I know that you believe you understand what you think I said, but I'm not sure you realize that what you heard is not what I meant. - Robert McCloskey

I couldn’t sleep last night, no matter how hard I tried nothing worked…and in trying I’m sure I made it worse. So I went out walking. In a way, it’s refreshing to walk down the middle of the main street of town without fear of getting hit by a car, but at the same time, it’s desperately boring. I must have walked for thirty minutes before seeing another human, running at that. I ask you, who runs after midnight? I thought 5am was ludicrous, but maybe that’s just me. It’s slightly tormenting to not be able to decipher whether I’m unhappy or simply bored out of my mind lonely. Most likely a combo, but no less disastrous.

Dre calls to update me on her whirlwind adventures in the big city, a collaboration of Starbucks, Halloween parties at foreigner hot spots, bar hopping and avoiding her Japanese stalker. The difference between our two experiences in the same country, doing the same job on a daily basis is just insane. Sometimes I wish I could experience everything there is to experience. I’ll go walking into the mountains on photography excursions and think how distressing it is that I’ll only see a certain roadside shrine in the sunlight on a Saturday, but never in the rain on a Wednesday, during a typhoon with the wind howling and tossing about scattered leaves, or in the snow, lightly dusting the heads of statues. We live terribly short lives. Isolated from the elaborate world around us. Or maybe that’s just me. I used to think, and possibly still hope, that upon dying we’d have the ability to live the life of someone else. Not reincarnation necessarily, more along the lines of sitting in a room watching a home movie of every moment of someone else’s life. Omnisciently viewing their every move and thought, right there with them in spirit, experiencing their life in full, just as they did. That could be traumatizing, but there is so much we’ll never understand about human nature simply because we can’t comprehend other’s experiences. You only know what I choose to tell you. If you knew more you might not continue to read. Or you’d pity me, or hate me, love me, sympathize, empathize, agree, disagree. My existence and your comprehension of my existence are on two completely different playing fields. I wonder how you view me. Half the time I don’t quite understand myself, do you not understand me? Would you even want to understand? Intimacy is a bitch, I’m sure we can all agree on that much.

In certain social situations….okay, most social situations, I feel out of place, isolated by my own actions, cast aside as a wallflower. I think, “If only they really knew me, we’d get along.” But it’s too tedious and overwhelming to introduce myself in entirety in one social setting to one person. They’ll never know the real me and even if they wanted to, I’m not sure I could explain it to them, and if by some chance I attempted such a feat, they’d probably analyze my existence in a manner completely different from what I was hoping to express. Does that make sense? I invited Jeremie over for dinner last week. I did so as a gesture of goodwill considering his mother just died and I wasn’t sure how else to go about showing my sympathy. He talked and talked…and talked, as he’s known to do, but it meant nothing to me. I can’t begin to understand him, he talks of superficial affairs. I think I’ve lost my ability to b.s. in conversation without feeling I’m denying myself some social truth. Compromising my nature of more personal matters simply to appease his want of dialogue. Needless to say, we’re still not friends. I try, I do, but I’m not sure I’ve ever known how to begin. In second grade my teacher, Mrs. Schrader, consistently wrote on my progress reports, “does not work well with others.” But it’s too much work to work with others. I’ve met my catch 22 - I’m lonely as all get out. I think I should stop here, I can tell you don’t understand by the perplexed look in your eyes, or maybe the font is simply too small.

Maybe I should add that I wrote this at four in the morning last night, after hours of wandering the streets alone with nothing but the rush of the Chikugo river in the distance to keep me company, slightly buzzed from repeated cigarette drags (I’m not a smoker) and bored, quite possibly, out of my mind…your call.

I think I love this shot...in fact, I know I do, and I can't explain why.

I am not what you think I should be

I’m not big on astrological signs, but it is interesting to note how often they are correct. Though, I imagine the human mind could adapt it’s own characteristics to fit into an pre-ordained set of traits subconsciously. And, I could probably squeeze my way into any sign, considering I change from week to week, day to day. But, alas, I have been caged into believing I was meant to be a Pisces.

“Imaginative and sensitive

Compassionate and kind

Selfless and unworldly

Intuitive and sympathetic

On the dark side....
Escapist and idealistic

Secretive and vague

Weak-willed and easily led”

What’s this dark side all about? And since when did being idealistic become such a negative attribute? I will admit, however, and this is big, that I am very easily led, though I’ve always ascribed it to my laidback nature rather than some inability to lead or make my own decisions. I can, and often do, make my own decisions (don’t you shake your head at me, you know I do.) I just worry myself to ulcers before making said decisions.

Okay it gets better.

"Pisceans are of a malleable nature."

---I love being compared to sheet metal!

“They are deservedly popular with all kinds of people, partly because their easygoing, affectionate, submissive natures offer no threat or challenge to stronger and more exuberant characters.”

---In short, if you’re a dominant person, feel free to walk all over me in order to make me feel loved.

“Their natures tend to be too otherworldly for the practical purposes of living in this world as it is. They sometimes exist emotionally rather than rationally, instinctively more than intellectually (depending on how they are aspected). They long to be recognized as greatly creative. They also dislike discipline and confinement. The nine-to-five life is not for them. Any rebellion they make against convention is personal, however, as they often times do not have the energy or motivation to battle against the Establishment.”

---Yup, that’s me. Not so sure I’d call it “otherworldly” though. I do exist emotionally rather than rationally. I think you’ve all come to realize that at some point.

“Pisceans tend to withdraw into a dream world where their qualities can bring mental satisfaction and sometimes, fame and financial reward for they are extremely gifted artistically. They are also versatile and intuitive, have quick understanding, observe and listen well, and are receptive to new ideas and atmospheres. All these factors can combine to produce remarkable creativity in literature, music and art and yearn for new sensations and travel to remote, exotic places.”

---This is getting creepy. But did you hear that?….I’m creative.

“Pisceans would want a relationship in which the partner's mind and spirit rather than the body resonated with their own.”

---Yeah, I’m working on that one.

“In their employment they are better working either by themselves or in subordinate positions.”

---What is with all this subordinate shit? I may be a timid person, but that’s not going to stop me from fully realizing my potential and slowly fulfilling my dreams of world domination.

