Oldcoffee

...

2005-12-17T02:09:00.000+09:00

Finals are finished! Time to kick off the flip-flops and put on some fuckin' socks.

and see if you come out pregnant...

2005-11-30T07:55:00.000+09:00

So about the bodacious licker, it's not mine, mine's much longer and greater in horrification, but it does drip with something that's been prevalent in my life lately...Saliva. A few weeks back, during fit involving how cruel women are, a friend of mine and myself partook in an epic scribing of our bodies. While we did end-up as thickly tattooed as an aboriginal tribe during war-season (do aborigines tattoo, or is that just something i read in a bathroom stallか) the marks significant to this entry were the two kanji I got on the back of corresponding elbows; 唾液　＆　愛液 (correspondingly Spit and Sperm); and it seems the spit has stuck with me ever since.

Last Friday, just a stone toss after Thanksgiving, by ten o'clock I found myself thoroughly mucoused with my friend 琢哉's spit. What had started off as an innocent naked-off, accelerated into an all out saliva face-off. The guy fuckin' licked my eye! It was instigated by Tayli, (she has this thing about two guys doin' it with each other, she's like a frat boy). In the end it became a barbarous competition of grossness to see who could accomplish the most shameful deed that would send the other into tears of uckiness. i think i won on account of making 琢哉 vomit a little; but he seems to think otherwise. It was a tornado of tongues and a frenzy of mandible fluid...our tongues touched twice!

My group is heavily seeped in saliva. If one of us were to have mono we’d all have mono.

While lounging upside-down on my orange shag rug, my friend Kawate and i discussed the iroirona purposes and meanings of printing the words "spit and sperm" on my elbow. "Perhaps", she suggests, "it relates back to that old wives tale that spit is a spermicide." "What," my witty response, "spit's a spermicide?" Here response, "Well i don't know Tom, why don't you give yourself a blow job and see if you come out pregnant..."

mind, soul, and hoodledoodle...

2005-11-20T08:50:00.000+09:00

Okay, I just think it's very important to note that the very night I wrote the previous entery about throwing up into my hands, I did in fact through up. Sadly, not into my hands (lord knows I would have been too drunk to catch it) but nonetheless partial digestion did spew for from my talk box that evening. Was it the result of the not so massive amount of alcohol I consumed that night? Or perhaps some upsetting inner hoodledoodle that was tapped and, do to my weakened state, could not be properly controlled? This, kids, is the mysertious, complecated and deep (like cavern) inner workings of my mind, soul, and hoodledoodle...

That's what commitment does to me you know, hand vomit...

2005-11-18T18:09:00.000+09:00

so I'm living with this little Japanese thing we'll call Mimi (and we do) and here's the dropping box around that nonesense...we're dating now. Within the past four days I have: discovered her attraction to me (once agian obvious to all but meself), begun dating her, broken up with her, and taken up dating her once again (apparently on a much more "Serious level"). The break up was a result of a certain incident that we'll code name the "Threesome" that happened during an alcoholic intoxication spin whilst her twenty-first birthday was put on. Whoa, and did that noise come out of no where. Have you ever just wondered how far you can take something and just pushed it and pushed it and pushed.

So there's this chick, we'll call her Tayli, for she is but an exact female version of me. Apparently, as proven by our astounding teamwork Tuesday night, we think on the same sexual mind level. We also carry a same style in clothing, plus she has curly hair and I'm jewish; it's like a living mirror! I like to call her the naked instigator. Last Friday we flew up to the local hotsprings just across the way in "Idahoe"; a clothing's opinion location that Tayli took strong advantage of. So this noise, all this nonesense with Mimi, started off with a bang of naked; suddenly I was haning out with six of my good friends, naked, and then dating and living with one. I'm married. Not that I'm blaming that on Tayli, just the naked...the naked is totally her fault.

So I've once again (if you count that other Japanese gf I fucked up with) found myself in a relationship. I can't even put parenthesis around the word because it's so true. I hate commitment and I don't know how I found this muddy hole but I'm worried i'm just gonna end up vomiting in my hands. That's what commitment does to me you know, hand vomit...

and when he eats it reminds me of sodomy...

2005-11-11T18:09:00.000+09:00

So i feel like perhaps i lost a bet or made some ridiculous promise that i'm not really expected to keep...but i just must write something here. It's been long, and albeit, i'm a horrible father, the kind that beats and hides children in the dishwasher, or perhaps watches hour after hour of Wheel Of Fortune, only to make obscene comments about Mrs. White. Such ramble such rucus, why even continue. And yet I digress?

so now i live with this little japanese thing and we've taken to writing this and that upon or bread boxes (that's slang for 'stomach', I've been teaching my little Japanese thing ebonics...) We live below this german couple who just throws corn at us, and our landlord as the fuckrock awesome wig that looks like it was snatched from an Elvis wax, powdered and placed lightly upon his skull. He rocks out in his garage with his surround sound stereo system to Johnny Cash. We get along fine.

An Ass teaches my Japanese class. And he is, in fact, an actual disembodied ass. He floats up there in front of the class, no legs you know, and just talks shit out his face...his assface. He's from "Yale" and he's Emersonian and when he eats it reminds me of sodomy...

｡｡｡

2005-08-06T04:11:00.000+09:00

let me try my hand in some 日本語で歌詞を書く事…
珍紛漢紛乎？当然！
墨

真っ灰色の空で墨の蝶
蝶を濛々と飛ぶつつ、朝
朝暮暮じっと働かぬ。そのま
まで墨の蝶々は全身全霊で活きなくて死なぬの。

無意味の画像が自分の脳の
中に工夫で喰っているん。黙
黙な構想に用いられている
沈思黙考…墨の蝶々

真っ灰色の薄墨に黒鳥、
弔慰表す後で、潮
位に溺れせられる。そのま
まで虚偽の黒鳥は優柔不断に活きなくて死なぬの

ナンセンスは自分の脳の
中に飛び飛びに飛び交ってる
縷々と悟るつつ、判られぬの
国風白雨…墨の蝶々

黒々（の）
葉っぱで
蝶々（が）
存在する

乎？判らない。何も特定
可能に成らぬ。自分の脳の
中にナンセンスの蝶々は
自分の平凡で飛び飛びに飛ぶの

真っ灰色の構想の中に…

fuck that noise indeed...

2005-07-27T12:37:00.000+09:00

Let me just vent for a second, okay. What the fuck?! Who do these big shot coffee shop conglomerates think their are?! Like their on like their fuckin' high ponies all fuckin' like "Yes yes Thomas, of course we won't hire you...so fuck off." I'm a perfectly fucking hireable human being for christs fucking sake; and yet here I have some bitch pick her teeth at me and be all like "Yeah, the managers will give you a call...if they want to." Whoa, shitfaced! How the fuck did that slut of a blond cum mop acquire a job while I can't even get an ass glance backwards. Fuck that noise; fuck that noise indeed...

Yeah, ethnic cleansing; it's so glamorous...

2005-07-23T03:34:00.000+09:00

My ass fucking hurts. I've finally gotten myself back into the transprotation mode after about a two week hiatus during which I was forced to, get this, walk everywhere I wanted to go. There is nothing pleasant about walking through a town permanently "underconstruction". Sure, in nature where everything is pretty and bears eat honeycombs a walk is an event to pencil in...but there are no delieghtful sparrows eating berries in this town. All the berries are covered in construction dust and the sparrows are chain smokers. It's a filthy habit you know.

So Daidai fucked up my car. Let me explain Daidai, if a may, for just a bit here. I met Daidai through my other Japanese friend most commonly referred to as "The Look". The Look and Daidai are connected by a thin strand that is their Japanese ethinicity...and now me. Other then that nothing is in common. Daidai was drawn in under the pretense that he would be helping out Daisy and myself with our television show; a find for us because it turns out Daidai, in fact, has no inhabitions whatsoever. It took slim to no convincing to get him naked in that elavator and a tiny incident with a bottle of ketchup to ease him into the idea of doing a make-out music video with me. Daidai is easy like Tuesday's with Morrey. Fuck, I hadn't even known him for five days and he already found his way into my bedroom naked with a toaster propped on his crotch and being videotapped by my bisexual friend. A-h, we call it the house of sin...

So he's about as loose in the brain as he is in the belt. Not to be mistooken here is the fact that I love Daidai; he's a great guy and a total hoot to hangout with...and he's a schmuck. But we all are so there's no shame. So anyway me and Daidai had the worst camping trip ever. Get this kids, we drive (on a whim mind you) eleven miles up a dirt road up to Blue Mountain to frolic in the people-free bear-cub-eatin'-honeycombs backcountry; where we planned to set up camp and drink heavily. It was to be one of those "best camping trip ever"s; you know, the kind you don't remember. OH but I do remember, with a bitter vengence.

About ten minutes into the trip; after unloading most-if-not-all the supplies Daidai snaps my car key in the car door trying to unluck, mind you, an already unlocked door. There is no spare, I don't keep spares, I'm a dangerous fucking man. So I call up the Pa for a return ride (add curse words to taste) and we repack the car; down the trecherous side hill over the forest and through the woods; we repack the car. The Pa shows up...at about ten thirty as we've already goten quite on in the trip and it is aboot a fourty minute drive up the dirt road thank you very much...to inform us that is is too late (he thinks) for a tow truck. I, being a lover of sparrows eating berries, volunteered the idea that we just stay the night as we were already set up for camping. The Pa leaves and we are officially stranded. Yet again we unpack the car.

From then on we rapidly spun downhill in a vast arsenal of humilities; in the darkness we couldn't properly set up our tent so ended up slumbering on tortoise-esque rocks in a collapsing tent which, thanks to a smashing packing job by my dearest brother, didn't seem to come with any stakes to hold it down. In the end I managed to fish an old knife block out of the abyss of my vehicle and used the knives in it's cockles to hold down the flapping nylon flesh that did cover us from the mosquitos. We forgot matches. Our meat was melting fast as it was eleven thirty by now, and in some sad act of desperation be began banging rocks over the propane stove. Doesn't work.

Finally our better human instincts kicked in and we gave up; oppting to waste the night away drinking cheap beer and eating our breakfast pop-tarts while discussing crazy women and their craziness. Later on we tended to roll up in sleeping bags and mimic the act of sleep but thanks to mother nature's cold exterior and our dilapidated tent slapping back and forth in the summer's cool breeze, all we could really do is kick and mutter a few benign swear words. Nothing about it was a bonding experience.

