"when it's all said and done..."
isaac's mind is now drifting to analogspot.blogspot.com
despite the ever present, my mind stagnants somewhere in the past. when it all ends, then will i sleep, truly.
my imaginary wandering friend has no photos for me or my jumbled memories. where does it all go? someday i will finish this. yes, someday.
ttfn, isaac.

"I'M THE ONLY ONE AND I WASH ALONE"
enough of osaka's neon spirit, i want something more substancially spiritual. to kyoto we go to meet with yoko's friend naoko. a wonderfully disturbing visual artist who abandoned tokyo on a whim and embrace kyoto with much abandon. arriving well after dark, we converse a bit before heading off for sento. (sorry, no photos)
now truly, culture shock sets in. i've never felt so lost and out of place as at my first sento. naturally, the sexes are divided (aren't we always) in the bath-houses, and this is where my difficulties begin. being separated from my friends and only guide seems foolhardy but unavoidable.
left to my own devices, i try to recall all the advice admonished onto me before my abandonment. no running, cursing and other such standard protocols. must wash completely before entering the baths. now i'm standing naked in the changeroom searching for a place to wash before entering the bath area. there are a few sinks just infront of the door, but i'm waiting to follow by example. imagine trying to inconspicuously watch other naked japanese men to try to figure out what to do. awkward. no one's doing anything! just smoking and lounging about.
fuck it, i decide to try to wash at the sink. no hot water, is this a japanese thing? shivering, soapy and making a fool of myself, someone walks out of the bath area, and i catch a glimpse of showerheads at the back of the bath area (i know i keep using the same descriptor, but what do you call it?) completely embarrased, (baka gaijin) i walk in, rinse off the cold slimey soap, and try to shake it off like it ain't no thang.
o what relaxation there is to be had. steaming mineral water in various choices. being such a hedonist, i must try them all. ooh, too hot. this one's too cold. damn this is hot too, but it's got bubbles. what kind of soap is in this one? is that clorine i smell, oh well, everyone needs a good blee-atch once in a while, right MJ? there was one that had deep indigo blue water and had an old man sitting in it. i refrained thinking it was medication for arthritis and general oldness. one of my many endearing faults is that i'm an agist, and firmly believe that old people should not be understood, but rather locked up and studied to see what useful chemicals can be extracted from them (courtesy of simpson's ross perot pamphlet). turns out, it was simply herbs and some lavender to give it an unnatural blueish glow. and finally, there's one that's a shocker.
one of the health technologies the japanese experiment with is electricity. without warning, i dipped into a bath with electric current running through. my leg jerked straight as my muscles began to convulse, much to my horror. if you're ever in a sento, watch out for this one. damn near gave me a heart attack.
exhausted from this ordeal, i met up with the girls and sauntered back to naoko's place. some beautiful sleep tonight. nite nite.

with our wonderful gaijin JR pass in hand, we hurry excitely to the train station, as yoko has to pay the native fare. much to our collective disappointment, our passes do not allow us onto the shinkansen. damn xenophobes. without the bullet train, we arrive in osaka dull and enclosed.
the air feels different down here, however, the streets are lit in a way the urban japanese love, by neon glow. as we wander through dotombori, i try to suppress the feeling that i'm in tokyo, but dull and enclosed. surrounded by giant animatronic crabs and the drifting aromas of crustaceans burning. oh yes and okinomiyaki, an irrepressibly hot little meal, oh yes, sizzle my precious! btw, can someone tell me the backstory of this eccentric clown? apparently he's japan-famous and he travelled the country a lot, for what purpose? perhaps only the japanese know.

i wander off to dotombori bridge, the infamous hangout, people watching and sport fanatic diving board. apparently after the 2002 World Cup, thousands got freaky naked and jumped into the green muck below. unbelievable what sports can do to a mind.

THE INVISIBLE HAND MOVES
fate strikes at us early, moves us out of our beds, and out into... "fuck! another humid sticky day. unbelievable. this weather! jesus, when will it end?" hitting the damn blistering concrete again. ellen looks dry, she says she needs something for her face. i decide to converse, spittingly. if you wish for a testimonial to the healing powers of my saliva, please visit ellen's blog.
we need to buy tickets to studio ghibli through a convenience store. i know, strange. apparently, lawson (the store) is supposed to be omnipresent, but until this day, i have failed to notice any. however, on our way to tsukiji fish market, (i know, awesome, great fish, big market, bought the damn t-shirt), lawson suddenly becomes visible.
a little out of order now, after feasting on what may be the best sushi i will ever get to enjoy for a long while, we trek towards an incredible waste of time, ginza. tokyo's "fifth avenue" of human excess, vanity and the final sign of the apocalypse. ellen brings an unimpressed isaac into a yamaha store in search of a pianicca, or was it a keyboardomaphone? i forget. i'm a victim and it's too early to revisit the trauma of ginza. please leave me alone with my pain...