“They can make fair secretaries and bookkeepers.”

---Make me a secretary and I will kill you.

“Because of their lively versatility and inability to concentrate overmuch on any one project, Pisceans often simultaneously follow more than one occupation.”

---So does this mean that by realizing what my future may astrologically hold I'll now subconciously carry out a plan similar to above. Like when you're friend calls and says not to wear a red shirt to class b/c she'll be wearing a red shirt and then you completely forget and end up wearing a red shirt, but really you subconciously remembered the color red and were drawn to it when choosing your shirt?

In knowing you can never go back.

Okay kiddies, I'm off for the weekend, which means no internet access, and hence, no new posts, and hence, no creative genius (their words, not mine) to tantalize and stimulate your intellectual essence. But don't let that stop you from commenting.

White days like this

I enjoy white days. Neither melancholic blue, violent red or cheerful yellow. Somewhere in between the emptiness yet simultaneous confusion of black and bleak qualities of gray. Not necessarily devoid of emotion, simply balanced.

Upper:
“This is why I like you Lauren. Because you are inspiring. You don't want to wait around for the next best thing. Just because we're young doesn't mean we have to do nothing while we wait around and prepare for our next big move….
your friend who is constantly learning more about you, Liz”

Thank you Liz. Sometimes I believe you get me more than most simply because you accept the fact that you don’t already know me completely, and you’re content with that.

Downer:
I finished Cosmopolis a few days ago...always sad. Putting down a book in that ever growing pile of previous reads, watching my bedside stack grow smaller daily...que pena. If you’ve never read Don DeLillo, I highly recommend him, though you’d be best to start with White Noise. An interesting take on the effects contemporary pop culture has upon a seemingly vintage concept - existentialism. We are our own demise. DeLillo seems fascinated with such an idea, which is the basis for Cosmopolis as well. A provocative quote:

“World is supposed to mean something that’s self-contained. But nothing is self-contained. Everything enters something else. My small days spill into light-years. This is why I can only pretend to be someone. And this is why I felt derived at first, working on these pages. I didn’t know if it was me that was writing so much as someone I want to sound like.”

I couldn’t agree more. How much of what I write is ultimately me, devoid of outside influences, inspired by self and self alone, characteristically unique to simply me? I fear, nothing. All I can do is create for the aesthetics without regard to specific identity. Stop analyzing as to how many influences have created the person I have become, and in turn, my emotional and mental state, but rather, purge for the sake of catharsis instead of inimitability.

That's as much balance as I could hope for. All is right with the world...or, my world.

CAUTION:

The moving walkway is ending.....no, jk, sorry Dre. Prolonged staring at the little girl in the middle (the poster child for some grave humanitarian crisis) may cause a sudden inability to avert your eyes. She's too cute for words...the kind of kid that doesn't have to smile to express herself.





I was fortunate enough to visit two elementary schools this week, and even more fortunate to teach first and second graders, who are by far, more receptive than fourth grade and on. They have impeccable memorization skills and the kind of energy that makes me jealous. They even played Eidel Weiss on the recorder for me before tugging at my scarf, playing with my hair and feigning astonishment at my understanding of simple Japanese. It doesn't get much easier than "Amerika samui desu ka?" No interpretor needed there. Oddly enough, I was provided with an interpretor, and of all people, it was Dai (Daisuke-the A person I know outside of myself in Tanushimaru.) Not sure how they arranged that. It was good to see him though...it's been a while.

To any skeptics...

...I wasn't lying when I claimed to bruise easily. Look at my poor little neck...I'm purple.

It really is blinding, not just clever description

I am a walking fatality. I sprained/twisted/pulled, whatever it is you can do, my neck sometime between 5 am and 7 am, which made for a lousy morning. It was a bitch to dry my hair, but too cold outside not to. I think I almost passed out when confronted with putting on my shoes. I do believe it’s killing me, and I realize it’ll fade soon enough, but for the time being, FUCK this hurts! I wore a scarf as a make-shift warmth producer, so far it serves more to cover the bruises which have sprung as a result of squeezing my neck to scare the pain away. I look as if I'm a strangulation victim come back to life. I can’t turn my head without fully understanding the meaning of “blinding pain.” I never put too much thought into the concept of pain so intense it cuts of your vision and induces temporary blindness….minus the white spots exploding like fireworks…which I think are really my brain cells detonating like a bad terrorist attack.

Scott’s mom says to drink warm water…so I am. Any other suggestions?…miracles perhaps? MacGuyver tactics involving gum and a cotton ball? Algo asi por favor.

The little girl on the end jumped in at the last minute. Too bad she came out blurry casue she was the cutest of the bunch. The first graders made my Tuesday afternoon. After that, it suddenly didn't matter that I'd ruined my only decent pair of khaki pants with a combo of red tennis shoes and hardcore rain, or that my hair is slowly, but surely, turning orange (eek) or that I stabbed myself in the palm with the kitchen knife, and it really fucking hurts.

Nope, it doesn't matter. I really wish I'd been able to take more pictures, especially with my SLR. You can just look at some of these students running around playing fruit basket and envision how a nice closeup would turn out. However, I'd rather be playing fruit basket with them than sitting on the sidelines snapping photos. So just pretend I took some really great shots and we'll call it a day.

I was made for Trivial Pursuit

I found the longest street in the world...does that count? Yonge Street, 1,178 miles, starts on the Toronto Lakeshore and winds its way northwest along Highway 11 to Rainy River, Ontario, at the Minnesota border. Pretty impressive I'd say. Want some history?....too bad.

Before it was paved, Yonge began as a trail used by the Huron Indians and early explorers, i.e. Samuel de Champlain. John Graves Simcoe, the provincial governor of Upper Canada and founder of Toronto, ordered the paved portion of the road built to provide military access to the Great Lakes in case of an American invasion. He named the street after Sir George Yonge, the British secretary of war at the time.

And then the road grew...end of story. I thought it'd be more interesting, as it's random, and a fact, and I love random facts.

