historical and revealing, ends as a critique seething conjecture and hypothesis. Beginning with the Cathars, moving to the Franciscans and eventually the Freemasons, to name a few groups, the Inquisition scoured the Catholic landscape in search of heretics to burn or sickeningly torture in the name of the Church, though probably in some ways more akin to licensed serial killers. The Church evolves and so does the Inquisition, naming itself now, according to these authors, the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith; different name, though no less stubborn and problematic (though no torture anymore). Indeed, a terrible history, but the lack of academic integrity and authorial stubbornness make the ending a slog through too much must and have to and should holier-than-though finger pointing pejorative from two decidedly secular rabble rousers. I get it: Christ's teachings have vanished, the Church is a self-validating edifice, dogma and doctrine are irrelevant for sprituality, faith is personal. A case of intellectuals pissed off about irrationality. Just let it go. Fewer people go to mass, and the church can't twist arms anymore. Let it disappear.

Ham on Rye, Charles Bukowski, 1982
Such a dirty rambunctious life; told in straight honest prose. Recently I saw Barfly, and there he is again, Chinaski, the brawler, the drinker, the philosopher, full of an ordinary passion for life, but with few fears.

The Sun Also Rises, Ernest Hemmingway, 1926
Another Hemmingway; this time a group of expats travel to Spain for the Fiesta and the bull fights. I was never interested in bull fighting until I read this book and that's just a part of it. He captures young people at large in life and culture and love with characteristic subtlety and directness.

Eat, Pray, Love, Elizabeth Gilbert, 2006
At first, I liked this book, as it was personal and difficult and the main girl, the author herself, seemed truly in a bind with real challenges and a dilemma few would envy. But as the book progressed, I felt increasingly uneasy, like the itchy feet that had given her the get-outta-here bug had invaded my shoes, but not for so grand a scheme as to circumnavigate the globe, but like the intolerable trapped sensation of sitting through someone's travel slide show of countless crooked photos featuring a khaki clad traveller standing, smiling, in front of various world sights. Like, I'm glad you had a great time, but just keep it to yourself from now on, ok? Unless you fell into a tiger pit, or got your passport lifted by a gypsy elephant, I wasn't there and I'm frankly not that interested.

The Name of the Rose, Umberto Eco, 1980
A beautiful tale, a modern classic, a book I felt like disappearing into the moment I picked it up. Compares to the greats I've read in breadth, beauty and sheer fascination. For the enjoyment of reading, the wonder of thinking and reason, and ancient questions posed within a simple context by extremely complex and often historically accurate characters. Did Christ live without possessions, did he have to use, or have to keep; what does this matter to the world and religion, and how can ancient texts be coaxed toward one side or the other? The answers are all in the library, the tomb of knowing, which the novel's story unfurls within and around.

The Mysterious Flame of Queen Loana, Umberto Eco, 2004
After reading The Name of the Rose, I was so into Umberto Eco that I picked up whatever I could find of his in the library. Unfortunately this was the book I found. Perhaps I needed something with a smidge more energy or hmm anything, because this book nearly turned me off reading altogether which is why I ended up reading Colapinto next, simply for something guaranteed not to put me to sleep. Philosophically, psychologically, literarily, semiotically, and on and on, this book is stirring in every way want something to care about, even slightly, or hate, or feel anything except for a sensation that this is punishment. It appeals in the hands as you flip through, with it's many fanciful images, but as I read, and became more and more detached from the subject, it became apparent quickly that either you are a buff, or you are Umberto, because you are reading a personal history of the author circa 1950 Italy, and if that's not remote enough for me, for most people, it's in a book that reads like grampa telling stories by the window on the best day of summer.

About the Author, John Colapinto, 2001
Pretty good tale about authenticity and artistic license and blackmail and stuff. A real page turner, though I read it a while back, and can hardly recall the details. Something about the author. Yeah; a guy appropriates his dead roommates novel; the novel being about his life, not the dead guys'. Takes over dead guys life, kinda, but a mistake comes back to haunt him and now he has to deal with that, and some other stuff.

The Mother Tongue, english and how it got that way, Bill Bryson, 1990
The English language has gone through so much that it's almost laughable how it's ended up; but we (English speakers) are rather lucky as well, to have such a tongue, with such complexity and possibility for adaption and poetry and precision. When we are born the world is undivided, a vast unnamed blur of shape and color and movement--and then we define our awareness, our senses themselves, and then our minds. The finer cuts we can make as we slice up this reality into intelligibility the better. Let subtlety reign and imagination flourish, spelling be damned!
In English: the schwa [ə] is the most common sound, velleity is a new word for me, there are over 50 sounds and millions of words.

Scar Tissue, Anthony Kiedis, 2004
I started this book by flipping to a random page, but before I made it to the next I was so enthralled that I flopped the bulk of it over and went straight to page one looking for the whole story, which is all here. This is a great, seemingly honest, rock star account of an unordinary life lived extraordinarily and with tons of drugs. tons. and sex. and egomania. Highly recommended, just for the holy shit factor which is palpable.

No Longer Human, Dazai, Osamu, 1958
How autobiographical this little book is, I'm not sure, but it seems to follow Dazai's own patterns faithfully through bungled suicides and alcoholism, artistic craft and desire and real lonliness. It's a beautiful read full of poignant soliloquies on society, crime and frequently shaken by existential tremors of an essential human, non-human. Read it. I can only wonder about the original prose in Japanese...

One Hundred Years of Solitude, Gabriel Garcia Marquez, 1967
"...because races condemned to one hundred years of solitude did not have a second opportunity on earth." This beautiful and magical book about the Buendia family and their town and home was like watching the people across the street with the big dramatic family and wondering why I wasn't born into them and their tumult and endless amsument and passions. And my family is somewhat like that. But the Buendias have a particular fate, a circular destiny, and like all things must too pass. I loved this book even though I was a little bored at times, because I was often, just slightly, twinged with that jealousy and it felt real, but it's a gift to see inside the doors.

The Sea and Poison, Endo Shusaku, 1958
Post war literature: Japan; the war; tradition; modernity; changing culture; etc.. I really enjoy post-war Japanese literature, not because of these themes, but because of the careful subtlety of their delivery, if they can be called themes at all. Stories about people in a culture in a time doing things. Though this book very attached to the period, being about the mistreatment of some POW's, it's fully about the psychology of it's people, who happen to be there, then.

The Key, Junichiro Tanizaki,1956
Great sexual psycho-drama played out in the diaries of the protagonists; a husband and wife. One can never be sure what one knows and what one doesn't, or what's truth or deceit, or if it even matters, so long as everyone gets what they want. Very sexy and somewhat off-putting story that shies from the slippery details but never fails to arouse: not just like peeking into someone's diary, it is a diary. Two of them.

Thousand Cranes, Yasunari Kawabata, 1958
Winner of the Nobel Prize for literature, a beautiful book of poetic snippets among a tale of kiss and tell or not tell. Well rendered characters vie for pasts and relics. Framed by the tea ceremony though purposefully negligent of its themes, the objects of its ancient protocols become the living ghosts of its participants. Why this won the nobel prize, I'm not sure, but perhaps it is for sheer orientalism, the sheer japanese-ness of it, as seen by an occidental award. For that though, it must be magical for foreign audiences, perhaps frustrating and impenetrable like the history of a tea cup.

new website

2008-05-31T12:57:00.006+09:00

Check here for all the latest comics and art from yours truly and updates about an upcoming graphic novel!

www.oktober.ca

see you there.

sketch 14

2008-04-18T10:54:00.001+09:00

sketch13

2008-04-17T00:45:00.002+09:00

sketch 12

2008-04-14T23:14:00.003+09:00

sketch 11

2008-04-13T11:44:00.003+09:00

"The question before me is the silent response that should be reassuring if listened to closely, but so often unnerves me."

sketch 10

2008-04-11T10:30:00.002+09:00

This guy is the charismatic front man of a cult that no one will understand but receive exactly what they expect.

sketch 09

2008-04-05T10:38:00.003+09:00

I saw photographs the other night of dead bodies, pieces of bodies, stabbed bodies, passed away bodies--these are not dead bodies, these are clairvoyant.

sketch 08

2008-03-31T00:31:00.003+09:00

The unicorn of the sea is the relic of the unicorn of the land.

sketch 07

2008-03-29T10:37:00.004+09:00

It's funny when people fall in love with objects, become tied to them like a new limb; funny beccause it's such misplaced devotion, but it's also not because when someone who can hardly see loses their glasses they become really worried for a very real reason; we are part of the mother world, in it and of it, so maybe it's ok to weep for a lost earring or a misplaced wallet, practically and spiritually.

sketch 06

2008-03-27T23:59:00.005+09:00

This is the path that is shocked by the light as it flares on newly seen eyes, that turns away to protect itself, that slowly lifts the chin to finally see, finding that the shaft of light can be ascended.

sketch 05

2008-03-26T22:08:00.002+09:00

The spine contains a part of the brain, a thinking part, an unconscious part that makes decisions, has an up and down, a flow, and a secret spiral that lives around the base, waiting to be understood and brought to life.

sketch 04

2008-03-25T18:56:00.006+09:00

Someone, a long time ago, thought these concepts were best represented in these ways, and I find that alone compelling, that choice, but also marvel at the simplicity.

Does anyone know about these figures? Are they greek, are they glyphs, are they something else? Don't look at me, I just drew them.

sketch 03

2008-03-24T12:54:00.004+09:00

You know that feeling when you're in a car; the feeling that you're safe, that no one can hear you singing; that's totally true, but they can see you, and you can lock the door.

Sketches timez

2008-03-23T14:18:00.005+09:00

Well, hello. You're still here. I'm glad. It's been some time, but we've both been busy of late, haven't we? As a return to things internet, I'm starting a series here of sketchbook drawings. Enjoy.

The best photographers are in movies and comic books because there they can appear at the exact moment and obtain a perspective defying shot, but even so they get a hard time from the editor.

