And you and I

Though she's not actually mine; I'm sitting for a friend for the next two weeks.

Her name is Neko. She was not, in fact, named after the opportunely circumstanced merchant from The Secret of Mana, but after the Japanese word for "cat". She's cute, but she has an attitude problem. She likes to play everynight from about 10pm to midnight. I hate her for that. She also urinated on my duvet. It's soaking in the tub below.

I spent a short while in Tokyo this past week, mostly alone, as was generally the case when I called it home. Riding the railways, listening to Peter Gabriel as I stared out across the cluttered landscape, I was reminded of the things that I loved, and hated, about my life in Tokyo. And it's every bit as difficult to describe now as it was back then; the city certainly has its attractions, particularly to a recent college graduate, but I can't help but feel sad whenever I return. I still get the same autumnal feeling I did when I lived there, the same on which I reflected that last night in Tokyo. It's a city so caught up in itself, so glutted with people, no one can seem to find one another.

And this song seemed once again to find its way to my headphones, its lyrics every bit as apropos now as they were last March. They typify my ambivalent relationship with arguably the busiest city in the world.

The time I like is the rush hour, 'cause I like the rush.
The pushing of the people--I like it all so much.
Such a mass of motion--do not know where it goes.
I move with the movement, and...
...I have the touch.

We are all searching for that touch, for contact, some so desperately that they crash headlong into others' lives like crazy love-sick fools, because, of course, that is what they are. Love is, at its deepest level, communication at its deepest level. And communication is a powerful draw; what else could have brought together all manner of poets and madmen throughout the ages? It's this deep communication, the mingling of spirits, the bearing of souls, that defines our ultimate desires. It's a beautiful but dangerous desire, for the soul is delicate, and in so bearing we allow others to penetrate our defenses.

Of course, defenses are a necessity; the true self, our vital essence, is fragile, easily crushed by deceit, fraud, and malice, all ubiquitous qualities of the outside world. (And possibly even constructs of our defenses, anathemas designed to ward off the same, giving way to some benumbing emotive arms race. For the most part, I think, the buildup is instinctive: the moment of our births--the bright lights, officious hands, the blast of cold air--we come to know the harshness of reality.)

These are facts of our existence, part of our society's lattice structure. "Suck it up," we're told, "the world's a harsh place." And through careful construction of barriers and defenses, we can prevail under such harsh conditions. But the soul is pure, modeled after the very beauty of God. And beauty is easily marred--like an ink spot on a white cloth, any blemish becomes painfully salient. Purity rarely lasts, innocence is easily lost, and unless we live the most cloistered of lifestyles, our chastity will spoil, and we will hurt.

And yet we do house this purity, this innocence, and we can either live such a lifestyle and be forever weighed down by the mask, or we can risk everything for a glimpse of such wondrous beauty.

Pull my chin, stroke my hair, scratch my nose, hug my knees
Try drink, food, cigarette, tension will not ease
I tap my fingers, fold my arms, breathe in deep, cross my legs
Shrug my shoulders, stretch my back - but nothing seems
to please

I need contact...

I tried so many things to fill that void, that unbearable loneliness I felt in Tokyo, I even tried closing it off, refusing ever to take down my defenses, and, as a result I became a reflection of that mask that I didn't and couldn't remove. I was a distorted mimicry of myself. In the end what I needed was contact.

I feel so fortunate to be in Kumamoto. I'm motivated, I'm enjoying my job (most of the time), I'm active, and I have a (relatively) large friend base. I seldom find myself waking in the morning mired in depression (God, I sound like such an emotional head case). I wake smiling and cheerful, with the sun shining upon my face. The suns seems to shine a lot here.

Don't misunderstand me: when my time here is up, I'll be on the first plane back home. But, I refuse to squander my time here any longer or to spend my days sad and lonely. Really, I can say "I refuse" all I want, but in the end, it's other people that have turned things around for me. It's that contact. I'm not in love, but I feel love and loved.

I have the touch.

The juice was so delectable, I didn't want to miss a drop; I took to sucking and and biting my pair simultaneously this evening. I accidentally inhailed a bit of it and coughed it up my nasal passage. I can't seem to remove the piece from my tear duct and now my eye is all red.

