"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.

911 IS A JOKE
i forgot to mention the various occasions i had sat down to watch some good locale japanese television. they have this strange, sometimes obnoxious talk/game show programs which seem to cater to those on speed, or some other attention deficiency. however, their early morning children's programming is execellent. cute, informative. none of this horrible north american model forming shit.
however in watching the news, there was a short report on the NY memorial service. i had completely forgotten the phrase "given the events of september eleventh". not only am i removed physically, but also psychologically from the north american fear mongering. most of the world are not aware of how much we are psyching ourselves out over this. on a related note, i thought of an appropriate theme song for my future sept.11th party. public enemy - 911 is a joke. strangely adaptive.

ROAD TO RECOVERY has always been a long and arduous process. full of bitter bile, the upthrows of memory and the overflow of regret. last night the kokubunji krew swung by the house to hang out get wasted, and the usual healthy excesses of youth. sake flowed, beer foamed and inebbriation was the order for the night. one of the conversational exchanges i have on recall, involves the disgustion of george walker bush. universal revulsion here. reflected in physical agony this morning. i hate the smell of cigarettes when i'm hungover, sometimes, i just plum hate everything when i feel this way. terribles excesses of bad feeling. alcohol is the devil's brew, and i should stop kissing his ass.

IKEBUKUROSOU!
this is the locale of the great tokyo/toronto conference. ofcourse we met in daylight when things are safer and people aren't out to have a good knife-fighting time. apparently this happens here on occasion, only when it's sunny. however, as we have delicate japanese girls, a prego wife and a youngling, we decide against joining the locales in their urban rituals. instead we head for food and drink. this is all there is in japan. damn hedonists
unbelievable! a buffet in tokyo, such wonders exist? we eat our shocked brains out on well designed platters and walk off our trauma at tokyo hands, the best "everything" department stores. the one near us even has a nekobukuro, a cat petting zoo. japanese cat obsessions.
here is mirai already hooked on one of the many addictions available to the japanese. perhaps one day she will become the queen of pachinko. the new leader of japan, all hail pachinkos!
after we ditch the kid, the preggers and the rest of weak constitution, it's only myself, ellen and takashi. so we head off to check out the seedy underbelly, the dark undertones and dirty soiled stains of this place. we find many "love hotels", parlours of various trades, and here, we find a sex information booth. an internet shop which does not shy from its true purpose. no shame here.

SHINJUKU this truly feels like downtown, if such feelings are possible in a place like tokyo. all the money pits, vice driven, socially engineered devices are here. the hustling streets rush past us unawares that we are here to disturb shit. that is before we realize how disturbed the shit here really is. we might be able to poke it a few more times, but it's a dead horse, enough already. i'm gone.
meeting yoko and asuka at an izakaya near takanodai. here we are, me, the distorted monster, yoko, the cute little devil, drinking the world away in good comfort. let's go home.

HARAJUKU: in search of the disturbed... this place has the heart of an ox and the hide of a wilderbeast. it will kick you in the balls sweet and seductively and leave you like wanton dogs. despite the immediate surroundings, search and penetrate deeper east and the side winding paths will take you to places curious and curiouser. that pink location in the photo, "6% DOKI DOKI" is a warped capita of a little girls room dispensing bright colourful disturbence by a crew of pink-frilled lolita girls, all to the scratched "sound of music" album. insanity is a few steps away. believe you me, a highly concentrated stew of all that is hipster in toronto lives and breathes on takeshita douri. my metal spike blings: 1000¥. my disillusioned angst in accessory form: priceless.
rocking out in front of yoyogi park on an early friday evening, nothing here but the passerby. not a soul to be photographed, disappointed that the cos-play and lolita girls aren't out to play. i learned later that's on sunday evenings. i'll be back. for now i'll walk to shinjuku.

AKIHABARA=HENTAI misaligned and misinformed realities crumble as new equations are built upon the concrete remains. yes akihabara is the electronic city but it is not bargain bargain bargain, not unless you are the all seeing all dancing left-handed one of the divine. deals are for the "active surplus, queen st." type. this is called otaku city but one must confuse the average north american nerd with this new hyper-realized nerd referred to here as otaku. while similar in character, but quite different in temperment. socially awkward to the level of aberration, near abhorrent levels. sexually disturbed, like twisted monsters, if you've ever seen "perfect blue" you've just witnessed the modern otaku. nothing else explains the dolls pictured above. perfectly idealized adorable doll for the otaku, just beautiful empty shells for the dispossessed. hollow like the modern soul.
now this i find in an electronic department store. the average store has at least 5 floors upwards to 9. this is supposed to be a massage chair but rides more like a rodeo toy. hmmm, i wonder what useful applications this device may have...