Korean Vacation!

2008-03-12T21:01:00.003+09:00

puro resuringu pawa!!

2007-12-06T10:47:00.000+09:00

Last night i was lucky enough to be invited as a guest to a pro wrestling event; the reason being that some of the wrestlers were using a track from a friends' band, acma, as their entrance theme!

The wrestling was both hilarious and awesome; at one point eight giant speedoed men romped around the ring at the same time, engaging in dazzling aerial manoeuvres and suffocating face humping grapples. There was a shiny white English wrestler there who would often yell in a loud coarse voice, OK, before swinging the sweat from his mane, and dashing across the square for a crushing elbow smash or crotch lashing. And of course, the yellow haired chubby wrestler in white tighties whose gerth was betrayed only by his leaping buoyancy.

The crowd was suspiciously quiet and polite, though a few shouted wrestler names and encouraged pinned men to fighto their way out of a hold; often we engaged in a clap-along with a wrestler or hurriedly scampered out of the way of a large body smashing through the chairs ring-side like a bull in a day care. Regardless, I think everyone had a good time, except maybe the referee; he took a lot of grief.

Here are a few pics of this memorable event:

sketches #5

2007-12-01T16:48:00.000+09:00

sketches #4

2007-11-25T22:12:00.001+09:00

sketches #3

2007-11-25T22:11:00.001+09:00

sketches #2

2007-11-25T22:09:00.001+09:00

sketches #1

2007-11-25T22:07:00.001+09:00

Two Lines in Some Manner About a Book! #3

2007-11-19T10:30:00.001+09:00

The Clash of Civilizations: Remaking of Global Order, Samuel P. Huntington
Fantastic book-look into the nature of politics at an unimaginable scale: global. Trace the lines of civilizations and look into the machine that is global politics (there are critiques out there, but for the semi-initiated, this is needle and thread with which to seam ideas).

Ulysses, James Joyce
yes, yes. How long have I been reading this book about Bloom's day and I'm still not finished, perhaps never will be, but when I'm in it it's a delight simply for the words (and I guess Hemingway and Joyce were pals at a time and there were some written flourishes in the former that seemed particularly Joycian).

Twentieth-Century Mystics and Sages, Anne Bancroft
A book about the great kind of people. The individuals that colour experience and shed light on our own minds.

Sanity, Madness and the Family, R. D. Laing
A look at 11 schizophrenic daughters and their families. This is a disorder difficult to pin down (at the time?); read this and discover how families can be messed up and craziness may emerge out of situations, not just minds.

In the Miso Soup, Ryu Murakami
Sex, violence, and violence in the Tokyo "underworld" of sex and violence, but mostly the pathetic-ones let loose upon by a foreign beast man; part misunderstood man; part robotic animal man. Spatterings of social critique among the blood.

Jimmy Corrigan: The Smartest Kid On Earth, Chris Ware
"I could flip through this book all day," I said. The artwork is brilliant and so is the story, though be prepared to have it engage you, for it will define your mood.

Maus, Art Spiegleman
Highly talked about, and indeed, a great read, likely an honest, a grisly honest read, but I wasn't engaged in the reading and looking so much as by the thinking it inspired. I hardly want to think those things, let alone to have endured them.

Eats, Shoots, and Leaves, Lynne Truss
This a half-amusing drly cycnical book about punctuation and how careless computers make us. No--we are careless to begin with, but I too like to punctuate (though I don't know if I'd pass any tests), meaningcanbeaboutsoundsandspaceandreallydowewanttowritelikethis?

Freakonomics, Steven D. Levitt & Stephen J. Dubner
This book uses the tools of economics to tell a story of how things are: "[i]f morality represents an ideal world, then economics represents the actual world;" statistics tell us things profound, though it seems in retrospect. One more question for the book of questions: does knowing statistics change statistics (eg. an intact family is not a meaningful measure of a child's performance in school--does knowing this affect an outcome)?

Special section to Ernest Hemingway

The Old Man and the Sea, Ernest Hemmingway
Got me started on the tough, the stubborn refusal to give in, the existential of male, of man. A wonderful read, curt in its descriptions, sparse with its words; a good introduction.

The Green Hills of Africa, Ernest Hemmingway
This time around, killing things in the jungle, and as such involved me less--maleness has changed, though I can still understand the appeal. Though, the laws of the jungle weren't written with rifles in mind, were they?

For Whom the Bell Tolls, Ernest Hemmingway
Practically a manual for dying; a beautiful ode to fate and love (never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee). Hemmingway writes with a heavy hand, but can be so subtle and graceful at times, those times he seems to know.

To Have and Have Not, Ernest Hemmingway
A collage book of three stories, none of which compelled me to keep reading. A violent and questionable hero struggling to survive in a story lacking substance (though not without a few bright passages by the great writer).

A Farewell to Arms, Ernest Hemmingway
This book gave me the most insight into Hemingway, no longer enamoured, I was, but more critical, and finding this time a desire in myself to read more motivation, more feeling, but alas: "it's hard to see inside the head of the brave" (126). But an ending such as this book has, in a way as all Ernest's books, brought me around, and I was the one moved (read the first explicit male tear in E.H.).

Men Without Women, Ernest Hemmingway
I read a few of these short stories, but I find I'm just not a fan of the short story medium. So I put it down; maybe another time (In Another Country I liked for images of men manipulated by machines).

Lights in the Sky

2007-10-15T01:16:00.000+09:00

Last night, high above the streets, from the Mori Art Gallery, far in the distance, I spotted these droning lights over Tokyo bay as they endlessly emerged out of the darkness on a slow decent into the bright foray of the glowing city constellation.

Fun in the Neighbourhood!

2007-10-04T21:40:00.000+09:00

To all living anywhere, heed this suggestion: libraries. We just discovered the local libraries, and though for me the English section is limited, there are books! Tons of books! Any one I want, anytime! Today I got:
Hemmingway, Green Hills of Africa.
Hirayama, Breakthrough Japanese, 20 mini lessons for better conversation.
Lynne Truss, Eats, Shoots & Leaves.
Chris Ware, Jimmy Corigan, The smartest kid on earth.
Art Spiegelman, Maus.
Can I read these all in 2 weeks and still go to work and maintain my life?

Also, in the Poplar convenience store, and probably many others, this product is proudly displayed, and I am told it is an old and possibly classic sweet:

Unremarkably close to the word, colon: 1. Anatomy. the part of the large intestine extending from the cecum to the rectum, were it not for the remarkable similarity of the chocolate encircled cookie resembling perhaps a poopy asshole. Should have bought it.

Let's Play Guns!

2007-10-03T17:05:00.001+09:00

A new comic of mine is running on flak mag. Let's Play Guns! will be running for the next five weeks, and appearing congruently on my website. Check it out, and enjoy!

sketches and safety

2007-09-30T22:32:00.000+09:00

Further evidence for the safety of Tokyo: cops seem to have nothing to do, or are liars.
Again last night, we found ourselves riding home late, overcoming the burden of the last train, when, despite lights blinking and casual speeds, a cop jogs up, asking that we stop. He explained in Japanese that a bicycle had been stolen an hour previous and he was required to check our registration. Though he and his eventual partner were very polite, apologetic even, the whole event demands an answer to this question: did he receive no description of the stolen bicycle? He must not have, for had he a description, one would assume that pulling over two mama-cheri bicycles, one dark red, the other silver, would indicate a likeness on behalf of one of the two in question. However, he checked out both registrations, though made no mention of positive ID or similarity or the like, and decided we owned the bikes and let us go. So, I suspect, either there was no stolen bike and the whole story was made up as an excuse to pull us over, or there was a stolen bike and it was an excuse to pull us over. Either way, those cops had to have been so bored (he even mentioned that a guy and a girl together don't fit the profile of bike thieves but stopped us regardless), but I guess, and this is OK really, bored cops=safe city.

interview, yours truly

2007-09-25T17:53:00.000+09:00

A short interview with me is appearing on flakmag this week. Check it out.

Why do we need catastrophe?

2007-09-08T00:33:00.000+09:00

Just finished watching Blood Diamond, and was thoroughly impressed. Despite it's hollywood trappings (tragic heroism, sacrifice, a showdown, a reunion, a final goodbye, hope...), it was very watchable, though uneasily at times. Looking at some brief reviews, I'm often struck by reactions to politics and activism in film, though I'm sure it depends on the reviewer, there is a tendancy to look for entertainment and artistic value first, which is fine, but tends to overlook or ignore questions like why not have an agenda as a filmmaker? and why not cram in a message?
Whether it's global warming, conflict diamonds in Africa, corporations, or scandal, there is often a defensive posture, a leaning-away-from. Indeed, many issues are far larger than any one person can do much about, but in looking at (or looking away from) the biggest events, the small things are missed; small things like personal responsibility and choice, discipline and awareness. People are dying for diamonds, yes, why do we need diamonds at all, each of us? The environment is being degraded or changed, or ruined, why must we drive so much anyway? Why do we, I, need a catastrophe before I realize that the small things I do have consequences, and the small things we all do have big consequences? I have a choice despite what is all around, and there is so much good that can be done in small actions. Let's make a list.

Gurdjieff and Krishnamurti share the sceeeeeene

2007-08-30T22:41:00.000+09:00

the here and now

2007-08-30T09:34:00.000+09:00

Heigho!

The summer has been as follows, though respite looms, and I hope too, cooler temperatures:

1--My brother visited for three weeks, and we had great times including the following:
a--camping at Fuji-go-ko.
b--onsen taking.
c--rollercoarster riding at FujiQ Highlands; you must go--it's the feeling inside you, in your guts!
2--played a gig in Shibuya. Thanks to all for turning out.
3--fought the heat, and continue to do so.
4--read a number of books, including the following:
a--The clash of civilization and the remaking of global order.
b--Ulysses.
5--though drawing has been conspicuously absent from my activities, I'm working on a new project for the fall.
6--I can't open my website from home, but it works at work now. confused.