In my cultural geography class last year Prof. Bigelow was giving an opening statement in regard to the nature of the course and the sheer size and diversity of the world...but he somehow forgot the number of countries. I stepped up to bat, probably the only time I made a comment in that class, and informed him that there are 193 countries in the world, and if you'd like, I can recite those starting with A-D alphabetically, including capitals. (okay, so I didn't say that last part...but I can, and you can bet I listed it on my resumee) Do I have problems?

Report from the Besieged City

Too old to carry arms and fight like the others—

they graciously gave me the inferior role of chroniclerI record—I don't know for whom—the history of the siege

I am supposed to be exact but I don't know when the invasion began
two hundred years ago in December perhaps yesterday at dawn
everyone here suffers from a loss of the sense of time

all we have left is the place the attachment to the place
we still rule over the ruins of temples specters of gardens and houses
if we lose the ruins nothing will be left

I write as I can in the rhythms of the interminable weeks
monday: empty storehouses a rat became the unit of currency
tuesday: the mayor murdered by unknown assailants
wednesday: negotiations for a cease-fire the enemy has imprisoned our messengers
we don't know where they are held that is the place of torture
thursday: after a stormy meeting a majority of voices rejected
the motion of the spice merchants for unconditional surrenderfriday: the beginning of the plague saturday: our invincible defender
N.N. committed suicide sunday: no more water we drove back
an attack at the eastern gate called the Gate of the Alliance

all of this is monotonous I know it can't move anyone

I avoid any commentary I keep a tight hold on my emotions I write about the facts
only they it seems are appreciated in foreign markets

yet with a certain pride I would like to inform the world
that thanks to the war we have raised a new species of children
our children don't like fairy tales they play at killing
awake and asleep they dream of soup of bread and bones
just like dogs and cats

in the evening I like to wander near the outposts of the City
along the frontier of our uncertain freedom
I look at the swarms of soldiers below their lights

I listen to the noise of drums barbarian shrieks
truly it is inconceivable the City is still defending itself
the siege has lasted a long time the enemies must take turns
nothing unites them except the desire for our extermination
Goths the Tartars Swedes troops of the Emperor regiments of the Transfiguration
who can count them
the colors of their banners change like the forest on the horizon
from delicate bird's yellow in spring through green through red to winter's black

and so in the evening released from facts I can think
about distant ancient matters for example our
friends beyond the sea I know they sincerely sympathize
they send us flour lard sacks of comfort and good advice
they don't even know their fathers betrayed usour former allies at the time of the second Apocalypse
their sons are blameless they deserve our gratitude therefore we are grateful
they have not experienced a siege as long as eternity
those struck by misfortune are always alone
the defenders of the Dalai Lama the Kurds the Afghan mountaineers

now as I write these words the advocates of conciliation
have won the upper hand over the party of the inflexibles
a normal hesitation of moods fate still hangs in the balance

cemeteries grow larger the number of defenders is smaller
yet the defense continues it will continue to the end
and if the City falls but a single man escape
she will carry the City within himself on the roads of exile
he will be the City

we look in the face of hunger the face of fire face of death
worst of all—the face of betrayal

and only our dreams have not been humiliated

--- Zbigniew Herbert

Star light, star bright...

I've taken to long walks alone at night. Sometimes for hours at a time I'll wander the streets, listen to the karaoke pouring out of the one local bar, chase cats down the alleys, sing to myself knowing no one is around to hear. But it's starting to get really lonely...especially considering that there are no stars to brighten the sky over Tanushimaru.

Where'd they go?

My day is complete

I had a lengthy conversation today, the kind that reaffirms your existence, but not only that, your ability to exist in harmony with others, to make an impact whether purposefully or accidentally. Every decision and path I have made or chosen along the way to the present has built into one identity, which until today I felt was slightly meaningless. There was so much I wanted to do, and there still is, but now I can continue with the knowledge that most of what I’d wished to accomplish I already, seemingly, have.

It’s one thing to receive affirmation and compliments from relatives…they’re obligated to praise you beyond all reason, and whether they mean it or not, it has little impact upon me. But when someone I deem of a higher intelligence than my own, incredibly compassionate and talented offers compliments based upon the 1/10th of my personality I have chosen to share, then I know I have done something right.

So I thank you. I enjoyed our conversation immensely and I’ll hold you to all of our promises.

In a nutshell............

I’m having one of those days where your neck is sore from holding up your head. You do that maneuver, or maybe not so much a maneuver, but a tactic, or thing, or whatever, where you tug on your face repeatedly and then sigh, hoping to deter eminent screams, tears, strangulation and sleep. There’s a balancing act going on in your brain. Every day brings new challenges and struggles that are placed neatly one upon another, growing higher and higher, until one day someone places a toaster on the top and it all crashes down …jenga game over.

Maybe I should add that I haven’t eaten in a few days, I’m running on four hours of sleep, I have to make a decision regarding the next 18 months of my life by next week, I received a rather startling proposition earlier which I won’t dare explain considering he may read this, I have a migraine that makes the Grand Canyon look like Polly Pocket and I just sat through “We are the world” for four continuous hours…that’s right…19 times….super fucking day!

In no particular order, I present you with my day:

I got an email from dad. The last paragraph goes a little something like this (verbatim): “I cleaned up your room for Bobbie to stay there Sunday and Monday. (end verbatim -me: thanks for asking my permission first) (back to dad, verbatim) There is way too much personality in your room. I picked up a journal type book you made. Hope you don't mind me looking through it. (verbatim stop - me: actually, yeah, I kinda do mind…I have no clue what I wrote in there, but it can’t be good. No one has a journal for a perfect little candy-coated life. Oh shit, there are some things parents just shouldn‘t know.)(begin verbatim otra vez) You really are a very deep thinking person. How did that happen coming from ADD mom and practical dad?”

Ha ha, now there’s a laugh.

Contemporary Japanese fashionistas are obsessed with Playboy. The students come to class wearing Playboy socks, carrying Playboy backpacks. The teachers wear Playboy shirts to teach in. I imagine they have no clue as to the origin of Hugh Hefner’s Playboy. But still, it fits the definition of irony perfectly. A Playboy obsessed nation from a culture that doesn’t have a translation for fuck, or any cuss words of their own.