SILLY ISAAC, NEKO BASU IS FOR KIDS!
after capitalist hell, a refreshing change, kichijoji. home of studio ghibli museum. i am speechless and tongue tied (hence the typing with the fingers and not the tongue, you perverts). such a beautiful building with interactive spaces, clever introduction to animation touching on the verge of sorcery, complete with artist studio clutter. hmm very authentic. they save pencil ends. do you? however, the only fault with the place is the price gouging whores at mamma aiutos. ni-sen yen? get outta here.
now, hyaku yen groceries, that's more like it! near the station, we discover a wonderful hyaku yen shop which has a grocery floor. hmm, maybe i could support myself in tokyo. we also discover that i left my previous purchases at studio ghibli. with an impromptu exercise jog, i use my handicapped nihongo to say "sumimasen, watashi FORGOT caban INSIDE to tamago PAN to empitsu" complete with various confusing hand gesture. part charades, part desperation. i left the damn bag in the theatre. i hate bags due to my faulty memory processing system. retrieval error. %$(@25.125@#$552@

THE INVISIBLE LOVER'S ROCK CAFE
we had some time to crucify so we head to a music store in search of black sheep, and other cravings of home culture. instead, japan kicks our collective asses, slaps us like yesterdays flavours, and asks us, where you been at beeatch? HIFANA. turntablist extraordinaire. nothing i can say is the total eclipse of my heart. fuck the rest of my music collection, the buck stops at the drop of a sick beat. san-zen-yon-hyaku yen, but waddafuck, HIFANA!
sick with anticipation, and with ourselves for spending so much, we head off for shinjuku in search of saya's artshow, "invisible". much to our dismay, Lover's Rock Cafe becomes impossible to relocate in sketched out shinjuku, with all the intoxicated youngling, mewling and pawing at each other, drunk businessmen leaving establishments of ill-repute, drunk businessmen leaving establishment of acclaim with their sexual releases of the evening, bidding farewell and a please return again. i find such immoral behaviour amusing. however ellen finds it revolting and it infuriates the inner woman. (apparently, inside ellen is another woman, odd because inside myself, i have an inner girl, boy named "panda controls panda", a cancerous heart and a spleen. perhaps some other things, i'm not sure.)
unable to find the invisible artwork, and getting nothing but an automated answering message "AU service desu ....." on both saya's and mitsu's cellphones, i throw a cigarette butt on the ground in moment of anger (its funny how this action means so much in a restrictive city like tokyo). we wring our hands in the air, in a show of frustration at our lost souls, call it a night, a sketchy night, and head home to takanodai.

DESIGN FIASCO this day started as many of our days had before, late and very humid. ellen sourced out an artist collective and gallery called design festa. so following her lead we end up in shinjuku, and lost. we are unable to make heads or tails of her map. wandering about we wind up in a mega-department store, mylord. bizarre name, and here is a bronze statue of her capitalist ladyship, doromi. all bow you worthless cretins! when lost, what do you do? treat yourself to ice cream and tell yourself that things are ok, just fine, we'll be ok.
maybe it was the cold rush to the head, but ellen decided to ask directions, and wouldn't you know it? but design festa is in harajuku. icy cold stares at ellen. how much time did we waste ellen? how much? so off to harajuku, meandering
through takeshita douri, and just before we were about to give up for lost, there it was, right in front of our faces. and true to form, the building definately looks like an art collective. bright, loud oddity it was, beckoning with promise of more inside. strange, dreaming streams of thought interweaving. even the damn washroom was amazing. some of the rooms were closed for set up, as the prices are very reasonable and flexible for rental. next time.

GEORGE X4 so here we go again, another day of humidity with our recurring mental patient george. ellen and i have a few special purchases to take care of. now before you get excited, by special we mean specific, not hallucinatory. george takes us to tokorozawa area for shopping. i loathe this activity but its either that, or go drink and eat, and ellen and myself have tried to swear that off our list, unsuccessfully. when you meet people, there's not much else to do. we stop by venda, which is a neat local cd/dvd shop and we get our first introduction to gorie "pecori night". gorie is a cross-dressing cheerleader singing a song about sex, of all things. if you haven't seen the music video, it's interesting, i feel as though i'm watching some twisted version of s-club-7 in japanese, and the translation is distorted. we move on to a department store but cannot find the things we need so we move on. ellen parts with us to go home, george and i move on to bushi to check out a recycle shop. i hope for a digital camera but no good deals. however the place is very nice. goodwill, eat your black little heart out.
next, kayoko's brother runs a small izakaya in higashi yamoto. it's a fancy affair with space for 8 to sit and 5 at the bar. the kitchen is so unbelievably small. however, he produces the most exquisite dishes of such beauty, it drew great sentiment from me. george took a picture with his cellphone, but he is yet to figure out how to send it. maybe i'll never get it. another night of eating and drinking. oi.