I hope you've all had a good summer. Stay coooool.

the Factory pg. 1-3

2007-07-15T19:05:00.000+09:00

I uploaded an old (unfinished) comic to braincomics. Check it out by clicking on the image:

on the train comics!

2007-07-14T11:55:00.000+09:00

5 glimpses of Fuji San

2007-07-08T22:22:00.000+09:00

In the night, climbing, Fuji san seems inhabited by, possesses maybe, a kind of magic, whispering quietly forever having been but seen only here, mysterious shapes and dizzying lines defying experience. Standing on the side of the great volcanic cone on weary legs and bleary eyes, I felt perhaps to have climbed not just above the clouds, but through a misty portal. At one of the upper stations we turned around and watched our shadows flutter like flags in the whispy clouds drifting swift up the side of the mountain. They passed and again the staggering horizon of Fuji san reappeared, a crooked diagonal edge in the moonlight, plumeting seaward, pointing to the glow of invisible towns below the cloud bed.

We reached the top seperately, our group staggered among the slow snaking chain of flashlight pinholes crisscrossing the mountain skwyard--perhaps what impressed me most (and at times frustrated) was the sheer number of people willing to make the climb to the sawed flat top of mount Fuji. It's not an easy climb, but a wide array of people attempt it, old or young knees be damned (and many succeed). So, at the top, reforming our quintet seemed difficult, but reform we did, with plenty of time to gather ourselves for the moment we had been waiting for. And then, with our faces long, but aglow, the sun split the sky and lit the sea of clouds churning around the peak. We silently watched. I wondered how after such a long night, the sun could arrive so cheerfuly, and I warmed up, feeling something new, akin to flying.

When the sun is low and relative to the still, and vastly wide horizon, it moves fast. Shortly, the sunrise became clear morning, and we decided to hike to the backside and around the rim of the peak. The snow lined pit of Fuji is a massive crater, ringed with black charred rock and scattered with volcanic rubble, the entire mountain being the result of this incredible hole. We walked along the edge, slowly tired, until we came upon a sheet of ice, crossed by a single set of footprints. Looks easy enough we thought, as the team of mountaineers ahead of us, kitted with poles and boots, assisted eachother across the slippery expanse. No problem. We set out slowly, and carefully, step by step, retracing the frozen prints. He yelled out as he fell, sliding down the ice, kicking his heels to no effect, but finally, gradually he slowed at the bottom of the slope. We looked at eachother, and considered going back, though then realizing there were more hikers waiting behind us, cooling their well-heeled boots as we slowly crept along. We took a few more tenuous steps, when, looking down the ice, we realized that the slope no longer seemed to gradually flatten out, but disappeared over an edge and opened up into a sheer drop down to the bottom of the pit. It was then that my knees quivered, and though I had felt vertigo before, I had to take a moment and catch my breath, and reassure my sneakered feet hesitating on a foot print of wet ice. We all took the same breath. Step step step, slowly, standing and finding balance, we achieved the other side, quite exhausted, though vividly alive.

From the back of Fuji, in the clear day, laid out across the landscape of thin clouds and tiny hills, is a massive pillar of shadow extending for many kilometers of Japan. Standing on the edge there, the volcanic cone, so rough to climb, looks smooth enough to roll toilet paper down all the way to the next prefecture. I think that might piss someone off though. The whole side of the mountain visible, the changing environment at different levels of elevation are visible, from barren rock and debris to small green shrubbery and the forested base. All darkened by the distinct flat feature of the pyramid of Fuji, so big it blocks the sun.

Having been up all night and hiked around the crater all morning, we felt it was time to hike down. I almost complained that I was tired when a grandmother and her great great grandchild skipped past me into the fog on their way to breakfast. We made our way, a little slower, but not much as P inspired us to skip as well, and we nearly jogged most of the way down despite our grieving feets. The route down, in the mocking light of day (the sun, so beautiful, is it not also a little cruel), was hours of zigzagging dirt and dust trails that wore our minds down as well as knees and ankles. However, we were spared sunburns by morning mist blowing up the slope, beautifully and cool. Squinting hard, we tried in vain often to see how far we had to go yet, but just kept stepping into the fog until finally our feet hit pavement and we were again on earth.

[group shot!]

Let's Play Guns!! pg. 1

2007-07-03T19:15:00.000+09:00

Here's the first page of a newly written and illustrated comic. Enjoy!

NEWS FLASH

2007-06-17T22:32:00.000+09:00

A comic I wrote a while back, treelines, and posted here is currently being run on flakmag in weekly installments; take a look here: flakmag. Check it out and enjoy the story (again!), and there are some other notable comics on that site that are well worth following.
The comic will be updated on braincomics as well as it appears on the web (however, my site seems to be having problems (great timing stupid awardspace!!!), so please leave a comment and let me know if it's not loading for you, or leave a comment and just say hi or whathaveyou).
The excitement mounts.

52 mysteries

2007-06-12T22:09:00.002+09:00

The Train Lady

2007-06-09T11:15:00.000+09:00

The first train would not reach my destination, so I detrained in Yotsuya for fresh air where the subway makes a rare stop above ground. Waiting in the mild humid morning for more metro cars, I reached for my Japanese Grammar book, though the next train, on time, rolled up before I could start studying, so I retrained and took a seat.
I opened my book in the middle, searching aimless, and yelps!, squeels!, a soprano in fluttering falsetto, chirped standing by the door to my left, frenzied, berating an invisible stranger. No one else seemed to notice, in fact, no one flinched, though she, too unaware of them, pointed in reproach, now her voice gruff with vexation, frustrated by an uncompliant accomplice. "What are you doing?" the air, she threatened. She, in her chattering disordered bubble, they on the normal train everyday, went about ignoring eachother. And I looked down into my grammar book and stared at these first sentences:
日本は豊かで安全な国です。
日本人はたいてい親切でやさしいです。でも、ときどきやさしくない人もいます。
"Japan is a rich and safe country."
"Japanese people are usually kind and warm-hearted. But some of them are not."
The train arrived at the next stop prompting slight activity, sleeping heads snap to and run for the door, and she, quiet jittery allowed people near. The doors slid closed and the train was soon in the dark, the windows reflecting lit faces, and perhaps seeing herself once more there beyond the glass, launched a finger-pointing, foot-stomping tirade, that even the young lady who had taken the seat not six inches from the thin standing performer refused to budge, glance or surprise.
What stood there, in loose striped shirt and crooked black skirt, was something non-, a poor old ranter, standing there a cow, or postbox, another commuter, simply other, take no notice.
I couldn't help but listen closely, wanting to hear her Japanese words, but watched more closely the man sleeping next to her, wondering really what he could be dreaming; though his face showed no answers, he woke suddenly before his stop and stood waiting beside her while she muttered screeching like a springshot schoolgirl in some other place.

to west and back again

2007-05-30T20:07:00.000+09:00

The bus was crowded, but having the utmost rear seat, the recline was almost fully horizontal, bedlike and comfortable, as was the girl ahead ahead of me, headrest nearly in my lap, more at ease than one on a bus should be allowed; politely, asking, excuse me, a little low? With my legs assured, I set forth forcibly to rest, if not sleep, the eleven hour journey to my first, and furthest westerly destination, Hiroshima, the terrible and tragic, once flattest city, of excessive-use-of-force infamy.
I awoke at seven am, in time to watch the city come in, and observe the bus depot, ordinary and nondescript. My backpack, tent attached, contained enough clothes for half a warm day and I hoped, a full cold night, bundled around two flashlights, brand new, and nearly one thousand pages of reading material in the case that I end up in a hospital or police station with little to do. Estimating the pack at somewhere between two and three hundred kilos, I immediately hid it in a coinlocker located nearby, convenient, though later recognized to be the opposite side of further progress, and camera and map in hand, set out to discover a chilling history and eventually to meet accidentally two asian christians nosing into my prayers, though agreeing upon certain ideals vis-a-vis unstated homonyms.
The city of Hiroshima at first glance, having missed the welcome sign, is like another flower among many, blooming together and bustling about supporting a colony of bees; however it is, and is in fact not like this at all: it is one of two only places in the world, in history, to have been destroyed, nay what happens to wood in this instances, vaporized? by an atomic bomb, dropped by that nation, in-god, dropped from a great height, from the Enola-Gay, August 6th 1945, at 8:15am. There remains, in eternal reminder, the so-called A-bomb dome, what was a large domed building of various functions, what is now a skeletal remnant, silent and ponderous. From most angles, my view penetrates the structure and awestruck dumbfounded sad or passerbylocals can be seen across the way, through the bones, like looking into the space of a lost tooth--shouldn't there be something there? I wonder. To the east, there in the sky, the bomb burst, high enough over that the blast didn't force the heavy structure to the ground, but suffused it's soft contents like an xray. The surrounding area was even less lucky, as so much then was made of wood, a material that burns easily under the fantastic violence of nuclear fission.
Possibly over one hundred thirty thousand casualties, sixty thousand dead, many in an instant shorter in duration than a struck match igniting to a still flame. Many more slowly perished struggling with radiation and injury...
--Excuse me.
I'm peering through the memorial arch, aligned with the dome and the flame. I close my eyes, thinking, and he queries about my prayers. We chat a while, and I'm read a passage of scripture vaguely about the end of war and coming perfection if all would simply believe. I tell him it's a nice dream (hope/expectation). Perfection (theory/ideal) is nil, the chaotic ambiguity of existence must be confronted, not prayed away, though it helps; we don't need bombs, we don't, but we don't need a utopia (end/beginning) either. I don't know what we need.