And is the car but fixed yet? Nay good servant; it still lay torpid at my parents house, it's bowels bloated with unfinished cans of beer...or those finished but yet recycled. After returning home both my bicycles promptly got flat tires temporarily stranding my in my slightly out of the way crack house for the past week and a half. And but recently have I gathered the strength to tackle the travail down to the bike shop for a new tube. Oh why must life be so cruel to me. Why couldn't g_d have treated me with a better life...like being born in Rwanda. Yeah, ethnic cleansing; it's so glamorous...

gliding across couches and throwing tofu in heaven...

2005-07-01T12:26:00.000+09:00

I took a hike up blue mountain today during the oh so fun tick season. Nothing compliments a brisk hike like standing naked in your room patheitcally angleling a large catalogue of mirrors to firmly establish whether or not those little flax-flat sons of fun-fun have infultrated your swimsuit area. What was I doing rampaging around the beautiful mountain-tops waving a steak in the face of lime desease? I killed my sugarglider. Yes kids not even a week and that furry skinflap of cutness is stiff and buried on the needled peeks of the local frisbee-golf course. This confirms my previous suspicions that I am, in fact, a horrible person.

For those of you whom aren't in the "let's do something retarded" know; sugargliders are this little bitch of a rodent from Australia with parachute-esque skin stretching from the tips of their front paws to their hind legs. When frightened or after spotting tin-foil; they fall from high places and use their malformation to safely glide them to the ground. Gods way of helping out the freaks...they can fly. When looked at late at night, and while a little drunk, you can see Lucifer himself reflected in their pupilless eyes.

So I got them, for free, with intentions heavily peppered with the phrase "dark minions"; but the whole thing went down hill and now one is dead. I can't, for the life of me, figure out why he died except for maybe he fell from the top of the cage and gave himself some serious gravity damage. But shouldn't they glide in that sort of a situation?

Well I woke up this morning to the dead stiff mammal in its cage, sporting no blood or cause of death anywhere. Secrectly I have a theory that the other sugar glider did it...but it might be just because I hate her filthy soul-stealing guts.

So here's to you Chichikichii, may you be gliding across couches and throwing tofu in heaven...

I should probably stop dressing like a I grow marijuana in a kiddie pool out back...

2005-06-27T06:37:00.000+09:00

I recently received an e-mail from one of my bousom buddies back in the ol' Japan declaring in confused english "why do you meet so many weird people". This came to clarification as I was writting her response, mulling over the happenings of the past few days, and considering other topics I had discussed with her; and, in turn, putting the two together. Due to my shaky blogging track record the reader (if one does exist) may not be aware of just how many cocktail looloos tend to flock around this mighty city of Mizzykoto; it can turn into quite the horde.

Yesterday I took my Japanese speaking partner, whom herebye shall be known as "The Look" due to the swollen lexicon of expressions she can whip out at a moments oddity, to her first concert in the Mizzykoto. I hoped to impress The Look with our wide, diverse range of music and undiscovered talents that surreptitiously dodge about our local alleys and clubs entertaining clapping drunks and baked college students for wages barely enough to skin a cat. Something bohemian. And what did I get? A guy in a one-peice bathing suit (blue with a pale strip) singing (badly) to a recorded karaoke cassette that was most likely assembled on a bet; something I beleive that also played a major role in the choice of apparel. Half way through the exhibition, about five minutes after the ambulance of drunken artists drove by and a little before someone was nailed in the face with a jelly-donut, our faithful performer enhanced the "show" with his magician side by mystically transforming his one peice women's bathing suit into a speedo and thus being able to gingerly keep the beat with his graciously forested man-breasts. The Look however missed that particular display having ducked out earlier for a man-in-a-one-peice smoke. God bless her innocence saving cylinders of death.

Another encounter that sparked my friends comment occured last Thursday as Matt and myself were out about on the streets, probably up to no good and not doing a very good job of it; when from around the corner appeared a lovely redhaird man in tiny-tiny pigtails singing a deleightful diddy about how he's "going to get laid". From his rapidly oscillating voice and his "what is he tripping over" manner of walking one could tell that he was not just high on life. He asked us if we had a lighter, and once denied he asked if he we had marijuana of any sorts. We assured him of none and, after repeating the question and answer three or four more times, he left merrily on his way.

However that was not to be our last encounter with the dope-sprite.

While Matt parked his car, I proceeded down to the local park where some hoo-ha was to go down that night, and took up rest on a picnic table atop a hill. With my hands on my chest, laying down on the table's seat, my partial sleep was disturbed by a loud "ufph" which I took to be Matt attempting to call my name only to give up half way. My Mathew suspicions were confirmed when I heard him approach and mount the picnic table I was resting on. Thinking I should make conversation, I opened my eyes to check his position only to find my face being stradled our pixie of the pixie dust as he slowly lowered his worn jean crotch closer and closer to my mouth. I did scream, and spring forward in crotch-related panic; which apparently frightened the poor creature as he exclaimed "Dude you almost ate my crotch!" his voice still shaking like a vibrator wielded by a sufferer of Parkinson's disease.

He then sat cross legged atop the table and proceded to tell us his background. "I'm a hitchhiker man...I freak people out with my crotch!" I later found out from Mathew that the loud escape of air I heard earlier was him being gunnysack from behind by Jimminy Crackit before being asked, yet again, if he had any drugs to sell. We "conversed" with the young user for a little longer before a loud noise distracted him and sent him running of into new adventures and new straddlable faces.

I used to think they came to me because I hung out with those big breasted women. But now that it's just me and Matt (whose breasts, while appealing, are no towering structures of Babylon) I have to put a new hypothesis into play. Perhaps it's the clothes. I should probably stop dressing like a I grow marijuana in a kiddie pool out back...

自動ドアが私の為に開いてくれる

2005-06-20T07:00:00.000+09:00

For my own simple pleasure (can you tell I'm presently unemployed) I've translated the lyrics from the previous song for the Japanese impared. Please be aware of the fact that this is a highly flawed document!, and when entirely unaware of the actual meaning of the lyrics I just made stuff up. (the bold corresponds to what is written, in Japanese, in the 'about me' section of my profile)

Convenience Store
by
Breif and Trunks
translated by
Thomas Renroh

Well, since the parents are asleep, I’ve gotta do-anything-free-ride. So what do?
Middle of the night, friends is asleep and, the television is already scrambled
That’s that, I wonder if we should go to a convenience store?

Twenty-four hours (convenience store)
Seven days a week (convenience store)
Security camera (convenience store)
Would you like that heated up? (convenience store)
Hang-out of the good-for-nothings (loitering in the entrance way)
Rarely having any fear (loitering in the entrance way)
Why you could even call out (Hey there pretty lady!)
What is it? (no bra today?)

Well, if I go beyond the delinquents, the automatic door opens for me.
With big buddy reading his porn, after I choose and magazine and read
Didn’t really come to buy something, nonetheless, I’ll peruse the aisles

Twenty-four hours (convenience store)
Seven days a week (convenience store)
Public service fees (convenience store)
Hurry up and make the copy! (convenience store)
A taciturn part-time job (nothing but a blank expression)
Me without any make-up (without drawing on my eyebrows)
I’ll have a bean paste bun (suppressing urge to kill)
Well then, meat bun’s fine too (will that be everything?)

Now the way to hand a small amount of change
Use the palm of my hand and place the coins on the receipt to hold it down
I put it all inside the wallet. You’ve fairly pissed me off.
As for then, from me, too, you shall receive retaliation!

I’ll have the lunch box (What would you like in it?)
Well uh, well uh (what would you like in it?)
Well uh, well uh (The registers getting crowded)
Well uh, well uh (hurry up and decide)
I’ll have an egg please (that’s one egg)
I’ll have an egg please (that’s two eggs)
I’ll have an egg please (that’s three eggs)
That’ll do for now (you’re only getting eggs?)
Smothered in tempura sauce (Is that everything?)
And how much is that (two-hundred and twenty yen)
Can you break a ten-thousand bill? (I don’t have change for that!)
Can you break a ten-thousand bill? (I don’t have change for that!)
Soak it in mustard would ya. (Is that everything?)
I won’t be needing the receipt (quit pestering me)
Can I use the toilet (we don’t have one here)
Well where the hell do you go? (I give up.)

While doing our pointless stuffs, the night conveys that it’s already over; and the rooster crows.
If we don’t return before the parents wake, there will be hell to pay
I wonder, why don’t we come to the convenience store once again tonight!?Let’s go to convenience store!

コンビニエンスストア！

2005-06-17T04:05:00.000+09:00

Learn the origin of my 'about me' profile. Observe the bold...

コンビニ
ブリーフ＆トランクス

さあ親が寝たから、何でもやりたい放題よ！何をしよう？
夜中じゃ友達寝ているし、テレビもすでに砂嵐
そうだわ！コンビニ行こうかな！
二十四時間　（コンビニエンスストア）
年中無休の　（コンビニエンスストア）
防犯カメラ　（コンビニエンスストア）
こちら温めますか？　（コンビニエンスストア）
不良のたまり場　（入口でたむろ）
怖く入りにくい　（入口でたむろ）
声かけられた！　（そこのおねーちゃん）
何ですか？　（ノーブラですか？）

さあ、不良を過ぎれば自動ドアが私の為に開いてくれる
エロ本読んでいるオヤジとならんで雑誌読んでから
何を買いに来てわけじゃないけど買い物探す

二十四時間　（コンビニエンスストア）
年中無休の　（コンビニエンスストア）
公共料金　（コンビニエンスストア）
コピー早くしてよ！　（コンビニエンスストア）
無口のアルバイト　（しかも無表情）
私はすっぴん　（眉毛もかかずに）
あんまんください　（ちょうどキレてます）
じゃあ肉まんでいいわ　（かしこまりました）

ちょっとおつりの渡し方！
私の手の平勝手に使い　小銭をぶんちん代わりにレシート置くな！
財布に入れいくいのよ！　ちょっとムカッとしちゃうのよ！
そんな時は私からも仕返しするの！

おでんください　（何にしますか？）
えーと、えーと　（何にしますか？）
えーと、えーと　（レジが混んできた）
えーと、えーと　（早く決めてくれ）
たまごください　（たまごひとつ）
たもごください　（たまごふたつ）
たまごください　（たまごみっつ）
以上でいいわ　（たまごでけですか？）
おつゆ多めに　（かしこまりました）
おいくらですか？　（二百二十円です）
一万円から？　（小銭はねーのかよ！）
一万円から？　（小銭はねーのかよ！）
からしつけてよ　（かしこまりました）
レシートいらないわ　（いちいちうれせーな）
トイレ貸してよ　（うちにはありません）
あなたはどこでするのよ？　（負けました）

なんでことしてるうちに夜はもう終わりを告げて鶏も鳴く
親が起きる前にお家に帰らなきゃヤバイ
今夜もまたコンビニ来ようかな

Let’s go to コンビニエンスストア

but what tiny babies!...

