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just beyond the thin shell of the wall
Tuesday, July 1, 2003 11:37 p.m. quick now - hmm. on the train all those stares. then the tiny girl like eumenides in the fourth-floor lavoratory. somehow twisting like an insect under a pin. squirming. the seats warm and fuzzy. listening to godspeed you black emperor at HIGHVOLUME on headphones walking through Tokyo all the background noise blending to create a new music. go see the boredoms website for quotes. the 3rd son is dead and now i find myself infusing an annoyingly long name with bakuninian anarchic al-quaeda-isms. a spiked chain. he of the shaved head and too many options intense eyes on the invitation i just am who i am. what is this standing for hours over a girl who gets off on being left drooling for hours in a love hotel bound in electrical tape? talking about books on trains. talking about talking about - a game of speed Go in the cafe. invited by my drunkard neighbourhood sociology researcher to down 月光水 and ogle his damn gorgeous daughter. new fetish: the wispy trails of hair like diaphonous sideburns trailing down in front of the ears of certain japanese women. old fetish: glasses, thick-rimmed. she has both. and: city of god. and: the matrix reloaded was shit. and: boredoms, HANG ON THE BOX, loli18, bloodthirsty butchers and: going to FUJIROCK! (with Junko) and: Giant Robot magazine and: i need to pay my phone bill.

Summarizing:
Wednesday, June 25, 2003 11:37 a.m. Recently: the Animatrix is better than the 'Real Thing'. Potter breaks the world bank. Watching: Naruto, Invader Zim, Astroboy, Cowboy Bebop, Lupan Sansei, Snow White, Office Space, Yojimbo, Rashomon, Waking Life, Fraggle Rock, The Neverending Story. Reading: Ghost in the Shell, UKLG The Dispossessed, The Book of 5 Rings, Sons and Lovers. Drinking: coffee. Listening: Dylan, Eminem, Interpol (shit), The Stones, Deftones, The Gurge, Wu-Tang, R/Head, Buri Guri, Robert Johnson, Herbie Hancock, Coltrane. Walking: The Cemetary. Running: for the train/from the whores down the station/from my boss and her evil camera. Talking: bullshit. Sitting: in seiza. Thinking: in arcs, not circles. Dreading: 元彼女メール. Procrastinating: the ironing of shirts. Needing: more Sun. Planning: a visit to see Amaterasu. Recovering from: a date with a girl too cute to look at. Waiting: for the next game. Eating: sushi and salad. Playing: on rusted guitar strings. Gaining: a reputation in Vice City. Buying: (HOLY SHIT IT'S PAYDAY!) Contacts, A New Printer, Summer Shirts, Pot plants for the balcony. Still missing: my bike, a woman.

Games with Guns
Thursday, June 19, 2003 11:16 p.m. "So why haven't they marketed suicide yet? There's a billion-dollar industry just waiting to be developed here. In a conversation the other day I learned that somewhere in the vicinity of 30,000 Japanese 'salarymen' topped themselves last year. That's over a hundred a day; probably half of them in Tokyo. Why not a theme park? Let's make it stylish. A moment's light enjoyment before the end. How about a special 'drown-in-the-soap-land'? You wouldn't know it. It's all so hidden. There's shame involved, but also a certain kind of politeness. Behind closed doors. Plastic sheets on the floor. The trains sometimes stop for an hour or two. That's all. Without a ripple. Someone should run an ad campaign - encourage these poor bastards to be open about it; confronting - even extravagant. Shocking! It could lead to all sorts of top-rating Reality TV shows. I'm sure Takeshi'd be into it. Just imagine, though, the other effects: every single day the local mall is smeared in brains and blood. EVERY SINGLE DAY. You have to dress your kids in raincoats so the gore won't stain their neatly-pressed uniforms. How long do you think it would take before people started taking mental health more seriously? You can't solve a problem when you can't see it. Let's make suicide fun!"