With visions of bombs and dust dancing in my bedraggled mind, I walked north, skirting the baseball stadium and voracious buses, between galleries and buidlings, eventually coming upon a man, holding a long pole of bamboo, stirring the southern moat of what still stands as Hiroshima-jo, the castle. The grounds are beautiful and green, flourishing buzzing with life and wayward wandering locals and tourists enjoying the tiered shade of the typically shaped castle. From the top, the city is circumnavigated in view, and quite lovely, though there seen as always, protrudes the top bulge of the ventilated dome previously described, sombre and small among the modern flourishes of an ordinary twenty-first century city in Japan. I took the stairs, returning to just above-sea level groud floor, and wandered around for photo ops and the nearest tram station. Had it been clear, I may have seen Miyajima, my next destination, from the top of the Castle, but it was humid and the air dense, though cool. I found a tram car, windows open, humming along the road, devouring commuters. I rode the tram for an hour to the south where I hopped out and immediately boarded a ferry.
I've read that the inland sea between and urging out from Honshu and Shikoku to be of tremendous beauty, Aegean beauty, and indeed it is, I would imagine, on a day with fewer clouds. Though the object of my visit to the island, aside from it's quiet charm and too-friendly, let's say spoiled, deer, was the shrine, jutting from the hightide bay, itsukushima.
I've read that the view of the shrine, ripple reflecting the gentle sea, framing distant mountains and shore, is one of three "best views" in Japan. I've always thought "views" to be an odd way to consider nature, be it a mountain, waterfall, or rather natural looking shrines--but there is an ancient desire in many cultures, is there not, to frame, to control, or least to stand out of reach, hand on little brothers head swinginig madly, impotent, to be safe? To complete this aside, I suspect there to be few places in the world with quite the relationship to nature as is found in Japan, though culture is powerfully produced and shaped by the land, how many cultures have grown up on a mountainous island, tiny and volcanic at the apex of multiple fault lines, regularly hammered by Typhoons, and well, tsunami is a Japanese word, is it not? The view. The view was indeed beautiful and for over and hour, I sat, with sake, sipping while the sun dipped, and the scene slowly dimmed.
Thinking the first day of my trip over, looking for a camp, my phone rang. One of my students in Kuba, down the line twenty minutes. You must come visit my mothers house, she says, and agreeing, I hurriedly catch the last ferry and arrive just in time for dinner: sayuri and tako sashimi, hijiki, fried chicken, pickles, miso soup, something and some other more, and beer. We chat, and sit, the mother, cheerful and full of energy despite, I am told, fifty years ago having suffered nuclear afteraffects, offers more food and a powerful kind of presence, the word genki suffices more than English words I can offer; genki, meaning literally something like root-feeling (I think), strength, robust, stout, happy, healthy, as such I've always thought of it more with regard to a Samurai than a Shibuya girl. I'm tired, and I'm offered a futon and a room to sleep in.

The first day of my trip around western Japan had finished, though Hiroshima was the travelling impulse, the rest comes along varied and amusing, worthwhile: 8.5 days on the cheap wander in Japan. And for lack of time, some highlights and photos:

Shikoku: visiting old friends and for the first time, surfing in the Ocean, the great pacific Ocean.
Shinkansen: another first, taking the shinkansen, and not only, but as the song went, I took the bullet train to Osaka and fulfilled a life-long dream.
Osaka: enjoyed a variety of okonmiyaki though with veg, and wandered around the city gaining a new appreciation for Tokyo.
Horyuji (1): walking through the nighttime town avoiding scary cemetaries to camp outside the temple grounds and awake to the sounds of bells and tour groups.
Horyuji (2): the temple, though mostly the museum, the home of beautiful buddhist art and statuary.
Nara: todaiji and the massive buddha; massive.

Tokyo: back home with renwed like of the city, though it's worn off by now. haha. Need another trip.

Crispy Cream **update

2007-05-30T11:58:00.000+09:00

Was walking by the donut shop again the other day, and encountered this:

Note the time. That's 1 hour 40 minutes waiting time for donuts. It seems the line is becoming even longer as the months wear on. I learned new Japanese: ushi no mure. This applies easily to people in a coral, waiting for some sugary cud to munch. mooo.

city impossible

2007-05-16T11:15:00.000+09:00

To which do your eyes roam more naturally?

no connection

2007-05-15T12:57:00.000+09:00

The delay here is due to a lack of internet access from my apartment; the neighbours, I suspect, have moved out and brought with them, ie. removed permanently, among their effects and hodgepodge possessions, an internet wireless hub. No more freeloading.
However, this dearth of access initially exposing a depressed want, has evolved into a kind of blessing, both as my schedule opens up and I fill the open time with reasonably more productive endeavours, the opposite to such pursuits, or should I say occupations, as serial drama watching, surfing, and benefits of immediacy information retrieval (subsequent fastness of forgetting). These are positive deprivations, however, email and this blog writing business has become difficult, though with all change comes sacrifice.
Anyway, that said, I can hardly wait for new neighbours and the probability of their high-tech accessibility options, so likely in due, perhaps short, time, I will sign-up, as they say, and gain my own permanent connection and maybe someday be in a position to distribute to the airwaves a new onramp for those interested though information-deficient.
until then. soon...

Post No. 100

2007-04-30T10:31:00.000+09:00

Update: new page added to brain comics! Check it out here: face comics.

Also, I'm going on a trip, and I'll post some pictures soon.

new drawings

2007-04-26T21:33:00.000+09:00

In other news, I've posted some new drawings (and some old ones) to my web site.
Click the links, and have a look:

You know these people?!?

2007-04-26T21:10:00.000+09:00

verbatim:

me: where is she? It's ten to...
[five minutes later]
I'll give her a call. Maybe she's lost or something.
[ringading]
~~her~~: uhh, hello?
[her tone rises, like she's busy with ten kids.]
me: uhh. Hi. uhh. Are you coming in today?
[I'm thrown off by her tone. Wouldn't she be expecting me to call?]
~~her~~: oh yeah... I forgot about that.
me: oh. you--forgot?
~~her~~: yeah. I'm [coughcough] pretty sick. Been sick all weekend.
me: So, are you at home?
~~her~~: Yeah, I'm at home.
me: You're not coming in?
~~her~~: Well, I don't know where it is!
me: Oh, I sent you directions yesterday to your email. You didn't get that?
~~her~~: Well, I don't have a computer, so I don't check it much.
me: But you said you were gonna talk to ~~him~~. You didn't ask ~~him~~ for directions?
~~her~~: Well, I did. But they were really bad. I don't know...
me: Bad directions?
~~her~~: Yeah, I don't know where it is.
[pause. you fucking idiot.]
me: Ok, anyway. Bye.
~~her~~: Yeah, I'm sorry about it.
me: Goodbye.
[click]

[note: anyone out there planning to hire a girl from Alberta, let me know and I'll verify that you're not hiring a complete jackass.]

Krispy Krack

2007-04-23T20:49:00.000+09:00

Krispy Kreme donuts opened their first shop in Shinjuku late last year. It's the only one in Japan; it's a donut shop (does that go without saying?). I stood in a long line with some folks a few months ago and enjoyed the donuts, which were fine as far as donuts go.
So, today in Shinjuku we thought, let's pop by the KK and have a dough hole! However, upon arrival, we encountered this:

5 months later, and the line is still going long! And on a monday afternoon at that! Note the estimated line time: 1:10 min. Answer me this: why would people line up on a blustery cold day for over an hour to eat some donuts from a shop that's already been around for 5 months. Is there nothing better to do? It can hardly be fashionable anymore, and I mean, come on: donuts. It's not like they're giving out free diamonds or cheesecakes or handjobs or dionsaurs or cash or plane tickets. Just donuts. Krispy Kremlin: what's really in those donuts?
There is a fascinatingly frustrating habit of people in Tokyo standing in lines; yes it's crowded, but I've seen countless instances where people seem to prefer standing in a cue than not. Maybe I'm just impatient. Probably.

I didn't get a donut...

nezu jinja, tokyo

2007-04-17T18:01:00.000+09:00

.

arriving at the nezu shrine

the sky was grey, the weather fine

I walked a while between the gates

not knowing how they change ones state

touched my chin to think some time

and pulled on hairs, felt unlike mine

from my face, twitched with my grin

were four long whiskers, straight and thin

what magic causes change such that

a dog transforms into a cat!

don't miss this boat.

2007-04-16T23:40:00.000+09:00

Two Lines in Some Manner About a Book! #2

2007-04-08T15:45:00.000+09:00

The continuing saga of reading continues the saga:

Emotional Intelligence, Daniel Goleman

IQ isn't the only measure: EI, emotional intelligence, though unmeasurable, really, plays a significant role in the use of our intelligence intelligence; but it's not taught in schools. Next time a pen rolls off the table and your hand flicks faster than gravity, catching the pen, you'll recognize your amygdala, and action without thought.

Meditation Yoga, Masahiro Oki

Yoga isn't stretching; it's the universe and everything in it. Read this book, and others like it.

The Sickening Mind, Paul Martin

Stress not only fascilitates sickness, it can make you sick. Through a somewhat complex mechanism called the nervous system, your very body may suppress your very immune system to help deal with stresses; just try not to allow it to persist--that's the trick (note: emotional intelligence, meditation yoga, Gurdjieff can help).

Gurdjieff, John Shirley

Gurdjieff seems a madman, perhaps was, but his history and methods are startlingly persuasive. Thinking back on it now, everything seems so clear: people are sleeping machines; so am I, so are you-- shock!

Learning to Bow, Bruce S. Feiler

A great insight into Japan, from a teacher in the early days of English teaching--he speaks Japanese too. Felt like he was telling my story; I'm sure you'll feel similar--check it out: a great look into the culture that's still relevant today.

Hegemony or Survival, Noam Chomsky

The world is not as it appears; the surface we are shown is generally a mistruth, a deceit even. Read this and be saddened, and hopefully compelled to compassionate outrage--a great work by a relentlessly thorough and straightforward reader of the things we should all know.

Twilight of the Idols, Friedrich Nietzsche

This book is about more than can be said in two lines. But, indeed, can we all agree that the twilight looms and it's finally time?