2005-06-15T03:57:00.000+09:00

And so it has begun. After countless Sunday paper rummaging and selling myself on the internet as a sexually active eleven-year old, I've finally found myself a place to stay for the remaining year in the home country. And what a house it will be. My happy little abode sports an array of four bedrooms and two bathrooms; one of which, however, that does not sport a light. Not merely a light bulb, but no light fixture whatsoever in which to place a light bulb. Peeing in the dark has greatly improved my aim. The hallway is littered with beer cans and when I first showed up my roommate introduced the house by proclaiming "Let me tell you this first; we smoke marijuana". Well bless my midwife heart, I don't believe it.

My roommates, as of now only two, are Billie...the stoner business major whom I've seen fully clothed only once when I first went to check the place out. Since then he seems to prefer boxers or bath towel. And Sue, the recently 'out'ed lesbian with what could be considered a drinking problem. Both lovely people, I assure you, and I am entirely looking forward to charming games of scrabble we'll play in front of the fireplace every Thursday night; as I'm sure it's standard procedure in the house.

And then there are the tiny doors. My room, actually, sports two tiny doors, as well as the adjacent un-occupied bedroom. Our lightless bathroom has but one tiny door stuffed with insulator. The tiny doors are about six inches by two inches and are...doors. Doors that lead to the outside of the house. Billie explains to me that they are for hiding babies; but what tiny babies!...

Well then...

2005-06-08T08:44:00.000+09:00

It's finished. The Japanese Thomas you once knew is now dead and lost...I morne. さぁ、Missoulaに帰っちゃったよ。気持ち悪いんだ。故郷はどう？じゃ、まだ親と一緒に住んでいるし、まだおらの友達は他の街の大学に居るんだし、まだおらは時々日本語で云うし、まだおらの脳は何も判りません。嗚呼！店か何処へでも行く時、何か買う時、まだ日本語の言葉を使います。まだ『お願いします』とか『済みません』と云っているんだ。狂っていると思う。でも善い事が有る。久しぶり友達と会ゑました。自分の先生の演劇に行った時、友人と不意に遭ったんだ！予定じゃなかった。勿論喫茶店へ行って、一杯喋った。友はNepalに行ったらしいです。格好ゐゐですね。死んだ人を見る事が出来たんだ！嘘じゃない！おらは日本に居る内に死んだ人と全然見なかった。大体酔っ払っちゃった人を見たんけど…

I went to my cousins wedding this weekend. Fairly beautiful ceremony. You know, you got the nice wind and the flower in her hair; and that dress that shows them legs that go all the way up to yah yah land. I got to mingle with my cousins, order them around, and drink heavily...with my family...prompted by my grandfather. My grandfather's reasoning for allowing his underaged grandson to consume mass amounts of hops fuzz....??

This would be; having never really been a past boozer...in the past, my first big American drinking party. Sure I'd been to plenty of Japanese drinking parties, but it turns out the two differe in a very crucial way. The story echoes as follows:

I was destined to stay at my cousin's wife's mother's house (herebye to be known as the CWF). My choice of residency was based on the CWF's wide collection of alcohol, usually kept in a troft, and the hottenanny (if that is a word) parties that were carried out the two nights of the wedding. My sleeping place of choice, the downstairs couch. So come the second night, after the ties been knotted and the bride and groom are off frolicking in their crapulence at some dirty Motel Eight across the street; the friends and family (mostly friends) threw a little celebration in CWF's garage. I was most certainly not going to mis out; what with drinking permission from my grandfather I was free to dim the lights and press ice bags against my forhead the next morning without worry of those parental accusations such as "have you been drinking Thomas?" or "You've been drinking Thomas". Nope, I had a ticket to ride.

And I did drink...without issue actaully because American beer seems to be much lighter than Japanese beer; which leads one to wonder 'perhaps Japanese can take their beer a lot better then American's can and perhaps the whole stereotype is....

Well I've gotten tired of typing. To make a long story short I caught some kids having sex next to my bed which prevented me from sleeping there. Well then...

ソシテ…ほら！お兄ちゃん！新しいブログだ！なんで？ソシテ使い方は？説明して。ソシテ…元気かい？

Damn you world dominating corporations, damn you...

2005-06-01T04:18:00.000+09:00

It's horrible Alice, oh really it is. I've finally returned to the land of the brave and the free and it's just too gruesome to bare. All the shower heads are firmly attached to the walls and people daily make use of fork and spoon. I can understand all the conversations going on around me and it's simply driving me mad! It's undigestible; I fear I'm going to throw up in some Wal-mart parking lot.

I made it back to the Red White and Blue last ?Sunday?; a fresh and easy fifteen hours earlier than my friends expected me to arrive. So, sadly, there were no curvise bouncing breasts waiting for me after I exited the two hours of customs I had to endure to return and be reabsorbed into the fruited planes. Apparently with out proof of my teaching job in Japan...I'm a terrorist. So after being released I had to retreive my luggage, make change, and phone my still sleeping friends to inform them of my arrival. While the ladies trip to the airport is not entirely clear to me; I hear it involved a lot of panicked phone calls and pulling dames through windows. Oh see what they do for me! And you Alice, you do nothing.

In Seattle (I'm in Seattle) I've just been, as previously predicted, lost. I can't yet order things for myself and instictively bow whenever I get the chance. I have become seriously creeped out by all the blonde people. Albeit I myself am blonde; but I rarely saw twenty of myselves marching through the English advertised streets with smaller versions of me on their shoulders carrying balloons which would probably be blonde if god had given them the gift of hair. And what is the gift of hair?

I've been readjusting to America through telelvision programming such as "Saved by the Bell". I find the earlier years, when they're still in middle-school, remind me greatly of Japan and I thus become emotionally unstable and cry anytime something negative happens to Screech. Poor Screech; you know if you really pay attention to his voice it seems he's gotten screechier over the years...like reverse puberty. Only in America would they make a poor middle-school student go through reverse puberty. Damn you world dominating corporations, damn you...

What about you kiddies...

2005-05-28T22:35:00.000+09:00

I made it to big ol'Tokyo, only getting in one fight with an old man at that (it was, of course, over luggage; isn't it always over luggage). And just what is Tokyo in my eyes? Tokyo is fifteen percent shopping centers, fifteen percent dirty old men and seventy percent train. While exploring the pidgeon bred streets around my hotel the other day I actually did come upon what could be healthily dubbed "dirty old man street". And any person whom walks its pathways would not doubt the name for a second. It was covered with dirty old men, drinking dirty old beers and laughing dirty old laughs while scratching themselves in dirty old places. Albeit there were dirty old women too; but they were clearly only there for the dirty old men to oogle at. Dirty old man street is filled with dirty old man shops selling dirty old man clothes; every peice of which is plaid and comes in a shirt and pants set. There is a permanent smeel of tabacco and tooth decay...or maybe it was urine. There were even dirty old men sleeping in dirty old sleeping bags on the dirty old streets. Whoa I zipped out of there right fast.

And back to my hotel. My hotel is drenched in foreigners. They're everywhere. There's nothing more creepier than a foreigner in Japan. Truth yes, I am in fact a foreigner in Japan but still...I'll admit I tend to cross to the other side of the street when I see a gaijin walking my way. I mean come on, what the fuck is a foreigner doing in Japan? You know it's gotta be something shady. So there must be a lot of shaddy things going on in this hotel. Actually if you go to the hotel's website it has a warning stating that said place may not be appropriate for children under fourteen. Shady.

Tokyo, I've done nothing. Perhaps I've partook in endless searches for gifts for loved ones; but that takes such time! So I haven't really been to any of the fantastic places, i.e. Mt. Fuji sama, that fine Tokyo has to offer. Well that is if you don't count old man street.

Actually the other day I pulled my testicles up and gave a call to an old friend of mine whom recently moved to Tokyo. We wined and dined and contemplated the dramatic philosophy behind Miss Congeniality. I tried to explain to him, in Japanese, that just because I thought Sandra Bullock was pretty did not necessarily mean I wanted to screw her. Apparently it's all the same word in Japanese. Today he took me to Asakusa (or something like that) with a giant pagoda *pyuew* stickin' write up in the air next to an oh so fancy temple. The pagoda, naturally, was a product of the seventies. I spent the day dropping things; which ended with the grand upsetting of our lunch pizza. Once again I have let gravity take hold of my food stuffs and once again the Japanese have repaid me with free food(recall the great coffee spill at Starbucks some last month ago). I'm gonna miss getting free stuff because I'm fatastically foreign.

After it all I scopped out this spankin' university I want to attend next year. It's about the siz of a baby's rattle and yet I managed to get myself all mixed up while triing to find the ingeniusly named "Building number three". Somehow I ended up in the underground parking garage and it's a miracle I wasn't eaten by subterranean cannibles.
What luck.

Tommorow I shupatsu, and !bam! land in Seatle, a flash-in-the-pan thirteen hours later. I know I'm excited for the non-stop plane fun I've got lined up. What about you kiddies...

I'm gonna be so lost...

2005-05-22T12:32:00.000+09:00

After a years usage on foreign software, my blog settings have finally switched themselves entirely over to the other side that is Japanese. What does this mean for my future? When I return to the homeland not a word I will be able to read. And what poised timing my blog has, completely converting itself just one week before I return. Sometimes I think, when I'm not looking, my blog makes fun of me behind my back. It keeps me awake at night.

I have, officially, entered my last week in Japan. Thursday I shove off for the sunny shores of Tokyo where I will proceed to longe around like so many dead bluejays smeared across a car windsheild. Before, long before, I had graduerous ideas of wasting my youth away in the apple pie of clubs and bars that cools on Tokyo's window sill; but the past two weeks have just been too much for pie. All I want to do is sip water through a bendy straw.

With good-bye parties, packing (which is a lie because I haven't packed yet) and general farwell gifts for all I've lost time for those simple things like sleep and sipping water through a bendy straw. So I'm quite determined that Tokyo will be just this indistinguishable blur in my memory. But then next is Seattle, and who knows what kinda shit I could do there!