scribbles
Thursday, June 19, 2003 01:33 a.m. By the light of the screen: Written on the back of a tentative love-letter, folded like a crane, the pattern exquisite and, in this age at least, somewhat neurotic: the interior spaces of the Japanese bachelor. The rise of the Otaku. Talking tonight about authorial death in Anime culture in a yakitori restaurant So: "Art exists, Quality exists, at the intersection of 'Work' and 'Reader'" - in that relationship. What to do about these women, hey? Walls of discs and volumes. These tiny sound-proofed spaces. So ENCLOSED. The screen is a window. Complete. This, observed by fellow riders, becomes a Work in its own right. If I only had a scanner, I would scan everything. Pt 2: Suprises today. Suspicions barely conscious blaze forth. Can I? To be mesmerized... Musn't lose my place... scribbled on the back of a ticket to the pictures: "Had I but the time/I'd find it on the Sumiyoshi shore./ They say it comes there-/The shell that brings/Oblivion to love." And: "If you boil the beans used in the horse fodder and drink the juice, it'll keep you from crying or gritting your teeth at night. Do you want some?" Gold highlights.

message
Tuesday, June 17, 2003 10:10 p.m. >From: >Reply-To: >To: >Date: Tue, 17 Jun 2003 21:26:01 +0900 > >A LOST GIRL: A LOST CHANCE. ON THE TRAIN FROM SEOUL. SKETCHING DESIRE. A WOMANS FACE: CHEEKS LIKE BREASTS. A LOST TICKET: WITHOUT MY GLASSES I CANT HEAR PROPERLY. LITE. EXILE ON MAIN. WHERE?

Iki-fukuro
Friday, June 13, 2003 12:27 a.m. Sheer Genius. Watching CASABLANCA. Montage//cutting...Talking to Feng Zhuo. Such an amazing film. I am drunk. Kansai ben is fun. I want a Kansai woman... Saw Miyazaki a few days ago. Who cares? Watching so many movies. Life is full of input. All this overloaaaaad. I smell like sweat. It takes 27 minutes to walk home from Tengu. The crow-god. I heard that Tokyo crows, mutated, evolved, make nests of clothes hangers - jagged metal. Photos. Headphones here. I get a headache. My landlord chanting O-Noh in the rain season mist....Kasumi....ahhh.... Talking to Mike tonight - good. So nice to talk to someone who is in LOVE>>>> jojo Watching recently the 7...and 1000 god stolen...and the castle in the sky...and CNN...Radiohead is the only ARTIST with enough GUTS (capable of) 'addressing' WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING DOWN. excuse the mushrooms....wait...jojo calls...

The Window on the Street / 雷様
Sunday, June 8, 2003 07:18 p.m. I recall Kafka saying that any aspiring artist requires but one thing for his inspiration: a window on the street. Now as the late evening 夕暮　sets in and the 道物 stroll along the shopping arcades near the station, the soft summer warmth in the breeze, the smell of earth after last night's rainstorm still in the air - I am content. The trees and vines sway outside my window, mere feet from my head, and big, evil-looking crows hop their way through the potted urban rainforest - these narrow twisting alleyways of old Tokyo. Last night I remember standing in the bento store as the thunder detonated overhead and shook the glass of the windows, the fat warm drops of rain pelting down in a sudden shower, and one of the local whores came running in cursing her luck - her mascara running from her eyes a little, a fierce anger at the Storm God's stupid jokes. The old fat woman with owl glasses and pulled-back hair who runs the place chuckling good-naturedly: "Bad for business all round, hey?" The girl laughed.

Unquiet
Saturday, June 7, 2003 10:01 p.m. Notice how we live our lives thinking we are outside history? Who documents this age, truly? I spider-walk my fingers across the leylines of dissent tonight and listen to the new Radiohead album and can't help but think that all the paranoia of the late 90's and fin-de-siecle was well-founded. Is this in some part self-fulfilling or are these mere stress indicators, symptoms of anxiety, hairline fractures webbing the underworld of 'tagged' _youth_ culture? Have no doubt - this World, right now, is in a dark, dark place. I suspect that those (friends) of mine who dismiss this as sensationalism do so out of an illusiory sense of invulnerability, insulation. And an unendurable, unapproachable fear. The thief is crowned king. The little bitter ones, again, in ascendance.