Blink!, Malcolm Gladwell

Trust your instincts, so long as you've honed them to a fine point by the fires of experience. Learn to listen to your guts by training it's voice--if you want quick decesions, you must know what you're doing; who knew?

Technopoly, Neil Postman

Technology takes us over as we become more and more dependant on technologies, and do we wonder: how much benefit do we gain, and what do we lose--he makes a funny point about computers (those who profit from them come up with good arguments for their existence, but what do we gain really?). Progress is measured in technological terms, and we have access to more information than we could ever need; informed and smart, or just overwhelmed and unaware--what about human development?

Supernatural, Graham Hancock

What cave paintings, faeries, and alien abductions have in common: they are different manifestations of the same other worldy reality existing just out of sensory reach. Reach the other side through a variety of psychadelic means, trance states, or just by a natural burst of excess DMT from your brain; apparently a lot of people see the same things, and not just hippies--cavemen and europeans and ancient greeks alike (what they all have in common: DNA; humans have shared the same form for potentially 200,000 years, passing on the same information all along)!

time to fly

2007-04-06T23:05:00.000+09:00

Some friends are leaving Japan; farewell, friends. Travel well.

today it rains

2007-04-03T11:29:00.000+09:00

Last of the sakura: these pictures were taken with some friends yesterday, one of whom is leaving Japan today. Until next time, M; good travels...

These pics are from yoyogi park the other day which at night turned into a party in the forest. It was an all day yoyogi sakura circus.

hanami in ueno

2007-04-01T09:31:00.000+09:00

More sakura, this time in Ueno. Last night, as I was walking down the lantern lit lane, a gust of wind rose up and shook the trees, twirling thousands of petals into the air like pink snow; slowly a cheer crept up among the revelers until it became a roar and everyone called and clapped and whisteled as we were whirled in the soft flurry of sakura all around. It stopped abruptly as it started, and everyone resumed eating and drinking.

Below are a few more pictures from chidorigafuchi just after the rain friday morning.

hanami

2007-03-29T22:47:00.000+09:00

The sakura rise and fall with dignity, like the samurai.
The sakura blooms are a short beautiful life.
The graceful sakura embody the spirit of a culture.
They're a moment to get drunk and sing pop songs.
Whatever metahpor you choose, they're plain beautiful.

Today, I wandered through many parks and paths, searching for sakura in full bloom; I found them in quiet corners, at boisterous temples, along palace walls, and arching over rivers. My feet are tired, and my camera is on the verge of permanent blindness, but it was a beautiful day. Here are some photos from the walks and from the weekend.

Inokashira park, not yet fully bloomed.

Inokashira park.

Wadaburi park. This park follows a canal,
which I thought was a river.
It's much uglier than it seems
from these pictures.

Wadaburi park.

Omiyahachiman shrine.

The suits come out to drinky at yasukuni shrine.

Chidorigafuchi, the walking path
along the west moat of the palace.

Chidorigafuchi.

Chidorigafuchi

Chidorigafuchi

walk to ueno

2007-03-27T19:28:00.000+09:00

Yesterday, because my bicycle has a flat, we decided to walk to Ueno. It's about 7km, and we wandered for about two hours along Kitanomaru Park, through the Nakano book-shop street, over canals and past campaign posters, through Akihabara, and finally to our favourite sushi shop in Ueno. Here are some pictures from along the way. Ever want to walk the city? It's better than trains; join us! now!!

Antique books in Nakano
you can find old English books too...

The sobu line.

It's graduation season.

Women here, pee standing.
I did too.

reflect

Behind here is a blue door.

This is funny every time.

national art gallery

2007-03-25T21:02:00.000+09:00

I think everybody probably takes the same pictures of this place, but here are some shots of the new National Art Center in Roppongi. The facade features a wavy glass wall of windows that, when I was there, cast nice patterns of light on the floor; though, the most interesting feature is the use of enormous inverted cone shapes, accessed by small walkways on the second and third levels. However, the interest stops there, as they funtion only as restaurants, which is decidely a dull thing to perch on such a magnificent place. The funniest was the line of people waiting to eat at the third level french restaurant. We estimated that the line would be at least two hours long. Is it that good, I wonder? I suggest they remove the eateries and instead use the space for the exhibition of artworks; it is after all a gallery. But, I don't think space is an issue: apparently it's massive inside--we only viewed the free rooms which featured a small variety of objects and images (mostly regarding architecture, coincidentally). When there's a show I'm interested in, I'll check out the other spaces, but I think the architectural fanfare is for the front area, food joint cone stands. They are pretty cool though...

the third level restaurant

the front of the line

main floor seating area,
and second floor cafe.

breakfast

2007-03-22T00:01:00.000+09:00

After happily stuffing my face with delicious pizza pops and ice cream and chocolate milk and... that's it, I guess; it's nice to open my fridge and find this kind of stuff again. It took some time to get to like it, but now I like it.

the rockies

2007-03-18T09:28:00.000+09:00

The main road in Banff

An Elk.

Hiking.

From tunnel mountain.

The three sisters peaks.

the prairies

2007-03-18T08:46:00.000+09:00

Alberta from the plane.

On the road to Banff.

The distant trees.

Prairie sunset.

Edmonton, in part, in pictures.

2007-03-05T14:27:00.000+09:00

Over the hill are cargo containers.

Shopping at Costco. This store is a warehouse, top to bottom,
filled with huge bulk products. Everything is gigantic.

Edmonton has some of the longest
river valley hiking trails in North America.

a birch tree

Skating at Hawrelak park on the figure eight lake.
This day was ten above and the ice was slushy.

There was a black out during our game of Risk.

The alley behind my old house at night time.

To Wintry Canada!

2007-03-01T10:02:00.000+09:00

Arriving in Vancouver to layover, I was immediately greeted to the homeland: uh, hey buddy; I'm a little short on bus fare. Help a guy out? And a second time later. At immigration, I needed to fill out the "visitor" part of the form instead of the "resident", however I eased through without a search or a second glance. I was relieved because I had a sleuth of baby panda bears hidden in my suitcase. I later got on another Air Canada flight, which was two hours late, for the ninty minute jaunt over the mountains to Edmonton.

Flying over the rockies, I remembered that some of the greatest natural beauty in the world can be found in Canada. I thought about early immigrants traversing those young and stubborn peaks in their efforts to span the nation, and now we fly over their memory in steel, with touch screen consoles. I drank an orange juice.

The prairies are also beautiful, in winter or summer, from the air or land. There is a funny irony of living and having settled a land such as this, as prairie cities are almost vulgar in their ugliness.

Finally arriving in Edmonton, I went outside and found the air to be ice cold but inviting, and I felt with great national pride, that my cold weather resistance is still somewhat intact. Edmonton is covered in snow. Mostly dirty, gravely, road snow by now, but some fields remain smooth like a marshmallow expanse, lightly blue dusted, shining clear alberta sky.

Rabbit prints in the front yard. The rabbits are big, jack rabbits, they're called, and they turn white in the winter.

The snow falls, the suburbs are crowded, the snow piles up high. When we were kids, these heaps became great forts; I think an igloo is made from cut snow and ice, and a quincy is a pile of snow, emptied out. This would become a quincy.

b-boys or shaolin monks?

2007-02-13T16:04:00.000+09:00

Who has the illinest spins, but won't spill a drop of qi!?!?
You be the judge.

breakdancing

Shaolin Kung Fu

the jung have more fun

2007-02-09T23:27:00.000+09:00

ps. fill in the blank: "I want _______". Is this difficult? It can be.

to all you scientistas: why don't we all just fuck ourselves?

2007-02-07T22:16:00.000+09:00

Why has reproduction always required two entities? Why has sex and copulation been a constant in evolutionary history?
The deep blue sea; life before the dinosaurs; I've been renting these BBC nature and history documentaries, and it's got me thinking: how come, after millions and millions of years, do all species, human, plant, animal and in between, need a pair of creatures, connifers, capsicum or what have you, to create the next generation? Why haven't living things evolved the ability to produce their own offspring, independant of any other cellular matter? I would imagine that to be a powerful evolutionary advantage that must have emerged in some form among evolving organisms. I mean if something as complex as vision came up 550 million years ago, why not a sac of sperm in a female, or ovaries in a male? Even flowers need to pollinate--and bees do it for them! Anyway, I'm not complaining... here're some thoughts off the top of my head:
1) Life is so full of suffering, even ice-cold evolution thought a little sticky pleasure was in order.
2) All creatures like sex so much that the ones making their own babies got really depressed about all the fun they were missing (then again, "I'll show them; those sex-maniacs, I'll copulate by myself my own army! And then they'll see who's got real appeal!)
3) Duality is a fundamental attribute of existence--without two there cannot be one.
4) There is a physical impossibility of there being stuff of both sexes in one organism; like water being ice at the same time. huh?
5) Two heads are better than one.
6) Never back up your computer and leave all the files on the same hard disk. Put them somewhere safe.

If you're an evolutionary biologist; clue me in. Even if you're not, make a comment.

Funny Pictures

A visit to the Imperial Palace

2007-02-03T15:10:00.000+09:00

On January 1st, I rode my bicycle, after a late night of new years toasting and eating with friends, to the Gates of the Imperial Palace. There were many people, but not nearly the reaction I had expected. I asked a security guard if I could go in and see the emperor. Uninterested, he said, no. I asked if I could enter tomorrow. He said, yes. I said thanks, and he also said thanks.

Forward, one day. On January 2nd, S and I rode bicycles to the front gates of the Imperial Palace. We were handed paper flags with a red sun. People were streaming in across the little bridge; we entered the flow and proceeded around a little bend, and over another little bridge. I stopped to take pictures and a man in a black suit told me in a serious tone to keep walking. I kept walking, and we entered into a sprawling courtyard fronting a massive low level building, inconspicuous and unassuming. We joined the hordes, and waited, paitently for our turn to see the modern incarnation of the ancient family, born of gods. As we waited, we noticed many foreign faces in the crowd, and remarked that the inside of the palace looks remarkably like the outside of the palace.