During the final week in a foreign country, the first foreign country, a year long first foreign country with inaccessible toilets, I find myself enthrauled in deep contemplation over this and that; generally meaning I spend most of my time staring off into space while not packing and probably eating donuts. I've consumed a lot of donuts lately. Not wanting to stock up my fridge with food that I don't have time to eat, also a lie because my fridge was never properly stocked except for two weeks in October, I've resorted to eating out everyday. And for some reason all my resorts resort to Mister Donuts; where, for inexplicable reasons, I eat nothing but donuts. And awe at my ability to loose weight during such expanses.

But Japan was more than donuts wasn't it? As my last blog in the land of the rising sun and blured out genitals I feel like I should have something deep, you know really deep, to say about my...awesome experiences here. You know, something like 'eat peas with honey becuase they stick to the knife that way' or 'tax refund forms here'. And I do, actually, have lots to say. But I'm quite certain it would simply bore you all, and that's the last thing I want to do. Besides we should be focusing on the future. The future baby, the land of our grandchildren.

So where are my grandchildren living? Well after the ambiguous outing in Tokyo I bear a twelve hour flight to return to my loving friends and a family in Seattle. I have a pair of fairly nice sized breasts waiting for me at the airport ready to suck me in with their welcome home love. Japan doesn't have cleavage. If you have cleavage you're shot immediately. In Seattle I will travail for who knows how long, dabbling in this and that and soaking up American culture once again, while crying into my pillow every night for the sweet cuppable breasts of Japan. I plan it to be a very rough transition during which I will lose my faith in Santa Claus.

Then I return to the real hometown where the real family leaves in a real house with two trees and a dog. There I'll kick stones across the street, reminise about the old days with my long forgotten friends, and cry into my pillow every night for blah blah blah. Then comes the end of month the sixth whence I shove off to boyscout camp to affect those young at heart with my...'gay influence'. After that who knows...by which I mean I'll go back to college. Hooplah.

OH but back to Japan, isn't there more I want to write about. More stuff I want to eagerly conveye to the threesome out there that lives on my every word (and I know you do, no use being shy). I'm sure I'll conveye said memories in somehow; lord knows I've got enough naked hotspring stories to go around the table. I'll find some literary skillful means, as I have been so obvious graced with said power, to sneak them into later enteries. Probably powerfully envoking the flashback method.

So here I go, back to the homeland. Back to a country and culture that has advanced three hundred and sixty-five days without me. Back to old friends whom have made new friends and have had new experiences, all of which don't involve me. Back to cars on the right and periods on the left. ugh, I'm gonna be so lost...

Should food meant to be choked on not be given to the starving...

2005-05-18T16:03:00.000+09:00

As I enter my last week of school in Japan I am systematically flooded with farwell parties to the point that they have become a broad contemplation of my inner psyche. The true purpouse of a farwell party, I'm assuming, is something to portray to the leavie that those being leaved appreciated said leavers previous existence. It's nice. And despite the monatany and 長々speeches I often get wrapped in, and most always can never understand; I really do appreciate those done with said description in mind. But it seems in Japan that farwell parties tend to be more of a formality than anything else; more something they can use to stay at par with other people so they don't become 'those who didith not the departure garthering'. From this I've discovered a missplaced farwell party can be really weird.

Let's try some 'this porridge is too hot' contrastations...first school I really left was 伊達 middle school. My last day at said school was just like every other day; with an ending just as climactic. No speeches, no good lucks, and no 'we'll miss you'. Cold? Not in the least. Actaully it was exactly what I had expected because I never formed a fine and nifty relationship with the rabbit mass of teachers that inhabited such a large school. If there was some sort of departure ceremony I would feel fairly out of place and would probably open my speech with 'who are you people'. Having attended very few in the homeland I'm not exactly an expert on what it's like there, but in Japan farwell parties always include a speech from the farwellie. Lately all my speeches have tended to be connected with food.

However at another school I had formed quite a bond with the students and gun toating teacher and was most pleased when they hurdled their goodbye ceremony at me. While they weren't exactly words of wisdom, I had no difficulty mustering up a speech to bring back old memories about ditching class to read the English at Mister Donuts. Both the non-existent farwell party and the one that actually went seemed very natural and left me with a fine aftertaste for which I could devour the steak of departure.

However my second to last school applied the social situation at 伊達 with the farwell gradure of the other school. The result...a very awkward Thomas looking as if he'd been hit with a sociological frying pan. This school, previously known as the Sunshine Factory, a reference to the utter lack of pleasing faces and joyous voices, was my most hated school. Each morning I was not greated with polished 'good morning's but rather two syllable grunts that I'm sure were meant to be something but lost their effort halfway. This did not upset me entirly other then the fact that I just didn't like going there. I figured all the teachers did despise me. And I despised them. It was our system. Having never heard an encouraging word from them or the students (i.e. won't you eat lunch with us, do let's teach english together, it's nice to meet you) imagine my surprise when all the students gathered in the hall to sing me a rather impressive Japanese song with a meaning I'm sure I missed but must have dealt with leaving in one way or another. These people, whom had given my icey reactions and generally unhappy glances for the past six months, suddenly came rushing up to me and telling me how much they were going to miss me and 'oh won't you eat lunch with us' and 'It's a shame we can't teach English together anymore' and 'it was so nice knowing you'.

Shock.

I had to give a speech to the teachers whom had despised me so and made no attempts to engage me at all; it was supposed to be a happy memory from the school...It seriously consisted of "Thank you very much...good bye". Nothing else. What else could I say? And when walking int he hall the English teacher told me that the students had been practicing their song everyday after school for a month (and it showed) just for me. They were hoping I'd cry...Shock.

So why convey all this? These situations have lead me to my latest contemplation; which is more important, action or intent. While the action of the choir in the hallway was fairly spectacular it still felt cold because they had never made any sort of atempt to communate with me before. Which leads me to wonder if they are really doing it for me or merely because they wanted to raise their status in my mind. Because they want me to think they are the best school. After all if they really did like and appreciate me as much as they proclaimed that sad sad Tuesday afternoon, then they would have been more friendly to me in the past. However just because of that does it mean that all their hard work was for nothing?

This leads to all sorts of card game contemplations; is intent to murder the same as murder, or is it worse? Is shooting a cat for the purpouse of ending its life worse than shooting a cat for no reason at all? If I give my ex-wife's son a toy to make him like me more than her, does that ruin the toy? Should food meant to be choked on not be given to the starving...

Lord knows I don't want little chunks of those in my yogurt.

2005-04-28T14:27:00.000+09:00

The Japan year runs on a different system then the American one. Their year gets out around the end of March and starts up April 1st. There is no three month summer break in Japan. The longest break the kids ever get is a little under a month. Because of this, just last Tuesday I got to meet the new seventh graders (middle school goes seventh, eighth, and ninth grade) of one of my schools. This means more self-introduction time. Self introduction usually involves me going on and on about my fat cat, goldfish (which I rescently got rid of, thank god), and the monstrousity of my family. After the intro shorty follows the question corner where the kids have the chance to show off their English (it's never in English) and pry into my personal life as they hold back the giggles and ask "do you have a girlfriend?"

This time I had a rather interesting student ask me "Do you like bananas?" She asked with the sort of enthusiasm that you don't usually see in 'banana' questions unless there's some joke behind it. "Sure why not, I like all food. Do you like bananas?" The girl leaned against her desk as if to keep herself from exploding; and judging by the volume of her voice, I think somewhere she did. "Oh yeah I love bananas! I'm crazy about them; I eat them everyday for breakfast lunch and dinner. I like banana parfait, banana chips, chocolate covered bananas...that yogurt with the little chunks of bananas in it; I love that. Bananas are awesome!" Sure why not, bananas are awesome. I mean they're definately better than thumb tacks. Lord knows I don't want little chunks of those in my yogurt...

it's like a trashy novel, or sitcom...

2005-04-27T14:00:00.000+09:00

Culture note: In America it is very common for one, when passing with another, to prompt the question "what are you doing" or "what are you up to"; in order start up a conversation. However in Japan it is more concerned with where someone is headed to; "where are you going?" This was often an icebreaker that caught me off guard in my green horn days as a Japan based foreigner. As in:

Where are you goin?"

"Why?"

However the true intention of the speaker is not a destination reconnaissance but rather, you know, just friendly banter like "how's your mom". In China, however, they have a more unique way of starting the train. They prefer to start of with "Have you eaten lately?" This has prompted me and my other food obsessed friend slash present female obsession, to open and hold conversations of the sort:

"Hey Nunu, have you eaten yet?"

"Yeah!"

"Really!, what did you have?!"

"Oh course donuts!"

"REally! Oh my god I love donuts, what kind!"

"Strawberry; the new ones. Have you had?"

"Of course!"

"I love them! What do you eat?!"

"Ramen!"

"GEt out!"

The exclamations and enlarged letters are no exaggeration to the furor of the conversation as we've been known to end up both under and on top of a table when engaging in said conversation. Mind you, most certainly to my regret, there is nothing sexual about these rendezvous'. They are brought on by the pure power of food obsession possessed by those whom can eat and eat and eat and never gain a pound. She's ran red lights simply for the purpose of getting to Mr. Donuts faster. Good lord she is my kind of woman.

I got together with several friends yesterday for one of those "she likes him but we don't know if he likes her so why don't ten of us get together so that she can stare at him from a distance, not talk to him of course, and not get noticed or make it seem weird" parties. One lady had a thing for one guy whom wasn't even there for half the time but...well it was a very Japanese get together in its purpose. Not that I really needed a purpose, but the Japanese generally do need a reason to get together; so that's what we pulled out of our asses. We went bowling in the nearest big town and I was granted the privilege to ride with Nunu; which is covered by my life insurance.

Nunu can reach a certain excitement point about food at which she will forget entirely that she is, in fact, driving on the highway; preferring to release the wheel in order to make broad gestures regarding plates loaded with all types of half dead goodies. While she is sweet and adorable, engaging in conversation, and totally attractive; I do find that I often scream when riding with her. She can be heard saying "Well that was dangerous" and "Good thing I noticed that bend in the road" a good bit during the drive. And sometimes, for lack of a witty phrase to say at those instances of near death, she just hops on the band wagon and screams too. Screaming, I think it's how we bond.

Of course we talked about food (and a little bit about the appropriate places to have sex) on the way to the big city and around it. Our conversation mostly fueled by the up-coming free scoop night at Baskin Robins. Free food just sets our blood going; like crack or economic influenced aphrodisiacs.

The night was capped off with a near-midnight trip to Mister Donuts and my friend backing his car into a tree. I think we saw a shooting star too. Donuts, bowling, automobile tragedy, and fine frisky ladies with a penchant for gorgery; it's like a trashy novel, or a sitcom...

does that mean I'm going to hell...