THE FIRST MORNING of the rising sun finds us hot humid and hungry. as we leave yoko/asuka's, the triple H threat is working its charm as we return to kokubunji. upon our agenda, fulfill the requests of those closest and dearest to us. to the hyaku ¥ store, comrads! unbelievable amount of stuff available for 100¥, which is near insanity for a monetary index like tokyo. one lynchian moment of note: at the rear of the store, a woman was stocking slippers repeating aloud "irasshaimase" for no natural reason.
NOODLES=HENTAI
onwards to hunger and as we seek we find tantan ramen. great chewy noodles, great servings, great price and great selection of hentai manga!? apparently they cater to many different appetites. food can be
related to sex, especially here. the owners, a kind elderly couple give us strange looks as we pour over their reading material in amusement and take pictures like silly tourists. "you think that's strange, you won't believe what i found at my local ramen house."

TOKYO OUTSIDER
clocking mad sleep deprived fumes now and the noise lights are poking holes of discomfort. ellen and i collectively regret choosing the smoking section. convenient, but ashtray is not the new smell of 2005. tokyo station and a quick payphone sucked down my hyaku yen like nobody's business so mind your own.
the noise is noisier, lights are lighter, vice is vicier and social etiquette are social absolutes. first notice: stairs have designated up/down traffic zones. second notice: one is to refrain from talking on cellphones. third notice: more of an observation, there are designated spots along the platform to form a line, and when the train pulls in almost exactly on time, everyone stands on either side of the door like some ritualized procession for the exiters.
ah the train arrived in kokubunji and i'm off to meet yoko for a drink cause i'm finished like smoke, one of the few vices i can afford.
did anyone ever warn you about the neverending izakaya's? these innocuous little bars will knock you flat on your feet before you can memory spit the few japanese words (nihongo) you've manage to scrape together. terribly endearing is the way all the staff must compulsively yell "modotte来rareru" whenever some hedonist gets the nerve to leave with "arigato gozai masu". and i mean all of the staff yells "modotte来rareru" like OCD patients working in an izakaya. ah but the sake must flow and truly i'm finished like ashes.

gaijin shit and giggles

the following is a complete transcription of the first email sent to me by a crass "warlike" person who happens to be a close and personal friend who someday i will meet. please enjoy this in bad taste:

Hey fuckel
how was the lide to Talkiyo, Jipand(Tokyo, Japan)?
Keiko was wondeling if evelything went smoothry,
we leceived an emair flom geolge and he was
terring us that the typoons in Jipand wele pletty
sevele okuwaka was hit pletty bad and terr yoko
we said herro oh and my filst day of schoor was
quite the suck fest
i met a bunch of people but learry didn't enjoy it
the selved pizza and tested a new fravol of
fluitopia on us i lefused to have any of it and
what is with the teachels? thele they seem to be
on twenty-foul houl adveltisment mode constantry
terring us to go to aboveglound ol cully's fol oul
alt supplies.
anyways enough with my compraining i wirr talk
to you ratel terr me how you ale
bye bye
chad

FUCK ART!!! RET'S KIRR!!!"(FUNNY ENOUGH MOST
PEOPLE DIDN'T NOTICE OL JUST COMPRETERY
IGNOLED THE PIN BUT I DID GET A COUPRE OF
GIGGRES FLOM SOME PEOPRE)

PS KEIKO SAYS YOU ALE A CIGALETTE THIEF AND
THAT IT WAS A GOOD THING THAT SHE POISONED
THE LICE BALLS....

TOKYO TORONTO CONFERENCE

the meeting of great travellers, the fellowship of the cn tower. present (L-R): georgie, kumiko, mirai+kayoko, takashi, yoko, isaac. hidden: saya (far left), ellen (photographer). missing: mitsuhiro (still in transit).

FOOD COURT ETHNOCENTRICITY
no self righteousness, just an observation.
why are all food courts staffed by ethnicity?
usually not even by appropriate nationality.
no one at sushi stands is japanese, taste of
india seems to stretch all across the middle east, and finally, is burger king truly african american cuisine, or is this yet another indication that things are not right in north america?

NWA muthafuckas!

worn out like last week now at the airport not really aware or awake

half dreaming and half annoyed by the flight experience
human beings were not intended for long concentrated airbourne excursions in extruded metal tubes, strapped in and down as if for sacrament and sacrificial rite being prepared by the holy stewards of the air. why do modern first experiences jog my memory for movie references? i caught myself by the unawares running through the theatre of the mind my personal cinematic history of commercial flight: fight club, airplane 1 and 2, airforce one, where does it come from and when will it end? couldn't help but notice the logo for northwest airlines, straight outta compton crazy muthafucka named izaku! couldn't help but notice the woman to my northwest scowling at the outburst. beeyaaattcch.

BEGIN
sitting pretty and worn out through and through.
half a night left in this comfortable place of home
before i leave this country for my other half: the world, a girl, culture, el mundo, destino.

shake the damn leaves from my entangled hair,
shake the comforter from the listless bed,
just shake the whole damn thing, foundations
unravelling, conception, destruction.

rebuild.