A door jiggled, edged slightly open, and out sauntered the royal family. The new baby was not present, but we saw the main man, Emporer Akihito, the princess, and the guy with the moustache. They waved, and we waved flags, quietly dignified. This lasted long enough to snap a few crooked pictures, until they stopped waving and retreated inside; presumably to drink tea and read, waiting until the next throng of the day should arrive.

I don't know exactly the meaning of the modern Emporer, but there was a significant stir last year about the fate of the throne's gender until a baby boy was born, so there must remain some traditional concern. Most people I spoke with however, didn't seem too concerned about having a female Emperor at all; in fact, younger Japanese seem either indifferent or even opposed to the Imperial Institution. When I told a friend of mine about my flag waving, smiling, he said, don't... That kind of mistrust of the nationalist instinct is probably healthy to have, particularly with the patriotic resurgence in politics and additions to the school system.

However, as a foreigner who has been living next door to the Palace for a year, it was simply an interesting anecdote to my stay in Japan, and a unique experience to say the least. Being neighbourly, I offered the Emporer a pound cake, though he either didn't see me, or doesn't like that kind of cake. Regardless, we did the friendly thing, and stopped by for an afternoon.

[pics to come]

a painting

2007-01-31T22:22:00.000+09:00

lucy in the sky

an update

2007-01-31T22:18:00.000+09:00

I posted the rest of the treelines comic below, so if my site is still not opening for some reason, you can read it here. Enjoy!

it's twins!

2007-01-23T21:50:00.000+09:00

The website is complete, and the comic is finished. You can have a look at both here. It's a better way to view images, especially comics. I've posted various things there: some old and new comics, and eventually pictures and other stuff. Anything new will go up there too in due time. Please enjoy, and bookmark and speak and think endlessly about. Thanks for commenting and reading!

website

2007-01-09T21:41:00.000+09:00

I'm just about finished a little website where I'm going to post drawings and comics and what not; I'm just looking for somewhere free to host it (preferably without banners)--any suggestions? If you know of good hosts, please pass them on. I'm also just about finished the comic posted below (it's been scanned properly now too), and it should coincide with the start of the site, so I'll post it there this week when it's wrapped up--thanks for reading and commenting, as well! Check back and I'll post the url here when it's ready.
That, however, in due time, frees this up to post and discuss pertinent things like Japanese New Year and Christmas in Hokkaido and some amusing photos I've been taking around the city.
Happy New Year!

elsewhere

2007-01-02T11:36:00.000+09:00

After years of pondering, and now in the decline, I've jumped on the greying aged revolution and started a myspace page. Check it out here.
Until I finish the below comic, I'll post other things at the above space; though the comic is nearing completion and the next page will be up tonight. Thanks to those for looking.
happy new year.

setting sunrise

2006-11-10T12:35:00.000+09:00

Who knew that taking pictures of a golden sunrise (the first time I've seen a sunrise) could zap the delicate light sensors such that the camera has fuzzy static cataracts now. I'll post the sunrise, but it looks like anything else will have to wait until I get a scanner, or until the camera heals itself, which it might.

In other news:
The Devil and Daniel Johnston is a good film.
A Bill Viola video exhibition is at Mori Art Gallery. It's great, but questionably 'difficult'.
Works by Salvador Dali are in Ueno. Do you see what I see?

Camera! Please! No! Blindness! But it's your only sense! What will you be, save your eye?!? Updates continual for the recovery of Camera. poor camera.
Beauty destroys you.

Setting Summer

2006-11-03T22:38:00.000+09:00

Two pictures from the area around Yasukuni Shrine, and another of Kitanomaru park, the eastern grounds of the Imperial palace. The autumn is settling in like soft orange sunset light, and the park and garden air was gauzy with delicate reflections; the smell of woods, spruce and brittle.

electric eel sock

2006-11-03T22:06:00.000+09:00

A recent gig in yoyogi was billed a metal night, and it was in part, though it spread across vintage metal, hard rocking chicks, techno, and experimenting noise unruly mixtures. A bizarre and strange and great night. Notably, metalchix (or something); two girls really rocking great drummer, electric eel shock, whose drummer was not quite as good but entertained the crowd by being naked (almost), and catsuomatic death, in hats and craziness. A couple of my friends were performing, both in catsuomatic and behind the turntables between sets, and the full house was steamed up and melting away.
It can be funny watching shows like this in Japan; as the band rocks on, we're all witness to madness on stage, homoerotic masculinity, and rampant thrashing, the crowd up front, a mixture of small girls, bop up and down like giggling pop addicts. No mosh pit, just enjoy. indeed.

that's it. just a sock, a sock to play the drums.
just back from germany.

Happy Hallowe'en

2006-10-31T11:26:00.000+09:00

Enjoy this classic from the real Ghostbusters. The other two parts are at youtube.

Two Lines in Some Manner About a Book! #1

2006-10-29T19:28:00.000+09:00

Partly for my own memory, partly for sharing, I present to you the first installment of "two lines in some manner about a book"! This series may take many years to complete, and many weeks or months may pass between, however, embolden yourselves for the journey and maintain only vague attention to the purpose. In most-recent-to-least-recent reading order:

Half-way, and so far:
Terrorism and War, Howard Zinn
An interviewed Zinn describes the tremendous disappointment he feels in this modern age by reasoned intellectual insults toward the Bush administration, and also... to you! ... and me.
The Best American Non-Required Reading, 2004, ed. Dave Eggers
Eggers takes this not-cool-unless-it's-not-known anthology and makes known some decent fiction, though I bought it purely (and after much searching) for the Poor Sailor comic strip by Sammy Harkham.
Introducing Postmodernism
Got over my elitist refusal of introductory books, and found that this book is laid out well, is intelligent, and is indeed, hardly for beginners at all. I don't get it, oh just did; now it's gone.

Cover to Cover:
The Rum Diary, Hunter S. Thompson
The S. stands for smile, see entry below.
Fingerprints of the Gods, Graham Hancock
Wonderful non-fiction detective story tracing the cultures of pre-history ancients in Egypt, South America, and Antarctica (Atlantis is buried in 2 miles of ice) whom were likely smarter than us, though they still all died out and left only vague fingerprint smudges; though, keep in mind that the Mayan calendar wraps up a 5125 year cycle in six years: yes, mark your calendar for December 23rd, 2012. Antarctica was recently free of ice, the Earths crust slides around, the last-ice age was hell for early people, and the Noah story? There're hundreds more alike.
The Satanic Verses, Salman Rushdie
What can I say about this book? A great read as a foreigner, as a human being, with an interest in literature, reading, from a word magician. Take up a new interest in Islam, understand that nothing is perfect, especially history, and fall from the upper atmosphere, or Mt. Everest, you choose.
On Jung, Anthony Stevens
Nothing can be said of Jungian psychology and theory without mentioning something of the man; this is perhaps the greatest achievement and the slightest flaw for Jung or anyone else, but if archetypes, dreams and the unconscious keep you up at night, then give the shadow reign for the evening and seek out your animus or anima.
Profit Over People, Noam Chomsky
So steadily and intensively researched that I became overburdened with grief, but I think most of us know how badly most of us get fucked by a system hidden behind a democracy. You have two votes: the ballot and the dollar.

Special Japanese reading list:
Hard-boiled Wonderland and the End of the World, Haruki Murakami
Double narrative, strange tale, makes taking the subway scary, wonder anew about the science of acoustics, and then forget all about it. Unicorns skulls and dreams...
Underground, Haruki Murakami
Murakami interviews survivors and participants of the Tokyo Gas attack; I take the Marunochi line every day! Fascinating read into the mind of Japan. Murakami, though man, keep your voice down...
Kafka on the Shore, Haruki Murakami
Better than Hard-boiled, travel journey, mind trip, though am I alone in thinking Murakami pretentious?
Confessions of a Yakuza, Junichi Saga
Born in 1901, this tattooed and dying old man takes us through a life of everything, especially gambling; again, great glimpse into cultural Japan behind drapes that were pulled down and replaced long ago.
Monkey Brain Sushi, ed. Alfred Birnbaum
A once-a-day conversation with a different Japanese writer. Murakami appears here, among, notably, Amy Yamada and Yoshinori Shimizu.
A History of Modern Japan, Richard Storry
Good read, but too short. Modern Japan: Samurai or Yakuza? mmm, neither.

Next installment will be in the future!

The grudgereport

2006-10-28T12:33:00.000+09:00

Does anyone out there have a lot of time on their hands? Like say, 24/7? Here's an idea: the drudge report is one of the most popular web sites out there, and is indeed gaining massive influence as both a journalistic source and a mover of opinion. As a catalogue and current archive of news, and for breaking major stories, Drudge often is the news. However, his ideas and his intentions surely color the links, particularly those serial stories that he posts continually. In some cases, he keeps a story alive by simply posting links day after day (the duke rape case), and in others, he will offer contrasting (confusing) views reflecting a debate (global warming). In all cases though, I suspect that there is contrary opinion and reverse conjecture out there, and this is the idea: thebizzarodrudge, themirrordrudge, or whatever; a web site that tracks the movements of Drudge and seeks out the contrary and overlooked news reports relating to the same stories. Matt Drudge is just one guy in a hat, albeit an intelligent hat I would imagine, but just one hat. How about someone without a hat keeping pace? If someone wants to finance this, I'll do it.