A Nice Quiet One
Saturday, June 7, 2003 08:40 p.m. <<"He seems to be tagged as a dissolute character." "Tagged?" mumrmured Mother with a pleased look in her eyes. "That's an interesting expression. If he wears a tag, doesn't that make him harmless? It sounds rather sweet, like a kitten with a bell around its neck. A dissolute character without a tag is what frightens me." "I wonder.">> Dazai. Sometimes reading him, entranced on the maternal trains of Japan, genlty warmed and rocked to a sleepy langor, my head is seared through with burning passages from his books, sheer visceral Event. I have met this woman. I have been her. A great one. Later, I feel a need to keep on the leading edge of things. Shuddering. Growing a beard. Apparently kakkoii. I saw a man with a Hitler mustache in the subway. Doesn't he know it's not _cool_? An inverse - full beard minus a square on the upper lip.

Open Up!
Friday, June 6, 2003 10:20 p.m. me: I have SARS student: (look of abject horror) me: Just kidding! student: *weak laugh* me: (I have SARS) getting other people's catalogues. hooking fingers with a lonely girl. "I am free tomorrow." 'Open up!' zippered frog mouth t-shirt tight across her breasts. frog-eyes.　出目金。　yellow-shirted preludes to friendship. Air-guitar in Kanagawa. KaZaAing. flirtation and deception. Dazai's Setting Sun flares into crimson brilliance: "I wonder if there is anyone who is not depraved." Perhaps by depravity he actually meant tenderness. She is. She is. What is she???

Suddenly Modern
Wednesday, June 4, 2003 10:46 p.m. So I wake up dead sick and considering skipping work and then, lo and behold, my new computer arrives and I, in bliss, laugh and jump for joy and tear open the packaging like a little boy at Christmas and then I have to go. Neverwintering. Coughing. I shall sleep but little.

Sick as a Shiba-ken (with the mange)
Tuesday, June 3, 2003 09:46 p.m. Just knocked off work. The headache has turned into full-blown SARS, or something. Feel like shit. Slightly spacey. Feverish. Chills on a warm night. The fine hairs on my arms and legs stand on end. Pain exists, sitting on my upper cheeks, my jaws, the bridge of my nose, my temples, the ridges above my eyes. I grind my jawbones together to distract the pain. Drugs drugs drugs... More pasta tonight. Quick and easy. Siauro wanted to go to karaoke, but Luke was hungover, I was sick and Rob was busy avoiding his stalker. Waiting for a delivery... Slowly figuring this HTML thing out... Tomorrow I might go retrieve my bike from the cops...if I survive the night.

Shut up!!!
Tuesday, June 3, 2003 01:25 p.m. Motherfuckers next door operating a jackhammer all day. I could kill. Woke with a searing headache and what feels like hayfever. The Buk today. Reading Yoshikawa. That's Entertainment. Made pasta for lunch - delicious. Mushrooms. Where once lived hate, a love blooms. SHUT UP! If this continues, I will live in the park with the homeless dudes (again.) Summer is well and truly upon us.

Oi!
Monday, June 2, 2003 08:23 p.m. Hi Mariko!

Opening Gambit
Monday, June 2, 2003 07:29 p.m. So this lays here, floating like a page on a still pond. Attracted by a dangerous scent I stalk through the thicket of screens and lay it down on the water. Let the current take it where it will. Tonight I am watching one of the greatest films ever made: Ghostbusters!!! Egon crawling out from under the desk! Fucking brilliant. Benten's victim hails me. And the opera singer. But the girl I want does not. Maybe I should stop eating frogs. The Lexington Queen deserves a quick beheading. Muay Thai. My shirt speckled with ghostly crimson. Ryozo has passed into anger, darkness, and fear.