The brass band performed earlier for the opening of the cultural festival. I have to admit, they’re all very talented, and it proved extra entertaining when one boy on the end dropped his sheet music, bent over to pick it up and the rim of his tuba whacked his neighbor in the head. It ended in a trip to the hospital, needlessly I feel, for there was very little blood, but all the same, it made me queasy…I can’t stand blood.

Maybe waking up at 5 to go running every morning isn’t such a good idea.
Maybe replacing meals with coffee isn’t a good idea.
Maybe simultaneously learning Russian and Japanese isn’t a good idea.
Maybe exceeding the recommended daily dosage of Excedrin isn’t a good idea.

The choir is working on a song for the cultural festival in Latin. They asked me to come in and help with pronunciation. Ha, the only Latin I know derives from old Christmas carols sung in church. I feigned Latin super powers though, no one knew the difference, I hope. The song is more or less about an end to war and suffering and blah, blah, blah, and at one point in the song a few students step forward and list wars and casualties and go all Lifetime television sentimental. When it comes time to mention the war in Iraq I get squeamish. They look at me and I avert my eyes. That’s right, my country supports an unjust “war on terror” and replaces foreign leaders with leaders of it’s own choosing. That’s right, we don’t popularly elect our “representatives.” That’s right, 90% of my country is consumed with ignorance. And you’re right, by default I too must support the war, be a moron and agree with every fucking lame comment made by every politician.

"Education is an admirable thing, but it is well to remember from time to time that nothing that is worth knowing can be taught." - Oscar Wilde

Last night was one of those perfect nights where everything falls into place, each facet of your life clicks, and for that nanosecond you are happy beyond belief. I was dreading my ekaiwa (convo class) because I feel I let them down every week, teach them nothing of importance or relevance to English conversation. But we got into one of those spontaneous activities where you end up fifteen minutes over the time limit and no one seems to have noticed. I had a chance to discuss my USSR vintage soccer shirt, a brilliant half moon lit the sky, the weather definitively switched into autumn mode and I got paid! I’d usually feel terrible about taking money from my class, considering all I do is show up and talk about myself (man, if that were a stable profession) but the town pays rather than the students. All my students do is show up and learn, money free, hassle free, no homework, no mandatory attendance, the perfect setup. It’s free…I still can’t get over that. If the American educational system worked this way we’d amaze ourselves at our potential…and I’d be fluent in 12 fucking languages. If only….

I need paparazzi control

I had the kind of weekend you can only fully understand if you’ve traveled internationally…especially to a country whose language you don’t speak at all. A mixture of confusion, excitement, sheer mortification, Davy Crockett dry humping your leg, Japanese country western, kincho…..you get my drift. It was insane. I’m not quite sure how to explain, maybe these pictures will be of some help.

I took the train to Kumamoto, only to be kicked off one stop early by the man sitting next to me. I trusted him to be right, and in doing so I was wrong. But, I made it to the station around the same time as Dre, who presented me with my very own Dr. Pepper. I almost hopped back on the train, for what could possibly top Dr. Pepper to an addict? Glad I stuck around though. Saturday we hit up the Suizenji Castle, apparently just missing the ninjas…bummer. The castle is absolutely enormous and well intact despite centuries of wear and tear. The architecture was pretty impressive, which means I stopped every 10 seconds to take a picture. We climbed up to the top and managed to get a really good view of the city, which was a shock after living in rural Tanushimaru for the past few months. Dre, Takeshi and I met an American couple while looking around. It’s weird how friendly tourists are to each other, as if realizing that if you ignore this one English speaker you may fuck up your chances of ever seeing another. As it was, we were completely encased in Japanese students on a field trip. It’s always fun telling people what you’re dong in Japan, how you’re adapting and your plans for the future. Their impressed faces and comments make my pathetic life seem a little more interesting.

Saturday night is a bit of a blur. Lindsey, Andrea and I went to, I kid you not, a Japanese country western bar-Good Time Charlie’s, to get directions to a country music festival on Sunday. I was a little wary, considering my dislike of all things country, but the bar was enough to change all that. You can’t possibly imagine the depths Charlie went to to convince his patrons they were drinking in Nashville or Lawrenceburg rather than Japan. Confederate flags, spurs and boots, CMT billboard charts, pics of Charlie (the Japanese owner) with every imaginable country singer ever. It was crazy, to say the least. The bartender even had a southern twang to his English. Just too weird. But we met a few members of Darryl Worley’s band and decided to show them around Kumamoto, stopping at Sharp’s, where they were forced to play a set. Long story short, alcohol, dancing, some pretty frisky country singers, Japanese girls in see-through shirts and more alcohol later, the three of us passed out around 5, only to get up at 8.

Sunday the three of us plus Ian make the long trek to Aso for Country Gold. I’d never been to Aso before and it alone was worth the price of the ticket. It was the kind of day where all the puzzle pieces fit together and you realize you’ve found something worthy of all the shit you put up with on a daily basis. Great weather, surrounded by mountains and Japanese hick - I’m serious - and the occasional lunatic wanting a picture of American girls. By the time I leave I believe that half of Japan will be trading pictures of me back and forth. It’s a little too perverse, as in, I don’t wanna know what you’ll do with that photo, for me…just creeps me out, thinking that random men I don’t know, and don’t care to know, have my picture on file. A few even have video…really not cool. Anywho, while inching closer to the stage to laugh at the line dancers an inebriated man with what I can only assume was dementia, dressed as Davy Crockett, pulled me on stage and tried to teach me to dance, which is just a joke, prior to dry humping my leg and snapping pictures of us together. Yeah, not the highlight of the weekend. Dre and Lindsey were just laughing and I think I almost died. But I made it out alive…or did I?

All in all, it was awkward, fascinating, gorgeous, drunken and memorable. Thanks to Dre for putting up with me and for countless trips to Starbucks…you keep me sane. We’ll have to do it all again…save the scary men and random photos.

I'm fucked up, I'm just fine. Searching for a peace of mind.