Ravi Shankar and the tower of Tokyo

2006-10-20T22:08:00.000+09:00

A while back there was an India festival in Yoyogi park. It was great because festivals in Tokyo are what make the city seem alive for a moment and remind me of why I like living here. At this festival I slurped up more curry than I should have and nan and butter chicken and daal, and wandered around light and hopeful on waves of dreamy sitar and incense. Closing the festival on the final day was Ravi Shankar, accompanied by some Japanese musicians on the Tabla and Tamboura. It was beautiful and left sweet sounds in my mind for days following. For such a reminder of the sub continent and a great cultural gap meeting and greeting, I give two himalayan thumbs up.I'm not sure where in India this dance originates from,
but it was snakey and rythmic and beautiful.
Sri Ravi Shankar, though who can tell.
Additionally, here is a picture of the Tokyo Tower, and another of the full moon the other day:

pictures of words

2006-10-20T22:01:00.000+09:00

Here are some funny signs recently seen in Tokyo:

This is funny because the 'l' is an 'r',
which makes it a name, i guess.

This is funny because the 'l' is an 'f',
which is rude and funny.

This is funny because anywhere else it would be racist.
In Japan it's funny and kind of endearing.

summersonic o mimashta

2006-10-20T21:48:00.000+09:00

this was a long time back. in the summer.

Went to summersonic, primarily to see tool, but caught some other acts as well, like massive attack, andrew w k, and afi. Tool was of course the best, because it was tool, however, they played a poor show, in my, as a reasonably-into-them-fan's, opinion. If I remember correctly, they played slowly (indeed, the songs were dragging), and jammed out some intros and filler that was just plain boring, and well it was disappointing. But still, there they were, tool. And here's a picture that could be anything:
Massive attack closed the show. I only saw half of their set, but it was a great half. The last half, and the last notes I heard of the festival.
The rockingest, and just most fun show was certainly Andrew wk. Ok, he's a fake band or something, playing a mockery of this and that, but what he mocks he exceeds and triumphs in fist pumping cok rocking thrash glory. The sound is just too big and fun not to whip ones head around to just a little. Ok, a lot.

Japan: Forget about Engrish!

2006-08-30T22:24:00.000+09:00

The English language is big business in Japan. Countless conversation schools smear the cartoonish landscape; little examples of the alphabet, like NOVA, GEOS and GABA abound. The government also weighs in with the former JET program, now, I guess, the ALT program, and long pointless discussions about English in the elementary schools and how English should be taught and tested in Junior and Senior High schools. Apparently, none of this really works, and in many regards it's obvious why that's the case.
In 2003, Japan ranked last in TOEFL scores, but ranked third in TOEFL examinees, and from living here, it is quite obvious that the level of English proficiency is quite low. Now, though I am an English "teacher" in Japan, I'm not a big advocate of the English explosion, and all the culture effects, but it does seem that it's a valuable resource on the international scene (indeed in business or in travel). Which brings me to my point: Japan ought to give up on the English thing, despite it's current popularity. If people are learning a language for the benefits it brings out in the world, then considering how behind Japan already is, it may as well start a new band-wagon: Chinese.
Here's my reasoning:

1) Though pronunciation is very different, the characters are the same; a whole new alphabet is not required.
2) China is thrusting upward as a fierce Economy and Superpower.
3) Asia is it's own entity and will only become more so in the near future.
4) Japan ought to align itself more with Asia anyway and reduce it's weird and unnecessary buddy relationship with America. Learning Chinese will be an edge few other nations will have. Really, how soon are American business people going to start speaking Mandarin?

This doesn't mean that Japan should align itself with China politically or anything, just that learning Mandarin will be an important asset in the near future, perhaps more so than English.

2006-08-27T00:14:00.000+09:00

Nature deserves what it gets: prison. Nature is the most dangerous and vicious killer in existence. Innumerable in form, lurking everywhere, nature is eroding what we are, crumbling what we build, biting, clawing, electrocuting, soaking, freezing, scorching us no matter where we go or what we do. There it looms, threatening us with death from within our very being. And the scariest thing? Nature is without intention, it simply is. Soon we simply will have been. Cage it fast.

Near lake Chuzenji in Nikko, we took an elevator to the pool of Kegon falls
and observed it's laughable power from a safe and optimal distance
atop a concrete viewpoint.

Not far from Tokyo, we watched these pathetic hammerhead sharks
run headlong into that magnificent human invention: glass!
Hey hammerheads, build a raft, suckers!

tv on the radio

2006-07-29T12:12:00.000+09:00

Recently, I went to see TV on the Radio at the Liquid Room in Ebisu. Hesitant due to the cost (so was everyone else I asked, hence), I went to the venue anyway, confident that there would be tickets left. But when I arrived, I found that the price had gone up 500 yen despite there being no mention of advance tickets on the handbill or any kind of price change. But of course! This is Tokyo; I shouldn't be surprised by a stunt like that anymore. I showed them the handbill and tried to explain that if the door price is different it should appear on the handbill and that this was false advertising. They just looked at me, confused, "it's 500yen, dude, go back to your trash bin"; valid yes, but principles... Next time, the door charge will be eleven thousand yen, just because it seemed like a cute number. This was obviously a sly trick to squeeze our lemons, because no one will walk out over 500 yen once they've taken the train all the way there already. I didn't anyway...

The show was good. I dig their new album, and their old stuff--in fact, my oldroomate and dear friend gifted me with this band when I left the homeland. Along with sweet nostalgia, I had a good time on the merits of the evening, and to my complete surprise a fellow who I struck up conversation with turned out to be a generous smoker which neutralized the pain of the door gauge. yay. People were even moving around, and I definitely heard 'woo'. 4.5/5.
Next, Summer Sonic.

laforet what?

2006-07-28T15:30:00.000+09:00

Knowing how amused I am by these things, S took me to the Laforet Grand Bazaar in Harajuku for the final day of the weekend mega-sale. For those of you who have wandered into the 109 building in Shibuya, this is much the same, but bigger and louder, though it seems to appeal to a different crowd. I'm certainly not a shopper so I wandered around, one of maybe ten males in the place, suspiciously but I'm sure no one noticed me amongst all the screaming and frenzy.

The whole event is a contest of attention as every makeshift 'shop', eager to outfit young woman in their madness, scream and holler and dance and basically freak out in attempts to make sales. But really, it's not sales they're after, they want souls, don't they?

snake bite

2006-07-17T12:41:00.000+09:00

Last night we went to Yasukuni Temple, not far from our apartment, for the Mitama festival. This festival is one for the souls of the dead, for the thousands of war dead enshrined at Yasukuni, for their worship and commemoration. The shrine has also been the subject of some controversy due to Koizumi visiting despite the 14 war criminals enshrined there as well. Though, last night, there seemed to be little controversy among the dance and music and feasting of the Mitama festival. Thousands of people strolled through the lanes, taking in the magic, dance, and 29,000 paper lanterns. There were indeed, that many lanterns, and an equal number of light bulbs casting a harvest moon glow among the revelry.

We wandered about ourselves among the forest of sweating, smiling faces, taking in the the painted lanterns, and joining in a dance that we could hardly follow, swaying and stepping slowly, not gracefully, but to be part. The night was enjoyable and pleasant even in the heat.

Around nine-thirty, things began to slow down and the crowd thinned. We decided to take one last walk through and as we did, from behind the food stalls, we could hear music; we drifted back to see what we had missed.

In the back corner of the complex, not hidden, but partly away, were two large tents; one a haunted house, and the other some kind of stage show. We stood outside the Haunted House for a few minutes, watched children cry, girls scream, and boys spastic shock, and decided to go in. The House was a small maze of dark passages inhabited by ghostly figures in black, grabbing for us, growling under their breath and screeching in our ears, shocked by the little old lady sitting in the dark swinging a dismembered head at our surprise. She was so still; she was probably ninty years old. She scared us there in the dark.
We finally emerged into the air, darkened now by the night, still carrying screams and from the other tent, rock music. We ambled to the other tent. A man in a suit spoke into a microphone, and around his wrist coiled a snake. It's fake I thought. We learned that it was an erotic burlesque show, or something, and decided to go in.

We were ushered quickly and told to squeeze in to the group already in the tent. It was hot and everyone sweats. We were right in the middle. A man with black fishnets and facepaint barked into the microphone, instructing us to get closer, to move in. We did as we were told.

A woman in red came on stage. She ran a ball-chain through her nose and out her mouth and lifted a bucket with it. The act looked painful, and she drew the chain fast from her nostril, squinting gagging. She looked like she might throw up, but she didn't. Instead she picked up a snake. I heard she would eat it. I thought she would just swallow it and bring it up. She held the snake out for people to touch, and it writhed around, obviously real. The snake was squirming in her hands as she stretched it long in front of her mouth, and the snake continued to squirm as she bit hard through it's body. Before anyone could speak, the snake was in two pieces, and the head was on the ground, flopping about, confused by it's sudden immobility. The rest of the body spasmed in her hands and she put the dribbling open wound to her mouth and held the tail up in the air, draining the blood down her throat, and finally chewing off a piece of flesh, crunchy with bones, pulling hard like a girl eating licorice.

The blood was bright on her pale face, and it seeped from the points of her smile. She bowed, and we clapped, unsure of how to react, stunned, repulsed, thrilled. They suggested that if we thought we might vomit, that we should do it on stage. That may have been an appropriate way to react.

The rest of the show was utterly tame in comparison, though still bizarre; it was dance and psychedelic and swallowing more things and a pathetic boy and a woman in charge, levitation and magic. Slowly we were edged out of the scene and made our exit back into the night. The air was different now, and there were no more screams, just a silence and a slight chill. The only people still around were kids drinking and smoking, yamanbas and hair; the people who don't go home early.
It was time, and we walked back into the usual streets, digesting our evening, and wondering where they had come from.

three drawings

2006-07-14T21:29:00.000+09:00

tune in turn up

2006-07-13T23:13:00.000+09:00

New drawings to post tomorrow. until then, the end of the world and the solutions exist but how does everyone stay happy? I don't know, but maybe we can ask thesefolks?

the art by pedal

2006-07-11T16:54:00.000+09:00

Thanks to a very appreciated tip (H), I used tokyo art beat to find a couple good shows amongst the glass and steel of the Tokyo station area. Both were free, and the art, high-end, which is likely due to the nature of the ward.
Gallery Sho put on a good exhibit, though nothing necessarily that I'd recommend--Betty Thompkins was interesting in a thirty-years ago, Joy of Sex kind of way. And apparently, they may have still had trouble getting into Japan. haha.
Then, just down the street, at Galerie Tokyo Humanite, I saw some fantastic prints by Kiyoshi Kawashima. I spent a long while with these, finding them uniquely readable and expressive. I saw an articulate and sustained look at the Japanese country side, the city, and writing, and alongside a possible narrative they were simply visually captivating. I would recommend these.