BLESSINGS OF GUNMA there is a deep ravine of gorgeous quality which we meandered through. (not to be competitive but it's no niagara falls) trapeezing about, horsing around and generally ignoring the scattered signs warning of disastrous consequence, tattered remains and bemoaning family members collecting dismembered family. dark am i today, morbid i feel. further along, up through the hills via
bridge and human trappings, we come to a shrine for the blessing of offspring, wanted, born or passed. georgie and papa give their offerings and prayer for the new bundle that is to be. that's all folks.

OOMA GOOMA just as tranquil as pink floyd is this hilly northern suburb of tokyo. at kayoko and george's invitation, which we gladly accepted, ellen and i head off for guma country. we desperately needed a change from the intensity of tokyo's urbanosity. and the change was intensely welcome.
this is a roadstop on the drive up the hillside. this is famous statue of local racoons (tanuki) presenting food and sake. there was a dark shape which nearly tripped me up. perhaps it was the spirit of the statue which i nearly stepped on in ignorance.
on a solemn note, there is a japanese tradition, ohakamairi, where you go back to the grave of a loved one on the day of death in order to offer gifts and prayers. kayoko's uncle had passed away one year to this date, and so they were visiting their aunt to pay respect. a moment of silence for those who have passed on before us... gone gone far gone far beyond gone... om.....
close by, there is a temple which is named something like "the rock path". i found this buddha statue irresistable
to kiss on the forehead. i did it in reverance, perhaps, again my western sentimental ignorance, but i meant no harm. on the grounds of the temple, there is also a grave yard but there are no pictures out of respect for the quick and the dead. the scenic country side lends itself
to meditation and quiet contemplation. even out here in the middle of nowhere, the structures are beautiful and well kept. we each in turn tried our hand at ringing the bell. perhaps i ought to have offered a prayer of thanks. ah, westerners. what can you do?

SHINJUKU 2X - up and about on yet another hot humid japanese day. we meet up with mitsu outside of shinjuku JR central east gate. this place is densely populated. japan just had their election running and the incumbent, and my personal favourite, kaizumi, won the majority. walking out of JR shinjuku, i was interviewed by one of the news channels, to which i simply replied, "Kaizumi! Number 1! Woo Hoo!" take that japan media and edit it. ha.
first order of business, kaiten sushi! these are relative inexpensive rotating sushi bar frequent the busier places of tokyo. something about eating fish by conveyance seems appealingly surreal. yum.
much later, us three meet up with takashi and begin our bipedal tour. wandering through the west-end, we find a cloistered little korea town, which even has a restaurant called "Daehan Mingook" translated as the republic of korea (south ofcourse). leaving my homeland for some other time, we wander through "golden gai" or golden area, which is a street filled with bars, izakayas, many owned by yakuzas and gaijin unfriendly.
hurrying along we come across the friendlist, generous and gregarious sushi mamas i have ever met. she loves cat, like many of the japanese, but is obsessed with sumo. she has one of the top sumo wrestler's hand print proudly displayed
above the bar. we came during the great sumo tournament season, and so at everywhere, we get to watch some great tv excitement. my personal favourite shinjuku memory. i even tried horse sashimi. i regret that inspite many attempts to retrace my drunken
stumbles, i have been unable to find the place again. perhaps it was some hallucinatory establishment conjured by the alleycats. there are always cats lounging in these streets, hip izakaya cats. is there any other culture as obsessed as japan?
stumbling along, we stop at a reggae bar, order north american style drinks and lose mitsu to the land of nod. one person lighter, we float down the streets and find a cheap little yakitori, after bumping into a drunk business man and his mistress of the night. once inside, we
proceed to drink away and everyone starts to reminisce over past japanese tv dramas. ellen and takashi pick the brains of the barkeep for all the names of the faded tv stars. our beer drank, and with the stars faded, we pour out into the winding
alleys and wind up at a quiet little shrine hidden in the middle of shinjuku's wheeling dealing bustle hustle. such a sharp counter-point to its surroundings, it places us in a tranquil and settled state. quiet reflections blossom in our minds, our souls quieted, we drift on home. ellen and i to takanodai, takashi to ready for a trip to cambodia, philipines with kumiko. we bid farewell as our friend floats away into the night.