I look like my father. I never want to fit a stereotype. I wish I could organize my thoughts into a comprehensive stream. I once shoplifted on accident. I hold grudges, but hide them. I saw detailed pictures of massacred Kosovars freshman year and cried for three hours. I never know how to pronounce my own name. I’m left-handed and that makes me happy. I prefer being cold. I have to listen to “Wish You Were Here” at least once a day or I feel incomplete. My eyes change color. I once figured out my weight on each of the planets. I have dreams people murder me violently. I prefer to be cremated. I used to entertain notions of becoming an architect. I like unique traditions. I fear diamonds. I have a hygiene fetish. Celebrities annoy me. I think I’d like to own a bookstore. I’ve dyed my hair sixteen times and remember each vividly. I like feeling the tide rising. Sometimes I think I was born in the wrong era. I say “rock on” too much. I left half a leg of jeans in the Paris Orly airport. I’ve started to chew my food thirty-two times. I like to call people I don’t know Jack. I have long eyelashes. I love to wear the color brown. I say I have no regrets…but I have one. I’m good at keeping secrets. I’m uncomfortable in most social situations. I bruise easily. TV makes me nauseous. Things I don’t understand fascinate me. I am often a walking contradiction. I wish I knew what I wanted. I want to live in the US Capitol Building. I played Mary in my kindergarten Christmas pageant. I have a love/hate relationship with roller coasters. When I was eight teachers called me gifted and it gave me a complex. I can watch Kenneth Branagh’s version of Hamlet repeatedly in one night. Sometimes I wish I were a Goonie…Goonies never say die.

I'm off for the weekend, so leave me something to come back to...poems, rants, anecdotes, prayers, jokes, dreams, Liz stories, love letters, questions, fiction, biographies, random facts about the number of allowable Scrabble words, topographical details of your own personal island and it's nautical position, directions to the world's largest pumpkin, Halloween costume ideas, book reviews...capiche. Ciao.

Silent screams, vacant halls, institutional fears, bloodied walls

Amazing how similar an inflatable rendition of Munch's most famed work can be?



Someone stole The Scream, actualy, three people. It's worth about $65 mil. I find that fascinating...not the value, that someone stole it. Can you imagine having such an emotionally vivid piece hanging on your wall? You might as well slit your wrists in agony, bleed all over the walls, then proceed to ram into the wall with your head, denouncing all that is evil, corrupt, inhumane, racist, ignorant. Live in your own world of isolation and frustration, tormented by the existence of all that doesn't understand you. Sometimes you just want to jump over the rail to avoid the weight of the world. And now I'll never have the chance of seeing this copy in person, to know that despite the feeling of unadulterated isolation, there is never an isolated existence. Que triste.

There are afew students who have recently become obsessed with the phrase "I love you." Considering there is no Japanese equivalent, I don't imagine they can undertstand the possible depth of it's meaning, but they sure do like to say it. They leave notes on my desk, in my desk, on boards of my classrooms, all reading I love you, though some not always spelt correctly. They shout it out when they see me walking home, or riding around town. It would be embarassing, if anyone in this country spoke English, but they don't, so it's not. But if they keep it up, this may be the longest relationship I've ever had. In fact, give them a few more weeks, and it'll be a new official record.

There is a man....

that sits out front of the bike shop every morning, without fail. We call him the "bike master," a title I find pretty damn cool. He greets me every morning with a smile, a good morning (or ohayo goazaimasu,) and some comment, which varies, but which I NEVER understand. I'd like to think that he sits there, on that stump in front of the empty shop window, waiting for me to pass, as if to signify the beginning of a new day. However, I think he sits there waiting for business, encouraging people to break their bikes in his presence to keep him within the realm of profit. I've never seen anyone in the store, outside of the store, or even mention the store. In fact, I've never seen a bike in the store either. I'm tempted to kick the crap outta my bike, claim I was mugged and attacked by pre or post, for that matter, pubescent Japanese boys...either would be about my size with the arm strength of Twiggy...just to give him business. It's not like I pay for the bike anyway. Let the Board of Education handle it. If they can afford to pay me, pretty handsomely I think, to sit here and write this, then they can afford to give the poor old quasi-toothless, grinning bike master some work, some sense of purpose and necessity. I'm willing to go without a day's salary, or more, just to help him out. It'd be like paying him to wait for me on that stump every morning.

Nice old man.

In other news, I'm headed to Kumamoto tonight. My first trip out of the prefecture in a long time. Let's hope I don't end up in Hiroshima again. Dre says it easy, two train transfers and a tram. Let's hope she's right. Two transfers I can handle, it's the seven transfers between trains, buses and ferries that I just can't seem to grasp. I may never hit up Nonokoshima again...cuz I'll never find it again.

My parents shipped me a 30lb. box yesterday. Yeah, 30lbs of clothes and books. If only there'd been chai I would've married it.



Look at that...how exciting! Does it get any better than John Stewart, Sylvia Plath, Poe, Bill Bryson, Shakespeare, Calvino, Dostoyevsky and Bob Dylan side by side?

Allow me to explain

students bidding me "See you..."

Look at those little faces...that's quality. I know it when I see it, when I feel it. I've been lucky, or blessed, enough to experience the kind of quality some people only dream about. Knowing how great it is, how could I possibly allow myself anything less? I want more quality, quantity of quality...Eian, does that make any sense?...to you, it just might.

I don't mean to say that I plan on country hopping with the frequency of a cheap ham radio. I plan to take my time and fully experience and enjoy all that life has to offer. But I don't think, at this point at least, I'd be happy settling down. I haven't found that place where I feel I belong...I belong in moments. But I'm not chasing down the moments, I'm creating my own.

I want to challenge myself to do something I never dreamed possible, to discover my own potential. This isn't about anyone else but me. I do love shock value, but that's not my intent, just an added bonus. My parents keep telling me to slow down, claiming I've got the rest of my life to do it all. I'm not so naive as to believe that I'll live forever, in fact, I don't want to live forever. I accept the limits of my existence, so I'm going to take every opportunity, within reason, that presents itself to me in the present, for who knows when the future will not be an option.

Mino elementary 2nd graders

Provisionally living when I should be living vicariously through myself

Liz and Alastair got me thinking, Che got me thinking, or maybe I was in the process of thinking when they entered.

