Thursday, December 30, 2004

women

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On tomorrow I have planned a meeting with a woman I don't know whom is interested in foreign men and their ability to be her boyfriend...
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...and I use the word 'plan' loosely...
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I used to enjoy these cruel games that women like to play, you know the parts where they claim undying passions for gentlemen, how they want to be treated right, and all that stuff. If actions are any marker to feelings; this is but a lie.
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I'm sure, however, that I am just getting sucked into the same viciouse circle that so many men of the past have found them selves swirling around in, endlessly, hopelessly, forever. Oh I can't wait until I can just give up and let myself drown. But I'm young and vigourous and in a foreign land and isolated from any and all things previously graspable. And feminine ambiguity certainly isn't helping to clear the fog.
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I may not know what I want, but at least I'm willing to try.
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Afishyapa and 明けましておめでとう御座います。

Tuesday, December 28, 2004

On Christmas morning I nursed my hangover

So my deep readings of my zombie book have led to a breif obsession with "near-death experiences". ` long to have one oh how ` long. 've been purpousely placing myself in potentially risky places just out of the purchance that ` might be swooped near that big bright sixty-watt so that my veiw on life can be forever changed and replenished. Yesterday ' read Aristolte's "Poetics" for two hours in a rigirouse attempt to bore myself to near cessation; but only managed to loose conciouseness and slip into the deep word of sleep. There ' dreamt tragedies were standing in long quewes waiting to buy tickets to see the new Harry Potter Novel. Then Aristole left the amphitheater shaking his head and saying "oh goodness no, that'll never do"; so they tore down the amphitheatre with all the little picnicing tragedies still inside. The whole incident barely made a blurb in the Sunday paper.

' didn't get anything done this weekend.

Friday ' frollict at the bash which dried to a quadruplet...and chelstsu. There was no talk of ballgowns in any sort but ' did have a jolly-roggers good time with an adjecent english teacher; in which we through back "witty" retorts to one another in a ballet that seemed simply hysterical to use and simply 'eh?' to everyone else. Sunday ' didn't talk to a living soul; a task that is not only possible in Japan, but most difficult to avoid. The Japanese people don't just meet with others for the pure and simple joy of meeting people; there must be some outside, logical, entirely planned out, and mathematically correct reason for the bodies to meet in moving space. Oh it's exhausting. How ' yearn for the hours in the Mizzy in which ' could merely ring matt or katy up and meet in some place with no intentions whatsoever; then we called it boredome but now ' know the truth.

For Christmas ' received a small package from my Japanese counterpart Tomokomai containing a pair of Simpson's Christmas themed boxers; every jews wish in life. ' promptly slapped them on and began to recreate such classic scenes as found in Tom Cruise's 'Risky Bussiness'. However, due to the sparcity of room and cleared floor space in my apartment the rather provacitive dance was cut short by a rice cooker and large china case fully loaded. On Christmas morning I nursed my hangover...

Friday, December 24, 2004

oh yes and I'm just diing to finish that book on zombies

Tonight I have to go to a Christmas party where all the latest fashions will be there munching little snowman shaped cookies and talking about "oh this and that" and I'll simply be all in circles laughing my little coattails off. I've come to find fabric and things associated with it quite hallarious and everytime I fabricate something I can't help but ooze out ill-intention -esque laughter that tends to send my causerie cohort into a rapid-heart uneasiness. I don't mean to scoff but...

I played santa for a dump-truck full of eager-eyed Japanese kindergarteners the other day. Never did Santa look so emaciated; the Long Jonh Silver beard (remenant of the kind worn by Jews during the Spanish Enquisition) certainly didn't help either in lending me that jolly bowl full of jelly mystique so famouse with Father Chrismas. I'm sure my sarcasm didn't help either. But none the less we danced in circles and handed out gifts in a Russian-bread-line fashion and I patted each one on the head and said merry Christmas and other such nonesense phrases that didn't matter a peach because the poor little darlin's didn't speak a word of English. Sure were cute though.

This weekend: I send B-day wishes to my Spanks and wish her happy Aspen tredding; and I vow to finish that part where the salesmen melts and when Xavier gets scared while peeing...oh yes and I'm just diing to finish that book on zombies...

Tuesday, December 21, 2004

When Daddy came home and smelled of perfume

Well kiddies it's taken some time; five pages of kanji paper; and two earthquakes to jostle me back into the mode of writing. And even still I feel it's all falsifing; I mean where's the flavor and pleasure of it all? Perhaps I left it in my glove box? Oh not not there, that's just ridiculous; why they'd ridicule me, tar and feather me...goodness no I can have none of that.

So I sat in my leather armchair clad in a wet towel and not quite rinsed hair and I said to myselfy, or more to a point just above my left knee: "it's all a lie, you're just a sham and no matter how hard you scrub and no matter how many bottles of Herbal Essence Shampoo you go through-you're still a filthy liar." This, however, I think is a process that all great writers must go through...so then the question is why am I going through it. The other day I told two starving children that if they didn't get their sorry asses off my humvey I'd rip off their nipples with a pair of pliars and use them to poke out their eyes. Oh but it's all a lie! I don't have any pliars! Just a spatula and a flatiron..and what to do with those!

But, back to the towel scene, eventually I rose to certain occasions and blocked out in magic marger on the side of a McDonald's bag "No one will know my secrets!" Don't you like how decisive I've become. I think it's rather dashing.