Doubtless you've all been wondering what the hey's been going on with me recently. I told you that I was busy this past week showing these new guys the ropes, but Nick's a heartless libertarian, you probably thought, why would he give two cents about the welfare of others?

You're absolutely right, I couldn't care less about how they're doing or feeling. In fact, my cold and calculating mind actually wishes them ill-will, which is the reason I volunteered my services to head up a seminar this past week whose sole function was to deceive, mislead, and generally screw with the newbies.

The following takes place between 9am and 10am.

Me: First thing you need to know about Japan: everything you've heard is true. And most things you haven't heard are true too. So basically there's a lot of truth in Japan.

Newbie 1: But, I thought truth was a constant, the very notion of permanence. Transient truth is an oxymoron and would necessitate the complete cession of all knowledge to date. Oh my, just think of the possibilities! Is there a God? Is the Earth round? Does knowledge acquired through the senses really exist? Was Hill Street Blues the best cop drama of the 80's?

Me: Did I say you could speak?! And put your pants back on!

Newbie 1: puts pants back on

Me: Now, starting with the premise that there's an abnormally large amount of truth in this country, we must assume—as truth is the primum mobile—that there are a wealth of possibilities available to us in the Orient that we couldn't tap back home. Japan is our matrix.

Newbie 2: So, can you survive falls from skyscrapers like Keanu Reeves?

Me: Can you shut your mouth for 2 minutes and let me teach?

Newbie 1: But what else does it have to compete with? Miami Vice?! There's no substance; it's just fluff, just a bunch of unshaven pretty boys running around doing fluffy things.

Me: Next person who talks out of turn will have his eye removed with this here piece of chalk *I show them my eye-removing chalk.* As I was saying, what we have come to know as our physical and mental limits is no longer a useful yard stick for measuring our capabilities. How long can you hold your breath underwater? 1 minute? 2? Try 6 weeks; it's difficult to get the time off, but a worthwhile experience if you get the chance. And what of flying? I know, big whoop, but try doing it without a cape! How do you think these karate guys can punch through steel girders and that hot chick from Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon can do all that cool shit?

Newbie 3: Wasn't that China, though?

Me: *His eye pulls free with a 'pop'* So I encourage you all to explore all these possibilities available to you, don't be afraid to try things that every bone in your body is telling you will hurt really badly or possibly bring your life to an abrupt end. Take a look at this graph up here, and I think you'll see what I mean. *I flash up disturbing images I googled of their conceptions, most vomit.*

One-eyed Newbie: Excuse me sir, but with my recently impaired vision, I can't make heads or tails out of the graph.

Me: Probably for the best, unless your dad was a pool boy.

The rest of the hour was spent dressing up our one-eyed newbie up as a very convincing, if extraordinarily whiny, pirate. I also wrapped a towel around my head and we played maharaja and palace servant. Newbie 1 makes a killer Manhattan.

Just returned from Tokyo\Fuji area tonight; my week is pretty packed escourting new people around Kumamoto, but I'll try to find time to post in the next few days. An addendum: this new format's accidental and only temporary. What you see now was a heuristic used to try and right the problems I was having with the color scheme, but it somehow replaced the existing html.

I'm sure you've been noticing a few changes around here recently: the set-up's new, that goofus with the gawdy purple shirt is gone, Meredith's last comment was deleated. I've decided not only to change the outward appearance of this weblog, but also it's content, nay, it's very soul. I will rededicate this forum to weighty issues, ponderous events, and all-around super important stuff. It will be a new, conerned blog, a blog for concerned citizens of a concerning world.

Naw, I'm just playing, I'll still talk about my penis.

Sorry things have gotten kind of slow around here. I intended to write either yesterday or today, but as I went for a rather lengthy run on Saturday, I have absolutely no energy right now. I am a large, rather chisled, static mass whose only means of recharging is through watching movies. The Chronicles of Riddick is not a good one. Said energy, once transfered, is being redirected toward this blog, not for the purpose of writing, but chanelled into its remodeling. Yes, this blog is being revamped. Priority one is getting rid of that tool with the crooked glasses. I hope to have this ship in better condition by tomorrow. Also, this is a funny, if extremely disturbing, picture.