2005-04-24T11:24:00.000+09:00

Presently I'm in a quaint little FREE internet shop in Sapporo sipping coffee made from beans that were riped from the sweaty hands of children paid three pents an hour to work in alligator infested canyons(てい語ノット；子供の労働について）...sometimes I really do wonder just how concious I am or need to be about the origins of the products I buy and digest（食う）.

Early today, not much earlier as it's still morning, I ventured down to Starbucks for my morning pep（コーヒー） as it is the only place in Japan that serves decent, and I use the word loosely, coffee that isn't above five hundred yen (five bucks). I got one of those mocha lattes and promptly spilt it over half the moss green table and creating a small lake at the base of two chairs and a "swoop" table. I never knew those cups held so much coffee. And do you know what those nice coffee ladies did for me? They cleaned up the mess and gave me a whole new cup for free. Do you see the cognative dissonance; exhausted three year olds dressing alligator wounds...and free coffee.

Well there is actually real cognitive dissonance in my local cranium（自分の脳） lately. I recently got offered a job (offered should be replaced with a more appropriate word) to work at a cub scout camp; something I would be really excited to do. First of all it eliminates three of my main summer problems : job, housing, and food. Not to mention it's entirely in the smelly smelliness of nature（？自然の臭い臭さ？）, and thus no more paper work. Lord knows I've had enough of that office. I'll get to work with kids and shape their little shapable minds so that they can grow up to fly to the moon and fight astro-pirates. I'd love to work there.

But then there's that whole gays in the boys scouts issue. Do I really want to particapate in something with such a ridiculous system. If I join am I just saying to others 'sure, isolate homosexuals; I'm fine with it as long as it gets rid of three of my summer problems'. I mean don't I kinda come off as an ass. 米文化ノットーboy scoutsはゲイ人は入る事が出来ぬルールが有るんです。ゲイ人ならば、boy scout事に参加を出来ぬ。

But really what would not working there do? After all in general~besides the peckers (ちんちんじゃなくて、馬鹿だ） at the top~boyscouts is generally a good program. It teaches kids respect (for heterosexuals), helps them learn various outdoor activities and gives them a good healthy outlet for all that damned energy they have (rather than beating off swarms of crocidiles with a bent nine iron stolen from the chain gang masters precious golf set...at three pents an hour). Besides if I am working there I can help promote a general respect for all peoples. However, if I say I have a boyfriend I get booted like so many boulders from a catapult. And isn't that kinda ridiculous?

Frankly I don't know; and I'm looking at you Joey（Joeyは忠告して欲しい）. As someone who's been fighting the 'man' for so much longer than I have (assuming I'm fighting it now...with my starbucks' mocha) perhaps you can provide some senior insight into my conundrum（問題）. I'll probably take the job...but if I do does that mean I'm going to hell...

兄ィィィィィちゃん!　(_ _)　お願い!

2005-04-23T20:55:00.000+09:00

有り難う御座いました。本当に良い気持ちだよ。おラも詫びたいよぅ。御免なさい！時々おラは己に克つことが出来ぬんだあよ。貴兄は病気ですね…さあ、おラの脳も壊れちゃったよ。そういうわけで、時々可笑しくて悪いものをするんだ。躁鬱病の人だから、時々、急におラはたまらなく元気に成る。そしてそのenergyをcontrol事が出来ぬんだ。興奮しすぎる時、もしハッピーだったら、忌々しく成り、悲しかったら、憂鬱に成り、そして怒ったら、中々危なく成るんだ。確かに難しいですけど、I try and keep it under control. So　おラは忌々しく成る時、『やめて』と云ったら；おラはちゃんとやめる。でも大体貴兄の気持ちが全然判らぬ。貴兄は笑ったけど、実は怒ったんな。おラは日本人じゃないので、日本人の気持ちが判る事が出来ぬ。そいういわけで、兄ちゃんは楽しんでいると思っていました。そして、そういうわけで、その場合時、『やめて』と云わなきゃいけない。判りましたか？言い訳じゃなくて、確かに面倒くさいけど、お願い（＾_＾）オオキニ！

don't shoot I'm human...

2005-04-20T19:09:00.000+09:00

I think I've decided, and I use the term very loosely, to add a Japanese section to blog to advance my learning and further frustrate my readers ('cause there are three) beyond their temperance of already having to follow my slurred nonesense and "what was he thinking" spelling. Now you're all just going to be lost in a different language.

さぁ、僕は自分のブログで時々日本語で書く事に決まったァ。なぜならば、勿論勉強したくて、自分の読者（三人さあ）をイライラしたいん…ですが、本当に何も変わらなかったんだね。僕はいつもちんぷんかんぷんだからです。そして、僕はちんぷんかんぷんを続けるけど、日本語で。

Actually this isn't all so much selfish as it is focused on some one else whom is, in fact, not me. The recent discovery that my Japanese friend and, when inebriated, fiance also has a blog has prompted me to let him in on the loop that is Thom. Or something like that

.実には自分事じゃなくて、友達の為に。最近、僕の友人か、酔っ払う時、フィアンセはブログが有る事を発見するので、彼は自分事を教えてくれる善いかなぁと思っていた…そういうことかもしれなー。

The boys name, or something of the sort, is Oniichan. Well this isn't his real name for, and to those of you whom know me personally this is no surprise, I promptly forgot it upon first meeting him. Japanese names, in my defense, are very hard to remember and frankly aren't all that entertaining to begin with (despite the Austin Powers joke of the Fuku Mi, Fuku Yu twins; neither of which, sadly, I've run into whilst in the land of the rising sun). Upon first meeting the lad in subject I took to calling him Kanada for reasons I can not recall if they did in fact exist. After further getting to know him, I promptly changed it to Oniichan.

其の男子の名前は、名前かな～、お兄ちゃんです。さあ、実に本当名前じゃないけど、最初の会った時、僕は彼の名前をちゃんと忘れちゃったんだ。僕の古い友達にしては吃驚しないのねッ。でも現に日本の名前を覚える事は無理だよ。マジ、出来ぬ。そういう訳で初会談の間、僕は彼をカナダと名づけたん。訳が、訳が有れば、忘れちゃったんだけど、知り合ったから、カナダはお兄ちゃんに成っちゃった。

Oniichan, in japanese お兄ちゃん, means big brother; a role he could easily play as he is older and taller than me. But it also has a hidden meaning. It's a play off the word onanii, japanese for masturbation; for Oniichan has quite the collection of eye-bleeding what-not and has no shame in showing it off to me. He finds it simply hilarious. And I, being twenty, find it simply halarious too. Isn't it nice what kind of things can bring two cultures together.

お兄ちゃんの意味、英語ではbig brotherです。そして彼は古くて、背が高いよりので、自分のお兄ちゃんに成る事が出来ると思う。でもそういう訳じゃいよ。本当の意味はオナニそうですよ。彼はアパートで図書館にみたいエロのコレクションをがんがん持っているんらしいです。全部はパソコンに入った。テクノロジーなぁ。ちょっと自慢らしいけど、観ながら、彼は笑い、そして僕も、二十歳ので、笑い；一緒にヘラヘラ笑うので、大丈夫事と思う。エロ…友情を結びつける。

Oniichan, in terms of Japanese people, is probably my best friend and, as a result, is probably one of the crazier people I've met in Japan. Though most of our time is spent in his apartment we are never short on engaging, yet pointless, conversation, fights, or the latest interesting what-not he's found on the internet. In the straight-tied land of Japan where やだ　(means I'll never do that) saturates that causeries like so much blood on a baby blanket, Oniichan is my outlet when I need to leak a little crazy. Here's to you Onaniichan: don't shoot, I'm human...

お兄ちゃんは、日本人の中で、僕の一番友達かもしれなくて、多分、日本で会った人々の中で、一番グルグルパッ人だと思います。大体彼のアパートでは遊ぶけど、いつも面白くて、無意味会話したり、ファイトしたり、色々で面白くて教育のネット事を観るので、全然暇じゃない。そして、笑わなくてスーツを着る「ヤダ！｣と言っている日本には、お兄ちゃんが、狂っている時、僕の避難所です。お兄ちゃん。。。オオキニ：Don't shoot, I'm human...(ちんぷんかんぷん）

Thom's longest relationship; two months and five days...

2005-04-14T08:55:00.000+09:00

This morning me and the gf finally parted ways. We broke up. Or actually I broke up with her. Or even more actually I blindsided her with my taxi of cruelty, killing her little puppy-shapped hopes and dreams of furthering this relationship during my final months stay in Japan. I made her cry. I'm not sure I liked making her cry. I fairly sure I would rather lie to someone then make them cry.

Why break up such a perfectly pleasant relationship? I haven't the slightest clue. Perhaps that's why I lied to her a little more than I did. I couldn't imagine explaining the real reason.

"Why are you breaking up with me?"

"Unno."

I gave her some excuse about another woman, tailed off with farious versions of the classic 'I don't want to hurt you'. I played the young innocent boy angle whom doesn't know anything. I pulled out all the stops; let's be friends, I'm in love with another woman, I've never dated someone this long, I'm young and stupid, I don't want to leave you but I have to. Deep down it was all kinda slimy.

But truth be told I really don't have the slightest clue why I broke up with her. I all seems so ridiculous; she was an amazing girlfriend, we got along fairly well and never once did we have a fight. Can you beleive it, I didn't fight with her once. I sure that's a tell-tale sign that something is wrong. But last Sunday I couldn't sleep...I just thought about her and the fact that we were dating and, for lack of a better grasp upon the English language, stuff. And when I woke up the next morning I knew I had to break up with her. It just sorta came out of the blue, like a dog killing taxi.

This thought is a major cog -wrench in a relationship; and I did try to flush it aside yesterday. But I felt so horrible; like how dare I entertain and touch this lady with such false intent. How dare I try and fool her and take her affection. This makes for bad conversation and very bad sex. And yet she didn't catch on; I think I must have broken up with her like five times that night. Each time she would cry and say let's talk about it later and switch into this happy mode like nothing happened. She'd actually sing! I was baffled. I mean there's no way in hell I would want to stay with someone who's trying to break up with me. Right?

I finally did the cut this morning, over tea...very british. I feel slimy about it, like I don't beleive everything that I said. I feel slimy because I made her feel bad for a reason I don't know. But I also feel releived; I really didn't want to fake it around her.

Thom's longest realtionship; two months and five days...