I want to do something great. Something challenging, something that forces me to realize I’m alive because it brings my mere existence into perspective. I may be living, but it means nothing to me. I’m surrounded by affluence, by stability, by falsities-for this is not what 95% of the world consists of.

A friend told me yesterday that she admired my pursuits, my experiences, and would never have the courage to do so herself. I’ve heard this several times. And it’s great, I love to hear that someone out there admires my lifestyle. But the truth is, Japan isn’t a phenomenal journey, it’s not what I’m looking for. To some it may seem courageous, and I admit I had my doubts/fears, but accepting those fears and following through anyway is the highlight. I leapt, and I regret nothing. I have enjoyed my time immensely. It’s a gorgeous country. I’ve met people, explored cities, learned the culture and a miniscule portion of the language. There have been struggles, but overcoming them has been half of the challenge, adapting, learning, growing as a person. I’ve been frustrated, and at times upset. But I’ve realized that you change locations a thousand times, you can’t change people. Assholes exist in every possible realm of the earth, and possibly even beyond, I must accept them and their actions with a grain of salt, and move on.

Liz told me, “If this is going to be the rest of my life, I don’t want it.” Immortal, classic. I couldn’t agree more. The purpose of living is to live, completely, unrestricted, adventurously, testing the limits. I want an adventure to recount for the rest of my life. I want to tell people what I’ve done and see the shock value in their faces. I want to do something unexpected of me.

Alastair rode his bike across five continents, fifty countries, in five years. He embarked on an unfathomable journey most believed to be impossible. They saw a skinny, white British kid, with vague notions of reality and a naivety common only to toddlers. But he did it, he proved them wrong. And I couldn’t be more jealous. But now it’s been done, limiting the innovative, avant-garde options. What is left for me? And who’s going with me?

Crossing the globe would be a perfect fit for my attention span. I like living in phases, it’s like living in moments. Free to roam about the cabin. Experiencing everything all at once, then traveling on to new experiences. But what’s my gimmick?

Statue topping a grave...if only Americans understood the concept of reverence.

Even the cemeteries are proof of feng shui

I'm bored...I'm boring...is there a difference?

My chapstick is so potent it makes my eyes water. Is that a good thing?
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Would it be traumatizing to name one’s children after literary figures, setting them up for ridicule? I really want to name someone Holden, or Emerson…maybe I’ll just get a dog. I knew a girl named Sonnet once. You probably can’t imagine what a Sonnet might look like, but she fit it perfectly. Do we grow into our names or is it pure coincidence that they fit?
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The teacher that hit the students yesterday said good morning to me, in English. I wanted to smack him, storm out and slam the door, but what did I do? I cordially greeted him back. However, in retrospect, that might have been the best move. I don’t want to fuck up the remaining nine months with animosity. I’ll just kick him before I jump on the plane back to the states.
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My neighbor was burning her trash this morning on her front porch, right by my house. I had all the windows open, now my house smells like Holocaust aftermath. Occasionally burning trash smells sweet, like roasting marshmallows, but most times it smells like burnt flesh and hair…and believe me, I’ve experienced enough kitchen fiascos to know that smell. It’s not pretty.

Eyes, pleading for solace

The teacher sitting directly across from me just punched a student in the chest. I have a front row seat. Two students obviously did or said something inappropriate, and now they are avoiding looking at the teacher by looking straight ahead, at me. This is awkward, ah, they keep looking, their litlle eyes are invading me. I want to pull them away. I want to run away. This can't be happening.

He just hit the other one after the student interrupted him. The kid is trying not to cry, I can tell.

This tortures me...sitting here, constrained by society, salary, a contract, language barriers. I can't help, I can't reassure, I can't fight back for those who can't defend themselves.

He's yelling, seriously yelling. It's getting louder. I want out of here. Fuck my dilemma about recontracting. I can't stay here knowing this is accepted. This is wrong. This is a moral decision. Come July I'm outta here. Another year would only hurt more.

Not quite sure what to say...this will suffice

Now I don't know that your tie is straight
Your words are crooked and you're gonna pay
In ten years time they're gonna say
That this was the moment when you threw it away

And it's all wrong, handbags at dawn
And turn the radio off to hear a song
Oh please don't give up
You have a voice, don't lose it
You have a choice, so choose it
You have a brain, so use it
The time has come to
Peace the fuck out

Now I don't know what you're talking about
There's too much shit pouring out of your mouth
The time is up, the secret's out
The truth's gonna catch you going south

But it's all wrong, handbags at dawn
And turn the radio off to hear a song
Oh please don't give up
You have a voice, so use it

Yeah but it's all wrong, handbags at dawn
And turn the radio off to hear a song
Oh please don't give up
You have a voice, don't lose it
You have a choice, so choose it
You have a brain, so use it
The time has come to
Peace the fuck out

--- Travis

Limits are abstract, so why do they hinder us?

Whoever said war is the lesser of two evils (Jeane Kirkpatrick) obviously limits himself to one half of his brain, most likely the “lesser” half at that, because he only makes two unsound distinctions; war as an evil, the rest of the world and all possible limits of space as an evil.
War is the lesser of two evils. Following through with my swing, war is one evil, the lesser, what is the other? If the possibilities of filling in the second evil are abounding, shouldn’t the number of evils be equally as abounding?

There is no limit to vocabulary, no limit to weather, nor to friendship. No limit to the means of violence, no limit to the expanse of intelligence, no limit to possibilities. So why is there a limit to evil….why two?

Petrarch says, "Five enemies of peace inhabit with us--avarice, ambition, envy, anger, and pride; if these were to be banished, we should infallibly enjoy perpetual peace."
Yup, count them, FIVE.

Baskin Robbins - 31 Flavors + 20 toppings
Countries in the world - 193
Time zones - 24
Words for hurricane - 4 as adopted by the American English language
Population of the world - 6,391,281,842
Coffee options - infinite
Evils - 2 ???????????

The lesser of two evils principle was a Cold War era foreign policy tactic used by the U.S. to garner internal support. The Cold War, antiquated, imprudent, inequitable, divided the world into “two evils;” democracy and communism, completely discounting the existence of theocracies, oligarchies, monarchies (constitutional or not,) tribal chiefdoms and a plethora of other political systems.

