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.