又々

2005-04-12T14:27:00.000+09:00

I am atｔracted to a woman whom is not my girlfriend.

it's a miracle my wigwam is still in working order...

2005-03-30T16:25:00.000+09:00

I hurt in places I shouldn't hurt. During lunch little kids rampaged me like I was new British territory ready to be cultivated and "modernized". All my native people have small pox, and somebody tipped a trape full of tea in the nap of my neck. Oh kids, they're just adorable aren't they?

Every now and then I attend an English speaking group known as "the Mouse Club"; a most intimidating name that encoumpasses the handfull of old and middle aged woman that attend it's 'adult' sessions and the fifteen breadbaskets of five year olds that take control of it's 'children's' class. The aim of Mouse club; to bring English to the people from the people. It's rather a nice little set up where I get to go and feel ridiculously important because I weild a propper usage of the words 'a' and 'the'. Today was 'adult' but the fresh wee-ones decided to tag along too. Whilst feasting in some rich ladies second home it was my "duty" (though not so much because I rather egged the kids on to tip things over, jump on my back, and transmorgify they faces into some most impolite creations) to entertain the kids. This I did in a furnitureless back room where the chits launched themselves at me full speed from the oppisite corner of the room in an attempt to either topple me, or make it to the top of me before their competitor.

This, for myself, was nothing new for I had spent most of my highschool working days and my previous college days being scalled by little ones at my friend's mother's nursery. I was a nursery worker...in a church...in my stories Jesus always had rollerblades. So because of my work history I assumed no problems in handling a mere three four year olds. However there is a very large difference between American children and Japanese children, especially for a male sitter; the Japanese children love to go for the crotch. They have no restraints when it comes to poking, slapping, or kicking that oh so tender region; in fact it rather seems to be the aim of most of their games. The violence doesn't stop there; the kids are also a big fan of craming, poking or jabbing things up the ass; a very very very very painful sport I can assure you. This is where it all dances on that fine line between play-time fun and back street rape. With the constant penial abuse from adolescents and the crazy things me and the girlfriend do in bed; it's a miracle my wigwam is still in working order...

you're just gonna have to be fine with your Uncle Ben rice and Archie comics...

2005-03-29T16:11:00.000+09:00

Maybe I'll have something a little more constructive to say tomorrow…but today it's all coming out as just 'blah'. It's not like it wasn't an exciting weekend, it really was; with the spinning cars and the karaoke brawls and the b-spot; it all is really rather interesting. But I can't help but wonder what is interesting…I mean; in the big whole aspect of the idea aren't we all interesting in our own way? With our interesting jobs and taxes and umbrellas and little musical interludes where everybody's just so damned happy to use their Visas. Isn't that interesting! For christs sake, I didn't even use a Visa once this weekend!

I tried to pull off one of those magnificent days where you just cram shit into each hour like it's going out of style…and once it's out of style you're shot. Well baby I wasn't gonna get shot and I spent every minute rushing from one event to the next. And yet it all is just…blah. Maybe tomorrow I'll conjure up gorgeous images of nonsensical happenings and broad conjectures on Japanese culture; but until then you're gonna just have to be fine with your Uncle Ben rice and Archie comics…

except playing the bongos...

2005-03-22T15:45:00.000+09:00

I was doing an English play. And by "I" I mean some big international corporation was using me as a necktie pawn in their table tennis game of English intstructions to Japanese psychocobabble. I sat on the stage sidelines and ravaged my poor jewish brain triing to translate enthusiastic charecter-metaphores into "please smile". I was the spiff. But there were those beautiful upsides...like getting old people in trouble, beating on highschool and middle-school students, and throwing it all to the wind by simply explaining to those poor oreintal souls that their American directors are mentally tipped and I, personal, haven't the smallest inkling as to what they intend to communicate and therefore am left to ambiguous pantomiming and nonsense buzz words. However in Japanese it was much much shorter.

It was the Frog Prince. We unfurled are bilingual frankenstein to a crowd of eager parents and family members last Saturday. During which I perused the backstage as the official silence nazi while drawing large liquore carrying racoons in the margins of occupied children's play scripts. Looking back on it all it really was mostly a blank. We practiced Friday night until nine and redezvoused the next morning at eight forty-five. The children were bright and stary-eyed, trying to conveye expressions that have never wrinkled they mechanical faces. I must admit, if even I was exhausted, those poor raggamuffins must have been bearing a lot themselves.

As for me it was a patience marathon. With being snapped at because of my age, mocked for my refusal to eat non-kosher food, and Japanese' general social constipation; I was ready to wip out a fire extinguisher and bash my way to the nearest exit. But I didn't. I'm a good boy.

Sunday morning I had a horrible hangover. Saturday me and the other MCT lady decided it would be a good idea to have a drinking contest. Well it wasn't so much decided as challenged...by me. She was convinced that, due to my small stature and her dominating one, she could drink me under the table in minutes flat. I, frankly, had had enough cracks about my age and size and was ready and willing to play the cards dealt to me in order to prove myself..."worthy". So the contest began. Whenever one would finish a drink so would the other; with me, thank you very much, leading the whole way. We held this up till...well I've frankly forgotten when, and worst yet the truly stronger liquore holder was never decided upon. The MCT lady had to conceide defeat due to an early morning Sunday, trip to Sapporo, and a first meeting with her new boss. I couldn't blame her...at least I don't think I did. I don't remember much after the "defeat", except playing the bongos...

it's amazing what you can find in the yellow pages...

2005-03-14T09:24:00.000+09:00

Well I just found out that one of my favorite Japanese bands...is gay. I was kinda surprised, but this totally explains the song about making out with his boyfriend. I asked my friend about it, to erase all lost-in-translation erros, but her answer was just too shaky and perhaps a desperate cling to her calm but upturned Japanese opinion on homosexuals. Apparently, sometimes, in Japan, guys like to sing songs about making out with their boyfriends or wanting boyfriends or other various topics. It's culture, she said. Yes, i said, gay culture.

This led me to a vast reflection on my knowledge of the gay culture of northern Japan. I am...'priveledged' to have as many gay friends in Japan as I do (perhaps, to my knowledge, more then I had in the home country). This has allowed me to weazel my way into their tightly woven web of homosexual espionage (and it is a web) of which, in a sort of "Magic Revealed" setting, I will devuldge to my three's-a-crowd audience of one hippie and a gay guy from Tennessee (whom is, by the way, my only source of gay Ameri culture)...

In Japan there are three types of gay guys; there is administer or "enterer" whom is known as Tachi (touch). Tachi only go into other people's "apartments", but their backyard sheds are padlocked shut for good. The opposite of Tachi is Neko (cat) or "enteree". Neko follow along the same strickness as the Tachi; they stay in the cottage and welcome guests, never to venture out into foreign worlds. And then there is Ribu (reversable) whom are like the reneissance men of the gay world in that they can cover the tasks of both Tachi and Neko.

Japan has a fairly negative opinion of homosexuals which has led them to hide their "identities" (as if straight people don't hide their "identities" in Japan either) from the scorning pink cartoon world. This leads to a large "problem". As my friend explains it to me 'We don't know who is gay!' (How this problem is solved in Ameri, aside from simply asking, I don't know) So from this issue emerged the vast cell-phone linked catacombs for which thousands upon thousands of gay people find boyfriends, companions, and frisk-partners. This tool is not only usefull for finding a spicy piece of man meat; but also for traveling questions as well. When I went to Okinawa with my gay friend we used his sexual speakeasy to devuldge local information; where are the good bars, beachs and generally entertaining stuff to do. Very useful, though all his responses did end with a come-on of some sort.

But the craftiest of all is the sex house. This is, as my friend explians to me, the white house in Sapporo where you go to "stay the night". And in this house there are a lot of other people whom paid to "stay the night". It's face business is a hotel (a hotel without a sign) but it's pretty much understood by all that you go there to have sex...with guys. There are no rooms...or pants. You travel the vast corridoors of mattresses clad in only a towel and the dim light. If you see someone you like you touch them (like on the shoulder); if they confere with the decision you find the nearest open space on the floor and go at it like lubbed up monekys in a noodle fight. When done you strap yourself back into your work suit and wingtips and schleff off to another day at corporation suchandsuch. I must say I think we can all learn something from this buisness establishment; it's amazing what you can find in the yellow pages...

I hope I'm not boring any of you people out there...

2005-03-10T15:20:00.000+09:00

Last Tuesday, while repelling Elton John strength stages of dellirium, I found a quaint little hat frozen to the sidewalk outside the local video rent-rium. It was most certainly a child's hat, yellow, with those little ear strings the end in a *fwah* ball. It was left there, maybe forgotten, by some three foot brat with a mouth full of baby teeth and a toastey car to go galloping around in. That child will probably grow up to be president of the United States; or start forest fires and nobody will ever give a fuck about the hat. No reporters gonna say "hey ho, whatever happened to that quaint little yellow hat with the ear strings that went fwah on the end?" No, people aren't that dense; unless their watching plastic surgery sit-coms or getting hit by buses. No their not gonna care about the hat; fuck the hat. There's world hunger and child rapage and billions of dollars being locked away on giant flaming safes strapped to rollercoasters blasting three hundred miles an hour through the Nevada rainforests...

It was a nice hat; I picked it up and brought it home. Hand washed it while in the shower yesterday morning and dried it by the heater; a bit small but I think it's a cute fit. I hope I'm not boring any of you people out there...

some old lady falling down the stairs...

2005-03-08T09:37:00.000+09:00

I went to a concert (brass band) with the Gf last weekend in which we (or more precisely I) slept through most of it due to ineffecient amounts of sleep as obtained the night before in which Cheltsu (the other English teacher) and I conversed with a Japanese friend of a friend 'till about five o'clock in the morning. The nights competition between the two of us was to figure out whether or not Cheltsu's nightly resident (as he was to house himself in her apartment that night) was gay or straight. If he was gay, I win (what we don't know); and if he was straight then Cheltsu wins; if he's bi, we both receive hardy handshakes and a thanks for our efforts in the feild of duty blah blah blah... As the night drew on we lost more and more conciouseness but still kept our eyes on the goal; so that, at around three thirty, when our friend mentioned that the man had come to Date by ferrie Cheltsu shook her head into conciousness and stuttered "What? What? He's a what?"