I watched Reality Bites this evening, supposedly one of those generation defining movies like Breakfast Club or Easy Rider, a movie which rattles off sound bites on such pressing issues of the 90's like "The Energy Crisis", the ever-present "Starving children in Africa" and "Man's existential dilemma" (is there any more overused, less understood word in the modern lexicon than "existential"? It seems to me the cachet of the faux academic, rouge for self-proclaimed intelligence.)

We the viewers are supposed to scoff at Michael, the TV executive, who has sold out--what exactly is never made clear--to become a wealthy and successful yuppie. He is actually admirable in every way except for his corporate status, which, it is made perfectly clear from the get-go, is just not cool. Our first glimpse of him is an early caveat of the movie's direction: he is driving a brand new Saab convertible and doing business on a cell phone while our two heroines drive by--they have no real jobs, so they can afford to cruise about on a weekday afternoon--in a jalopy listening to Tempted by Squeeze, which is a pretty good song, but they're still lazy bums. He's made to look terribly adroit as he tries to juggle apparently more than man was ever intended to juggle: a job, money, a nice car, direction, purpose. His life, we are supposed to assume, is a shambles; our protagonists have got it right.

Contrast our antagonist Michael, with our co-protagonist, Troy, the greasy moocher who views employment and accomplishment as a moral compromise and feels that true happiness is found only in the ordure of misery behind his bong and guitar while he plays Buddha-on-the-mountain-top (not my line--it came from the movie) with all who ask him to stop whining and pay the rent. People who take themselves too seriously really piss me off.

During the course of the movie, one of the main characters, Leila, exclaims that she had expected to be something by age 23, to which her loafer friend responds, "all you have to be is yourself," or some such clichéd nonsense. But, she replies "I don't even know who I am anymore."

Ah, the crisis of self-definition, the questioning and realization so common in post-collegiate young adults. I suppose that's the reason most of us are over here, us strangers in a strange land.
...
...
...
I remember reading an article once about Sir Isaac Newton and his discovery of gravity. The article's author had struggled as an adolescent to understand why Newton could see what was so evident, at least from a modern perspective, but for which so few had taken notice: how had he surmised from so common an event that earthly and celestial gravity were one and the same? The author concluded that it was perspective, perspective provided by stepping back from the scene to see the big picture. If one distanced himself from the action, he would see the apple always falls towards earth's center, no matter where the tree was rooted or its observer standing (or sitting, as the story would have it). It was perspective, or at least visioned so, that allowed him to uncover this truth.

And perhaps that's just what an experience such as this accomplishes--we remove ourselves from all we know and with which we are comfortable: from our family, friends, and culture. In a sense, we remove ourselves from ourselves, and in so doing, are better able to understand who we are.

Whether my comrades here are in the throes of such self-discovery, or if I am seeing who they truly are, I don't know, but I feel in many ways isolated over here. I don't mean to suggest that I'm lonely or depressed, I'm actually feeling quite happy and at peace just now, but just to point out what an anomaly I am or at least perceive myself to be. I was asked the other day when was the last AIDS test I received, and they were shocked to find out that I've never received one.

And who am I? As I said, being removed from my comfort zone has given me time and perspective to evaluate and clarity to define. From what I've seen here abroad, my generation more and more seems to resemble floundering Troy and Leila from above, those depressive souls who are drawn inextricably to misery, believing they have a monopoly on caring and good intentions and are therefore entitled to that which they have not earned. We are all drawn to drama and misery; it's easier than happiness--misery loves company, and company loves the miserable. Try gaining a crowd's attention for 10 minutes using stand-up. Then try doing it telling them you have cancer. Human belief in entitlement and attraction to sorrow certainly aren't new phenomena--Zeitgeists come and go--it's just that this one has reared its ugly head again.

So who am I? I'm a traitor to my generation and damned proud of it.

Actually mainly just Star Wars. Today was my much anticipated return to the classroom, and let me tell you something: it was pretty much the same as I left it. Couple that with my exhaustion following a 10 mile run, and I've really little to talk about. And that's why I'm going to let someone else entertain you. Andy sent me this link, and it had me rolling on the floor. Enjoy.

The Backstroke of the West