“Every person takes the limits for their own field of vision for the limits of the world.” - Arthur Schopenhauer

"Too many people are thinking of security instead of opportunity; they seem more afraid of life then of death." - James F. Byrnes

No one ever got anywhere by playing it safe, by relying on the known instead of the possibility of a better unknown. There are risks to be taken everyday, allowing you a brief opportunity, for one moment of one day, to throw the rule book out the window, to dispel that which you know is good for that which may be infinitely better.

You are dull, listless, disheartening. You spout morals and intelligence, but I know you for what you are. You are a hypocrite. You attempt to live life to the fullest....by playing it safe. That is not living life, that is living death. Jump, without knowing where you'll land, reach without seeing around the corner, think with the knowledge that there is no limit to human potential. Do this, not for me, or your parents, of for the sense of debt you have to the world in which you stand. Rather, do this for yourself, for the self is the biggest source of criticism.

"Be daring, be different, be impractical, be anything that will assert integrity of purpose and imaginative vision against the play-it-safers, the creatures of the commonplace, the slaves of the ordinary." --Sir Cecil Beaton

Be anything, say anything, do anything...just don't disappoint me. I can't take any more disappointment.

Because closing your mind closes your eyes

Depression has sunk in. I feel that I have little impact on anyone I meet. I don’t claim to be omniscient or even remotely intelligent, but I do defend and support those I believe to frequent the moral high ground. I know the upcoming election has spawned countless debates and intense rivalry and I want it to be known that I don’t support who I support simply because of party politics. I’d vote for anyone who was willing to take a second glance at an ongoing war in order to save a few people. Do you realize what is going on with the state of the world, do my thoughts go right through you? People are dying, needlessly. Not just that, they are dying painfully, immorally, mistakenly, violently, torn apart by bullets, shrapnel, held at gunpoint, Iraqis, Americans, African child soldiers we’ve neglected simply to allocate more spending on defense rather than human rights issues. This is insane. I don’t see how anyone can defend this war, can defend the injustices that have been done. You assume I disagree with republicans because I’m not one….I disagree because this war is a fucking quagmire. Because my friend is dead, there is no justification for that, no matter what you throw at me. I disagree because this country has made mistakes, and it has cost us, men and women, who will never return to their families…do you want to argue with that? Did they die for their country?…..no, our country was not threatened. A life is not collateral damage. Don’t you EVEN try to argue with me, arguing is useless when it pertains to loss of life.

This isn’t elitism, sophism, black and white dogma, right or wrong. No, it’s more ethereal, intrinsic than good versus evil, it’s life and death, and it’s a decision none of us have the authority to make.
I want to convince you. I don’t care if you convert to my side, I simply want you to see it for what it is. This isn’t “liberal propaganda,” it’s not about parties…don’t you see? This is about your right to life…are you willing to die for a cause you don’t understand, muddled in lies, confusion, abuses, neglect? Then why should he have the power to send them off to die, as if they matter any less than he does.

You can ignore this, as usual, cast it off as a rant. But you just don’t get it, and I’m going to assume you never will.

Is your mind so closed that it affects your eyes?
Does being closed-minded imply blindness…ignorance…unfeeling?
You tell me…you know.

politics and Japanese homosexuality.....conspiracy? Could be!

In keeping with everyone’s hype about the recent debates, I too have decided to post my political commentary. A short disclaimer first: I was only able to view portions of the debate. My vice principle was kind enough to tape it for me, via his satellite dish and ensuing 4 million channels, but he must have been flipping channels and not realizing for there are brief stints of horridly flaming Japanese games shows between Edwards’ and Cheney’s comments….confusing, yes, frustrating, yes, entertaining, you betcha. If you ask me, that’s exactly what this debate needs, some homosexual Japanese game shows…spice things up a bit.

Seriously, here goes…..ready?

It’s true Edwards has less political experience than Cheney. However, many citizens, myself included, claim career politicians to be self-serving and egocentric, with good reason, so perhaps someone with less political experience, someone new to the game with real ideals of improvement and possibility for the American populace is more what we need, rather than a candidate defending his incumbency, aka “throne.” (::Insert pop culture quote which comes to mind:: “We're a generation of men raised by women. I'm wondering if another woman is really the answer we need.”) Something Edwards said struck me, “One thing that's very clear is that a long résumé does not equal good judgment." I could not agree more. How many assholes do you know in positions of authority, abusing their privileges to gain self-serving interests? Point well received Mr. Edwards.

To me, it seemed that Cheney spent a good deal of time defending his actions, or inactions, in office, as well as those of his administration, rather than explaining his objectives for the future of “this great nation.” Coulda, shoulda, woulda. What’s done is done, let’s improve international diplomacy and cooperation and move on…closure. If he’s stuck in the past, defending himself for the next four years, how can the nation possibly progress? Answer: it won’t.

Kerry and Edwards are perhaps out of touch with foreign diplomacy, but here lies a tricky issue. True, Bush has more experience in dealing with foreign diplomats and leaders, but at the same time, he has more experience threatening Asian nations with nuclear attacks due to premature assumptions of guilt and weapons arsenals (sounds vaguely familiar,) ignoring some of the most extreme human rights abuses in history and truly pissing off the European Union to the point of virtually isolating America. As much as I admire George Washington for his foresight, his policies on isolationism are antiquated and deserve revision, not repetition. Foreign cooperation is exactly what we need right now, especially considering the grave situation in Iraq.

Following up on Iraq, Cheney stated that he would recommend the same course in Iraq if he had it to do over again, claiming that the world is safer today because Saddam Hussein is out of power and that America did “exactly the right thing.” No way. I don’t buy it. You can’t possibly assume some supra-moral position and claim the current administration did the right thing, for we haven’t experienced the consequences of all other actions in this area, so that alone disproves him and disappoints me. What really hurts, having lost a friend in the war, is that neither Cheney nor Bush apologizes for the lack of control they have over the casualties and confusion, or even owns up to the mere possibility that pre-emptive quasi-unilateral attacks were unwarranted, or more boldly, a mistake. Even though the war is declared over, and has been for quite a while, American soldiers continue to die, hostages are taken on a daily basis and the country is racked with refugees, famine, political instability and insanity…that doesn’t sound like the conclusion of “exactly the right thing.” I wouldn’t repeat that mistake if I had another go, nothing is safer because Sadam is gone, in fact, now the American populace is at risk even more, and the only ones benefiting are those with economic stakes in Iraq, i.e. Haliburton, which receives 7.5 billion annually from Iraq alone, convenience?…no, setup…um, gonna go with yeah.