The brass band concert (as mentioned early) finally picked up about halfway through after the homeless man sleeping next to us left for the last time (forgetting his gloves too, what a shame) and I was able to maintain conciousness through the end the to the enchore. The enchore was a very uniquely structure peice of work and had the kind of preperation that one wouldn't expect of an enchore...I mean all them sequined costumes would have gone to waste if the crowd hadn't initiated it's uniform clapping signalling the undeliable urge to be further entertained. The first enchore was well worth the stay as it was a 'brassy' rendition of the recently popular 'Macharena' (you all remember that) like enkah song known as "The Matsuken Samba". During said preformance the original singer; or elvis impersonator, charges onto the stage in a gold and silver mens kimono wearing a traditional Japanese wig that lookes like someone took the ponytail of a balding hippie, threw it back over his scalp, and super-glued it juuuuust to the left of center...not a huge turn on but who am I to complain.

Well the performance just got rave reveiws, and was then, oddly enough, followed by an uncalled for second enchore as conducted by the second conductor (or 'clarinet third chair' as he was known throughout the last part of the concert). During the first peice, due to the excitment of it all, the crowd had broke into rhythmic clapping as they enjoyed the smooth vocals of the skinny saxaphone player in the wig and razzle dazzle; something totally natural in the heat of the moment. The second enchore, however, was a rather dull copy of a peice previousal preformed that night and brought no such clapping spirit into its impatient audience's quivering fingertips. The conductor, however, was not having this, and when the audience refused to join in on the fun; he turned around and gave, with an expresion like he had the soul ability to clap you out of existence, a gesture that simultaneously commanded you to clap in beat with the tune as well as sit up straight and attentive. The motion was very affective and even I, while stunned at the idea of having to clap along with a crappy song, found myself diligently following the command of this dictator maestro. That look...like he could have snapped my neck with a flick of his baton; the things these kids learn in band camp.

After words we went drinking with some of the Gf's friends; of which was an Oregon\American whom proclaimed that he thought he had seen me before walking around naked in the swimming pool locker room. It's nice the memories we leave in some peoples minds. While in the izakaiya drinking...a lot, we all received a great rumble from the ground and I was hastely informed that I had just experienced an earthquake! Can you beleive it, my first earthquake! I was so excited, been here nine months and I finally get me first earthquake! And I just thought it was some old lady falling down the stairs...

when your payday night dinner comes retreating back over your tongue

2005-03-04T09:05:00.000+09:00

Japan has interesting toilets...I think it goes hand in hand with technological genius; having interesting toilets that is. Last night I went to an izakaiya (Japanese bar) and when I went to take a piss I was encountered, rather than your usual wall porcelain that we so often take for granted, by a choice of three large buckets. These buckets, apparently put into to match the decore of the restaurant (though what the hell that means I'll never know), had a tiny relaxing waterfall trickling down the inner-back area with the front sectioned out 'till half-way down...this being, apparently, the place in which one was to commence evacuation......Just a bucket.

Of course I've encountered worse; and yet Japan is probably one of the leading countries in toilettry technology. These extremes in restroom furniture are one of the unique "joys" of Japan. First their is the "bionic-woman" toilets; in which brings back fond memories of the previously mentioned t.v. program. Not just because of its "we can rebuild you stronger and faster" appereance, aided by the two side panels loaded with all sorts of fun poo-time gadgets; but also because of the range of bizzare sound effects one can activate in order to mask the sound of ones "defication". During rush hour the stalls can begin to sound like a piss-box version of Star Wars.

But then there is the more common facility I've lovingly nicknamed "the trench". The convenience of this name is that it does in fact describe the toilet entirely; it is nothing but a porcelian trench above which one does squat and take care of business. Most disturbing, and unsanitary, is this place that I refuse to use it. The trench is also most inconvenient in regards to vomiting. There is no nice raised bowl and deep bowel for one to realy on when the beer comes up for a breath of fresh air; no...only a trench. With the trench one is required to get down on all hands and knees and press the face as close as possibly to the, needless to say, "dirty" bottom of the pit. And this still does not garrauntee a prevention of splashback or that the whole load will make it into the trench. Vomiting in the trench is a most horrendous experience and I highly recomend the bionic-woman toilet when your payday night dinnner comes retreating back over your tongue...

it's nice to have the option...

2005-03-03T09:04:00.000+09:00

Well kids today marks exactly two weeks since Liz and I started dating! This, my gentle children, is a very important note becuase if we make it all the way to next Saturday night's date (a wooping two days from now) it will make this relationship the longest relationship I've ever had! I'm about to enter the mysterious, unknown and, dare I say, life-threatening waters of the three-week relationship. That is, of course, assuming I make it through today without braking into convulsions over my loss of independence and begin grouping the next thing in a necklace that passes my way (and there are a lot of necklaces here in city hall; them old ladies love the necklaces). Not that I did that very often when I was single...or ever...but still you know, it's nice to have the option...

a euphemism for "Jesus"

2005-02-25T10:42:00.000+09:00

From webster's dictionary...

『Someone holding the attitude implied in the song became known as a "jingo" or "jingoist," and the attitude itself was dubbed "jingoism." The "jingo" in the tune is probably a euphemism for "Jesus."』

from now one we starte everything with...

2005-02-21T14:13:00.000+09:00

Well 'm sure i could build a steamliner out of the rollercoaster of emotions 've been devouring track by track in the past few forevers. Actually i shouldn't nearly be so negative...i should try and think happy thoughts and rub pixie dust all over myself (that would certainly explain the gay bars).

I had my first date (or would it be a first date in Japan; why in America it would be an anniversary) with Liz on Friday and i wooed her to sleep with dashing talls of my goldfish and certain people i could name. We watched movies where teanagers get drunk and assist aliens in a game of miniature golf or perhaps one of those who-raped-who comedy thrillers. I was at peace with my suroundings and felt no need for an alarm-clock. Fold the curtains Clark, i'm in my happy place.

Earlier that day i reached deep into my pit of teen rebellion by belting out let's-think-of-the-old-days Enkah for two hundred heavily medicated seventy and eighty year olds, after recalling a frightful walk in the local parkery during which a pair of feral crows made several dives for my eyes and perhaps even my left testicle. The testicle theory, though, I failed to mention to the elderly entourage.

This weekend I went from the summer cottage of ire (as performed on the intersection of street what-not and unknown-kanji) to the secluded bathhouses of good-stuffs; a firm stance on celibacy to conversations such as "you should get yourself a sex goldfish"...from now on we start everything with 凸凹。。。

Is contrary to the fact...

2005-02-17T15:58:00.000+09:00

Well I'm generally having some rough times; but rather than weep my heart out to the blank faces of America, Japan, and half of Australia...I think this excerpt from my college japanese 202 text book grammar lesson does it best.

-This pattern, a conditional sentence followed by よかった, which literally means 'was\had been good', expresses the speaker's regret for something that actually happened or did not happen to him. S1 is something that involves the speaker and is contrary to the fact.-

I was out...of ideas

2005-02-09T13:17:00.000+09:00

In honor of my friends recently, and consequetially erased, post I would like a post a song I shall, from hence fourth, consder to by my theme song of Japan. While the wicked trumpet of the Green Hornet was a sufficient backdrop to my Nippon antics I think this They Might Be Giants diddy does it best...think of the Stalk of Wheat as Japan...

Stalk of Wheat
They Might Be Giants

I went for a walk (on a stalk)
On a stalk of wheat
And it felt like a trillion feet

I was looking for a friend (at the end)
At the end of the line
And it took me 'till the end of time

I was all out of luck (like a duck)
Like a duck that died
I was all out of juice (like a moose)
Like a moose denied
I was all out of money like a bunny that's broke
I was all out of work like a jerk who's a joke
and I was out of ideas like I is, like I is, like I is, like I is
I was out...of ideas

I once had a dream (of a gleam)
Of a gleam in my eye
And I'll have 'till the day I die

I had a thought bubble (of trouble)
Of trouble and strife
And I'll have it for the rest of my life

I was all out of luck (like a duck)
Like a duck that died
I was all out of juice (like a moose)
Like a moose denied
I was all out of money like a bunny that's broke
I was all out of work like a jerk who's a joke
and I was out of ideas like I is, like I is, like I is, like I is
I was out...of ideas

女子問題かな～

2005-02-07T13:25:00.000+09:00

"Fine Alice, you just go piss our money away on booze and Pachinko. I can't do anything to stop you; after all you wear the pants in this family."

"Damn it Fred, they're cleats! and you damned well know they are!"

You crazy kids, what will you think of next...

2005-01-26T15:47:00.000+09:00

So the weekend (or my weekend), when panned out across the floor and plucked at delicately with chopsticks, just doesn't seem to make anysense. I think for the benefit of all rather than go into some drastic detail of what went on I'll make a list of its contents and then just let the imagination run wild. You know, dip stuff in all sorts of other stuff, it's okay.

~Chicken

~Liing to my boss

~Lectures on economics as given by a large breasted thirty-seven year old white women...in Japanese

~Architecture

~Old men of the narcoleptic variety

~Old men of the inebriated variety

~Rambunctiouse Karaoke

~Missed trains

~Penis towels

~Rather inteligent discussions on travel, the weather and family with a five year old boy and his pre-occupied three year old sister

~Tissue

~Very friendly internet workers

~Twenty-seven year old pudgy philipino virgins

~Disney shows I watched when I was twelve

~Ladies whose wallet I found, and the lunch invitations

~Large stores with a pechant for arson, and their security

~Chance meetings with people I work with

and enough snow to drown a puppy in. Imagine when the whole list congeals into something; let me tell you what. Perhaps it wasn't as exciting as people may have conjured up in their heads but broken a part it sure was interesting. You crazy kids, what will you think of next...

...

2005-01-20T10:16:00.000+09:00

Things from the past that come back to ?haunt? me...

"Every man wants a worn sundried woman; lord knows I've rode that road"
-Jude

She likes white things, like white people...

2005-01-18T13:19:00.000+09:00

So I never finished the tale of the Sapporo lady. Well, she showed up right on time, or five minutes late depending on which clock you were watching; I was watching the big one. We had coffee, of all the places in Japan, Starbucks. It was good, I like coffee. She...she likes white things. Like when asked what kind of pet she would like to have she said "polar bear". Why? Because she likes white things. Her second choice was a raccoon...your guess is as good as mine. And yet it was interesting; something hard to beleive the way I faded in and out of the conversation so, further amplified by the oh so small splinter of things we have in common. What do we have in common? Well we both share a distinct hatred for the 曖昧 feelings of japanese women (and in her case men, so I guess I could have just written "Japanese people" but that sounds so racist).

曖昧 (aimai), by the by, is a beautiful japanese word that they love to toss around which means neither yes nor no but doth suffice as an answer, hazah. This word is closely followed by the slightly less ambiguious うん (oon) which probably means yes, but hey, we're not that sure.