Riding home, I came across a huge complex in Tokyo with a glass floor lit from below and some large architecture. Here's what I looked at:

in Japan, though it says "information", the actual
information is almost never in English. haha

also, my bicycle

a trip outta town

2006-07-06T15:53:00.000+09:00

Recently, I took a short trip down the coast to Hamamatsu to visit a friend, M. The feelings leaving the city were unique; I was struck by the changing of time as the landscape evolved from grey concrete to stone and trees and sea. As the train rolled through the long threshold from city to country, and finally burst out high along a ridge beside the Great Pacific Ocean, the vast expansiveness of nature quietly reminded me of its power. In the city, it is the stop start of traffic lights, the movement of trains, alarm clocks and pay cheques, lunch break and weekdays, that mark time, but while scanning the breadth of the pacific horizon, the waves and the sun's hazy descent are measures, relentless and infinite. Though, when my alarm fails, the sun will rise anyway. This difference of time is marked, and it's effects are visceral.
It was also, and needless to say, great to visit M and R; they are wonderful hosts!

I took some pictures, and those of you in Tokyo may enjoy a glimpse of the sea that's so nearby all the time.

Ocean

not a swimmer

one foot in front of the other

a place to stand and get wet

trees bent by the sea breeze

I thought I felt it move my hair

2006-07-05T16:02:00.000+09:00

Hey North Korea: you suck at shooting missiles. Missed me!!! nya nya nya! Oh, shit! RUN!! He has another one! A bigger one! The biggest dong of them all!!
When S told me some people from North Korea were shooting off into the sky this morning, I thought I'd just stay in bed, waiting for the heavy thudding of warheads penetrating the subway system, and then get up in time to watch the blast wave push over my neighbourhood, but instead I had to go to work. And so instead of being blown up, we will all continue with commerce. We're a lucky species. So so so lucky and blessed.
Count the blessings with me:
1. computers.
2. the internet.
3. babies.
4. floppy disks.
5. hair.
6. whales.
7. rich people.
8. rain.
9. religion.
10. websites.
11. plastics.
12. the moon.
13. armpit hair.
14. books about magic.
15. the Mouse.
16. the word 'lever'.
17. hair styles.
18. puberty.
19. notebooks.
27. black & white.
39. panty-hose.
53. entertainment television.
734. other planets.
1,249. poopies.
25,923. Mr. Dress-up.
12,390,294. nudity.
123,423,532,112. horse-hair.
1,234,765,239,664,235. The last one: movies!

So there, nuclear powers! Yeah, I'm looking at you. Try to take those away!
Wait; don't, actually.
peeeeace.

the day previous

2006-07-04T11:40:00.000+09:00

1) Royal Ueno art gallery
Good paintings; stylistically most were representations of the figure and the landscape, with some european flatterings. Overall though, good work and a vast variety. Made me happy to see painting, and reminded me how I miss looking.

2) All-you-can-eat sushi in Ueno.
I realize now that this is actually not such a great idea. I don't even think I ate my money's worth. Firstly, the quality is really low, and the vinegar really pungent and rice, massive. Second, trying to stuff as much poor quality frozen fish down my gullet as I can to "make it worth it", is not worth it and now I hate sushi, which is too bad, because two days ago I loved it enough to go to an all-you-can-eat restaurant in the first place.

3) Cremaster 3, by Matthew Barney is playing in Shibuya.
As a visual and fantastic journey, the film is superb, and despite it's three hour length and love of repetition, not a moment did I find dull. So I naively revelled in it as one does with the sound of an unknown language--it's pure foreigness beautiful and welcome. As a historical, or philosophical, or myth-making exercise, I found less footing; but the delight in abstraction and metaphor is the hermeneutic practice, and was certainly able to find my own place in the film--just don't ask me what it was about, exactly. Regardless of 'getting' the film or not, I suspect it's strength might come in a more basic form, a kind of relatedness, or dare I say, archetypal presence. Regardless, the boundaries of this picture don't start and end with the film reel, but whether or not we glean enough intellectually from the film itself to take our thoughts elsewhere and further is really up to the viewer and likely their own background of ideas.

4) Summer Sonic is sold out.
OH NO!! Will I ever be able to see tool...

dirty three

2006-06-30T00:40:00.000+09:00

Saw dirty three tonight at a little club in Shibuya. I haven't seen a show that good in some time. Frantic and melodic and the spirit is moved as it is moved, etc. found a moment of meaning or something like it. Thanks, H.

The crowd watches a film.The band performs.The lights are sometimes on us, sometimes on them.I chewed gum too hard.
It was the time for that.I'm made to wonder.You just gotta ask how.What's the answer, we didn't get to.

cross-section #3

2006-06-30T00:22:00.000+09:00

cross-section #2

2006-06-28T22:01:00.000+09:00

cross-section

2006-06-27T15:44:00.000+09:00

Hypnogogia / memor y / trance

2006-06-21T11:33:00.000+09:00

1) Your leg. Has it ever woken you up? Just as you're drifting between awake and sleep? Having hypnagogic dreams as one 'falls' asleep is not uncommon, and neither is startling oneself awake with a physical reaction to the images. Last night, S kicked me in her sleep and then awoke with an account of stepping down stairs. At that moment the peculiarity of that image struck me, as I have experienced similar hypnagogia. In the inbetweeness of this state, the visual of stairs seems so perfectly apt, I never really noticed it; the mind produces an image of it's own activity: a decent into the unconscious during sleep. A literal 'going-down', often even a sensation of falling, and it seems that it is a shared experience. I find quite often as well, that if I fail to fall asleep and come back to consciousness, I notice a strange quiet in the awake world and have a vague memory of music, or a cacophone of sound.

2) There exists a kind of emotional memory. Recall a pleasant thought or a painful one, and the body will likely recall that physical reactions and sensations that it may have gone through during the experience. Bodily experience and emotion can be triggered by thought and memory alone, often nearly as real as the actual moments that identified them.

3) What does it mean to be in a trance? Who is the dreamer?

left hand

2006-06-08T22:40:00.000+09:00

pic for friend's band

bad grandson

2006-06-06T20:23:00.000+09:00

click to read

here is she

2006-06-03T18:32:00.000+09:00

There are two impulses: one for chaotic freedom, and another for attached control and preservation. These are not true expressions of either.
You are beautiful, as is she.

an inconvenient truth

2006-06-03T13:07:00.000+09:00

I'm noticing interesting phenomena with regard to reviews of Al Gore's seminal documentary, 'An Inconvenient Truth'.
Firstly, critics and reviews almost unanimously sing praises for this film; not the film-making, nor the Gore, but the timing, the research and the relevance. Perhaps then this is not worth noting, but the others are interesting.

Those critical of the film make their arguments in political or personal terms, sidestepping the sincere idealism and moral ground that is the film's purpose. Here are two particular forms (well... four):

1) Legislation is the way to manage the global warming problem. Blame politicians for not legislating and creating laws to force people into enviornmentalism. Indeed, blame Al Gore himself for not doing enough when he was in office. Just don't blame me, Citizen Jim, for the global problems--I just live in the neighbourhood. Have a look: Kyle Smith

2) Undercut and sidestep the entire issue by blaming 'left-wing' for 'creating' and perpetuating the whole notion of Global Warming in the first place. This denies the existence of the problem, based presumably on intensive research, the research done by the trusty 'right-wing' or the energy conglomerates themselves. In this instance blame someone else, ie. the 'left', whavever that is; and also question the issue itself on account of 'political affiliation'.
(By the way, I hate 'left/right' distinctions; let's add a second axis that is responsibility and compassion. You can be left or right, but if you have no sense of personal responsibility and or compassion towards the people of this earth, that's the real problem.) This is a worthwhile article: Tony Medley

3) The film was boring. Maybe they would prefer if there were more car chases or low cut dresses.

4) 'I don't like Al Gore, so I don't like this movie' reviews.

There you have it, but other than those, I hear the film is quite good.
Ride a bike and recycle.

the city today

2006-05-30T17:55:00.000+09:00

Here are some pics from around Tokyo today. S and I rode all over the place in search of Tokyo Wonder Site in Suidobashi, which turned out to be a practice and studio space for artists and not an exhibition as I thought (the exhibitions are in Shibuya...). We peered in the window and were gestured to enter, so we took off our shoes and entered, and stood awkwardly interrupting a performance dance practice. or maybe we became part of it; I don't know.

Here're some of the things along the way:

The sobu line along the edge of a canal.

Here's this guy. I don't know who he is, but I used to see his picture all over the place. He looks like he's either telling me to get a job, or I'm a kidnapper and he's telling me that he'll stop at nothing to get his son back. Either way, he should probably be in handcuffs before he stares someone to death.

Almost every restaurant in Japan has fake plastic food displays. Generally they look good enough to eat, but this hamburg steak appears to be covered in lentil diarrhea.

This is Tokyo Wonder Site in Suidobashi.

We also rode to Ueno where a bonsai tree competition was going on. The trees were really beautiful and we were compelled to buy one. This is it (and a partial view from our balcony). It's two years old, and we have detailed instructions for it's care into the next decade. Apparently these trees require a bigger commitment than raising a family or having a pack of dogs.

So, there's our day off. Now I'm too tired to do anything except bitch about our slow borrowed internet. But I have a stack of comics to post, so come back!~