Moving on, I agree (as a friend stated) you can’t inform the American people of every political strategy and decision for their perusal, for it’s simply not plausible. But there is a large difference between withholding info for the sake of overabundance and misinforming or lying to your constituents in order to garner support for certain military actions. For instance, claiming ties between Hussein and 9/11, or Hussein and WMD which has been proven false, but was ardently supported and hailed by Bush and Cheney. Not only is that promoting falsities, it’s assuming guilt prior to investigation. That’s not what the American judicial system maintains, neither should the executive branch.

Some may say that Kerry and Edwards are too wishy-washy for politics (those are exact words I heard yesterday.) It’s true they’ve changed positions on multiple occasions, but doesn’t everyone? Given that more information is present now than before, the correct information is only now being given some attention - and given that the American response to the war has changed and support is lower now than initially, of course they’re going to change their statements. The point of being president isn’t to assume stupidity of your constituents and presuppose your own mental superiority, it’s to adhere to their wishes, and that’s exactly what Edwards and Kerry seem to be doing. THEY are the ones following the opinions of Americans, adapting them, adding their own spin, and throwing them back out there, willing to truly serve the people rather than some misogynistic desire to rule the world both politically and economically.

The highlight of the night was when Cheney defended gay rights, due to his daughter’s sexual preference…thumbs up for him, and following, despite difference of opinions in terms of gay rights legislation, Edwards applauded Cheney for supporting his daughter. In the end, isn’t it really all about people instead of legislation? I know firsthand what little impact the plebes of America have on influencing domestic policy, and it’s not promising, but it’s not necessarily about the party or the legislation, it all comes down to people.

P.S. I should add that Edwards' oratorical skills need some practice, or a lobotomy, either works. His insults were especially disheartening, not even witty, just plain lame....but no one is perfect...needs to be reiterated every so often.

I'm still waiting for that epiphany...could it be lost?

You now those people that you brush off as close-minded or ignorant, or just plain jackasses? Sometimes they make the most poignant comments, and in that instant, when those words come out of their uneducated little mouths, you step back and wonder if somehow the world has altered its course, if hell has frozen over, or if pigs are flying. It’s not natural, and especially not expected, but sometimes that makes it even greater. That doesn’t mean I’ll revert to consorting with said individuals, b/c I particularly am not a fan of subjecting myself to unwarranted ridicule at the hands of the mentally-inept-yet-somehow-in-their-own-minds-without-fault few about which I am writing. But I’m a little less apt to label them without hope.

“It's not the glass houses or the stones that do the damage.It's the small minded people who throw said stones at said glass.”

The mirror stage

I wrote a paper a few years back on the concept of the identity as signified by what it is not rather than what it is. We know how to categorize ourselves because we have developed a sense of self, what we like, only learned by knowing what we don’t like, in short. Didn’t know then that I was reiterating years of Saussure and Lacanian psychoanalysis. Do you ever impress yourself? For a brief, shinning moment this morning I truly astounded myself. I’ve never read anything by Lacan, until this morning, and knowing that I came to the same, even though not as eloquently put, conclusion in regard to the self vs. self-realization…wow, no verb would work here.

But…Lacan takes it a little farther and analyzes preoedipal infants in order to determine the exact time frame of the misrecognition of the ego, which occurs during the mirror stage. Now he impressed me. An infant has no concept of his own capabilities, features, self, but only the whole image he sees around him. In the mirror stage, for the first time the infant is presented with an image of himself which he learns to accept as his “self, his identity, when for all sane purpose, it is a misrecognition of an image of the self, distorted and incomplete, in comparison to the real self, which we are never capable of fully understanding due to the dimensions of a miror as a means of physical recognition, or misrecognition in keeping with Lacan.

So that is why you’ll never see yourself as others do…I’ve figured it out. Where’s my Nobel Prize?

I don’t know why I felt the need to share that…”Who knows where thoughts come from? They just do.”

See the cat? See the cradle?

I went to the junior high's soccer game on Saturday morning...look at me, all dedicated to my job, getting up at 6am on a weekend just to support the home team. One kid taped a sign on his back claiming him to be David Beckham...I think I was responsible for that one. The coach kept trying to talk to me, in Japanese, so the kids had to translate...nice little English practice thrown in there...I work around the clock people, I deserve a raise.

There's a student teacher here this month. She's an English lit major at some university in Japan I've never heard of, no surprise there though. I was ecstatic to hear it, so I hounded her with questions about her favorite authors and whether or not she's ever been to an english speaking country, and now she avoids me at all costs. "I've done it again, one year in every ten, I manage it." The Japanese are frightened to speak to native speakers...and I thought I was shy. She was physically shaking, which I only do when presented with giving a speech, that or I black out, which is always nice. They're used to Japanese-English, which doesn't contain the letter L and adds a long U sound to the end of every word. Native English is almost another language...I freaked her out...I'm good at that, I should list it as a hobby on my resumee.

On a happy note, plans for Thailand are finalized. On Chirstmas I'll be riding an elephant through the jungle, on New Year's I'll be staying with a Thai family. Needless to say, there will be little of the Christmas spirit here in Japan. The only presents I'll be receiving are my winter clothes my parents shipped this weekend, the only cheer will be travel-induced. I don't mind, I haven't had a traditional Christmas in a long while, the last was spent sailing through the Virgin Islands then cruisin' the Las Vegas strip. Speaking of Vegas, Hall and Oates also performed on that lame rendition of "We are the world," which instantaneously made me laugh. I didn't think my supervisor would appreciate that story, not many do save Scheid, wherever he may be right now, so I withheld the story of the drummer whose name I have completely forgotten....oh no wait, it was Glenn, I think. Don't quote me on that.

See the cat? See the cradle? Yeah, this is meaningless. I'll try harder next time.