So we'll meet again, I think, in a few weeks to...I don't know...talk about white things. She likes white things, like white people...

social constipation

2005-01-17T10:08:00.000+09:00

A recent letter to my friend をを regarding Japan and Martain Luther King Jr. Day...

Hey　をを ,

No I'm sorry we don't have Martin Luther Kings in Japan. Well actually we did have a large stock of them back during the Endo period; I think they were imported from Taiwan or China or something; they were highly prized for their "freedom songs" and the shapes of their skulls which were often sported around the necks of Shogun and even the emperor. But they took to drinking, and gambling, and general trouble making, so they were told by the emperor to "pack up your shit and leave before we call the cops". There hasn't been a Martin Luther King in Japan ever since. Sad really; they had such beautiful skulls.

Oh don't go to a foreign country ; it's stupid...we're stupid. I can't wait to get out of this damned Japan and I've just about had my fill of it. Japanese people are absolutely impossible; I have like no real social life, or a hose has been stuck up the vagina of my social life and washed it spring fresh clean of friends or generally dependable peoples. I've been douched. These people suffer from social constipation that a dump-truck of fiber-o's couldn't clear (some Japanese people live their whole lives without any friends; at all, they just work, go home, and watch T.V.; for years on end!) My only urge for America is the simple fact they there is a social system that works outside the rules set up during Middle school. I've got cootties so all the popular kids stay away from me (plus I once came to school with a Power Rangers lunch box; you know the one with the thermos that has the picture of the red ranger doin' a totally bitchin' karate kick; and everybody pointed and laughed and pushed me in the mud! Oh　をを it was horrible ; I hope they all go to hell; I hope they all go to hell and they die!)

Other than that not much has been happening; I've taken up the guitar and midnight intrusions on my friend Oniichan or Big Brother (formally known as Kanada; but I find this name more effective as he is older than me and it also contains a secret joke involving the Japanese word for masturbation). Maybe someday I'll venture outside my thin plaster apartment walls and my slightly frosted fish bowl and attempt to join the Japanese world again. But not any bloody time soon. Stay in America so you can coe made-up jewish words in my ear and tell me it'll be all better and yadayadayada...

Oh yeah, and good luck with that zombie movie thing!

Keep the peace,
Monk

2005-01-11T16:43:00.000+09:00

The Indigestable Man
Just try and eat me

women

2004-12-30T15:49:00.000+09:00

womenwomenwomenwomenwomenwomenwomenwomenwomenwomen
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...
womenwomenwomenwomenwomenwomenwomenwomenwomenwomen
...and I use the word 'plan' loosely...
womenwomenwomenwomenwomenwomenwomenwomenwomenwomen
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.
womenwomenwomenwomenwomenwomenwomenwomenwomenwomen
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.
womenwomenwomenwomenwomenwomenwomenwomenwomenwomen
I may not know what I want, but at least I'm willing to try.
womenwomenwomenwomenwomenwomenwomenwomenwomenwomen
womenwomenwomenwomenwomenwomenwomenwomenwomenwomen
womenwomenwomenwomenwomenwomenwomenwomenwomenwomen
Afishyapa and 明けましておめでとう御座います。

On Christmas morning I nursed my hangover

2004-12-28T13:21:00.000+09:00

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...

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

2004-12-24T14:31:00.000+09:00

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...

When Daddy came home and smelled of perfume

2004-12-21T17:16:00.000+09:00

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.

Know your jewish massacres with three successive loop-de-loops

2004-07-20T15:31:00.000+09:00

Tragically Fun:
A Monologue for a Yet to Be Written PlayMonologue Composed by Miles Burbank

(Scene opens with main antagonist speaking to business partner, who may be the protagonist, who knows? Anyway they’re on stage in, oh let’s say their office, yeah that sounds good, and it’s late at night and both of them have been struggling to come up with ideas. The following monologue is the proposal of the antagonist. Let’s call him Bob.)

Bob: So Natalie was telling me about how in New York, at “Ground Zero”, she walked by and there were all these stores selling survival gear, and all around people were attempting to attract tourists. There was even a chapel that had placed a banner, it might have obstructed a cross I can’t say for sure, and it said, “We survived 9/11!” like they were advertising an upcoming concert. It seemed as though everyone around the site of this horrific event had been affected, by greed. And as Natalie was telling me all of this I had a great idea: capitalize off of past tragedies. Now this is nothing new, Hollywood has gotten away with it for years under the guise of art. The countless movies re-telling painful stories more times than we’d like to remember. Each year comes a new holocaust blockbuster and with each school shooting another television mini-series. This particular horse we will not ride to success because it’s already dead and too many people are currently beating it. The other well known strategy is the tourist magnet. This, however, would require ownership of some tragic site beforehand so that tours could be guided and gift shops erected. My idea however has spawned from these two, it encompasses entertainment, but instead of merely viewing it would allow the customers a chance to participate, to re-live the past as can be accomplished to some degree by visiting the sites. Now the biggest problem that our tragedy seeking public faces is the impracticality of visiting all these horrific locations. I mean sure if you look around you’re neighborhood, city, state, whatever you’ll find some tragedy, but if it hasn’t hit national news what’s the fucking point. It’s worthless if you can’t brag about it sans explanation, and the big ones, the ones everyone knows about, they’re scattered all over the globe. So I say, instead of sending these freaks off to other cultures, mouths drooling and cameras flashing, let’s corral them here and bring the tragedy they crave to them. If we make these tragic events accessible to the public they’ll be lined up around the corner. If you build they will come, but if you destroy it they’ll bring money. And that’s why we focus on tragedy. People love it. They want to know it, live through it, to let it encompass their lives, but they don’t want the pain attached. They crave tragedy so much because it gives their lives meaning were once there was none. It gives them something to talk about, a badge of courage to wear with pride, and most importantly: a means to gain pity. An excuse to whine and be heard, not just heard but listened to. People need a constant source of tragedy in their lives to keep them interesting, to give them a sense of purpose, to make them feel significant. The thing is that tragedy only happens so often and people today are so impatient, the only substitute to the real tragedy they hope to live through, for no other purpose than to get over, is the tragedy of others. So they go, they visit Auschwitz, Pearl Harbor, and Ground Zero. They walk through the rubble of the Oklahoma City Bombing and listen to a recounting of the horror in detail as their cameras click and flash incessantly. They walk along, picturing themselves there, theorizing how they might have dealt with it all, and eventually go home with, in their minds, profound thoughts to share. They are “enlightened” and it’s uplifting. People want tragedy, but more than that they want entertainment. Which brings us back to my brilliant idea: Historical Horrors Amusement Park. That’s right! An amusement park devoted to tragedy! All the rides will have horrific, tragic themes to them, but not just any old tragedy, no these rides will be based on true events, deep personal events that have the capability of evoking tears from even the hardest of hearts. Think about it, why do people ride roller coasters? Is it the thrill, the excitement of the quick turns? Yeah, that may have a little to do with it, but more than anything it’s the threat that the rides pose. People want to see a carnie drunk on the job, they crane their heads upward, each one secretly hoping someone will fall when the cars go upside down. That’s why people love carnivals, it’s not the thrill, it’s the little taste of death they get. Well I say to hell with a taste, let’s give them a fucking all you can eat buffet! Think of it! We could pack them into over crowded train cars and let them ride the “Holocaoster” and when that reaches the end of the track they can try and make their way through the fun house: “Auschwitz Barracks”. After that people will work their way through the lines for a chance to ride the “Pearl Harbor Water Slides” and who could pass up the “Twin Towers Bungee Jump”. The list of rides could go on and on. People would flood the park and we would pull no punches. When it got too hot they could mosey over to the “Race Riots” and we’d turn the fire hoses on them. Yes in this park there would be no prohibition of tragedy, these gluttons of horror would not be deprived anything. Through our grand achievements the masses would receive their opiates in abundance. And we, well we’ll be rich beyond our wildest nightmares.

Know your reasons why you were late last night

2004-07-01T14:04:00.000+09:00

It's all too exciting

“Where were you last night?” She had come into the house at a dreadful four o’clock in the morning, four hours past her clearly given curfew.
“Daddy…I…”
“You know I don’t make rules in this house to hear myself talk. They are for your own good. Now your curfew is at twelve o’clock, is it not?”
“Yes Daddy, I know but…”
“And you clearly weren’t here at twelve o’clock, were you?”
“No Daddy, it’s just…”
“What time were you here?”
She hesitated with her answer. “Two o’clock.”
“Four o’clock a.m., as in four hours past your curfew. You know Rosemary, I don’t have these rules for my own pleasure.”
“Daddy, I have something…”
“I’m only interested in your safety…”
“Daddy please, I need to…”
“After all there are a lot of weirdoes out there…”
“Daddy please!”
“And I don’t know what I’d do if anything happened to you…”
“Daddy I’m getting married!”
“What?”
“I’m getting married. I met this wonderful man last night with black hair. He’s a rebel Daddy, and I find that absolutely dreamy. We’re in love.”
“Well I don’t know if I approve of…”
“And there’s something else Daddy.”
“Something else?”
“I’m pregnant.”
“You’re what!”
“I’m pregnant. That’s why I’m going to marry the rebel, because I’m pregnant with his baby. Truth be told I don’t find him at all that dreamy, but I figured I might as well since I am bearing his child.”
“I can’t believe I’m hearing this. You got pregnant last night? How do you know so soon?”
“Daddy please, a mother always knows.”
“I can’t believe this, I mean it’s all happening so…”
“And Daddy, there’s another thing.”
“Another thing?”
“I’m carrying the Anti-Christ.”
“What?!”
“My child Daddy, he’s the son of Satan. His birth will mark the destruction of mankind. I’m going to name him Damien.”
“But, does that mean the man…with the black hair?”
“Is the Devil? Yes Daddy, I’m marrying the lord of the underworld. I’m going to be royalty Daddy, isn’t that exciting!”
“Exciting, I can hardly see how that would be considered…”
“And there’s one more thing.”
“Oh Jesus!”
“Satan and I are getting a divorce.”
“A divorce? But you two aren’t even married yet.”
“Don’t try and argue it Daddy, I’ve already made up my mind. Things just aren’t working out. And I don’t want baby Damien to grow up in a negative environment.”
“But…”
“Truth be told I never really loved him, I was just marrying him for the title. Don’t you think that’s sad?”

old coffee

2004-06-03T16:16:00.000+09:00

The Game that Ties you Up in Knots