...these tiny scars serve to remind us of who we really are & what we can become..."

August 17th, 2010

i fell asleep in Nara.

I woke up in a traditional Japanese guesthouse wondering where that black cat went. She was hiding amongst the sliding wooden panel doors. When i learned her given name, it was a painful surprise. It stung me quite a bit. The very name that haunts me wherever i go….the owner hailed from Brasil, but spoke impeccable Japanese.

I was in this very same town almost 5 months ago...remembering the tiny scar on my right-hand wrist. Remembering what it symbolizes since we all scar so easily..and to think that time heals most wounds.

I think of my loved ones, for I often miss people more than places.

**********************

I ran into 2 female interns helping out with the local Nara International Film Festival. Teava and Zenetra were their given names. They are both sisters from the West Coast. One studied at Stanford and the other at the University of Reno. Both majored in something relating to film. They are a mix of Thai, Laotian, and something else. Both of them are the sum of everything interesting to talk to. Many questions were asked about my time spent in Thailand since they had never been there.

I spoke with a sort of romanticism about the land despite its inherent flaws. Especially the small town life that I encountered there.

I realized that although I had missed the Thai countryside somewhat, it was the breath-taking sunsets that I had yearned for the most. the cheerful smiles of my neighbors. the beaming faces of my Thai kindergarteners. the translucent azure waters. the lazy beaches that had seemed lifted from a dreamscape. those weeping tropical rainstorms.

all this came to mind when I closed my eyes and sighed out of my open mouth….

Nara was celebrating its 1300^th year anniversary. The ancient town never struck me as my favorite place in Japan. Too many wild deer clamoring for sembei crackers sold in bunches by weary vendors. I often got bit by them or poked by their antlers, Small children screaming in abject horror with terrified eyes while their parents laugh incessantly. Some of the tamed deer bore many scars like most of us do in our lives. Who knows where they got them from. A vehicle or one of their peers perhaps. I did not think i would miss Nara as I climbed back into my mini-van.

On these long drives in Japan i could think to myself clearly for the first time in years.

******************

....the heart wants what the heart wants

September 7th, 2010

Someone asked me today if I missed you....

I didn't answer.

I just closed my eyes and walked away.

and I whispered

"....so much"

***************
You can close your eyes to things you don’t want to see, but you can’t close your heart to things you don’t want to feel....

For once i could believe..that all could be solved on distant shores...yet i climbed mountains instead not sure what to achieve...

August 12th, 2010

Red sand.

Ice-covered slopes.

 I climbed Fuji-san 

with a sad song in my heart 

and hope in my eardrums….

It’s almost as though I was leaving my past behind at the foot of the mountain. Daring myself to rise above it all.

To rise above this broken year 

and to realize the weight of these words

 upon the bridge called my back.

The higher the altitude, 

the thinner the air,  

it became harder to breathe.

 I began to dream out loud while adjusting my head-lamp in the dark.

Every rock and every outcropping along the way
turned into symbolism as I made the ascent upwards.
Reminders of the troubles that I have encountered
head on.

Fuji had taunted me
“Come, climb me”.
I put too many things on hold
when it came time to hold on tighter,
the rope became a noose around my neck.

The inky black night betrayed by shooting stars
I stumbled on and on
in brand new hiking boots bought in North Tokyo.
Every bottle of water that I consumed
fueled my dream engine towards the summit.

John Lennon once told me that life is what happens to you
while you are busy making plans.
that adventure finds you when you least expect it
you must embrace like a long-lost cousin.

Words and feelings came out of me
when I saw the night sky
overhead the city lights of Fuji City.
The clouds looked like ivory quilts
 blanketing the landscape
comforting me with the aesthetic
of climbing in the dark.

Clad in a Swiss backpack given to me in Bangkok,
a Japanese Uniqlo shell jacket,
worn-out denim Levi’s
...and a red handkerchief tied around my neck

I felt like a bandit trying to escape exactly what ailed me that year. Altitude sickness did not overcome me as much as a sense of knowing that I knew I had to process this climb later and the importance of it.

I had failed to chronicle this year in words, but mostly did it through wine and song. Fuji-yama had challenged me to start writing again the way musicians improvise with their instruments. I had sorely missed engaging in the written word for solace or for enjoyment.

As I reached the top of the summit, it felt a bit anti-climatic due to the massive crowd assembled up there. My Japanese and Danish companions disappeared in the mob trying to fight it out for the best view of the morning sunrise.

I sat nestled on a rock formation trying to capture my breath.

 

Looking over the crest of the summit into the white billowing clouds, I felt as though I could the see the edge of forever....

**********************************

np: Andhéri - "Hvernig á að særa vini sína"

Heaving devotion but it's just no good....Taking it hard just like you knew I would....

May 28^th, 2010

I often miss people more than places.

At least that's the mantra I repeat to myself as I struggle out of my bunk bed in a half-hearted attempt.

Daylight streams in lazily through the window of this forlorn guesthouse room and I begin to wonder how I even got into this situation in the first place.

Living in Tokyo was always something that I had earnestly wanted to happen, but not in this fashion and certainly not in these circumstances. I barely have enough funds to secure a cheap bottle of red wine, let alone pay the monthly rent on this dilapidated shared room.

I start to come out of my stupor realizing what I do every time I awaken.

That very first thought that crushes me completely every single morning.

That she is never coming back.

Ever.

How did it come it to this?

*************

np: She & Him - "Sentimental Heart"

The immigrants...They want to sing all night long...

May 20th, 2010:

so..i decided to start writing a novel.

yes, i actually wrote the first paragraph already.

whether out of a cynical heart to contribute art..or to just put something out there that will never seen a publisher's crammed deskspace.

i have seen far too many beautiful and violent things to not put pen to paper. Maybe its the fire and smoke from the recent Bangkok riots that have stirred a change within my reluctant insides. Perhaps its these lonesome nights as a midnight migrant in Tokyo that begs me to unlock these frantic thoughts into the third person.

semi-autobiographical bipolar nonsense.

i am my father's son. i am no one.

simultaneously screwing himself over.

an ESL cowboy singing Joe Strummer songs as this insignificant life plods on.

a one-man chorus of the Ameriasian blues.

i serenade in Mestizo songs of love lost and money squandered on live music.

someday I will see both Bali and Ho Chi Minh before Christmastime.

meanwhile

i will go Straight to Hell, boys and girls...


"Can you really cough it up loud and strong?
The immigrants
They want to sing all night long
It could be anywhere
Most likely could be any frontier
Any hemisphere
No man's land and there ain't no asylum here
King Solomon, he never lived around here"


R.I.P. Joe Strummer

an old affectionate scarf

friends from far away
give me warmth like an old affectionate scarf.

i just cannot see the threads laid bare are the ties that bind.

i often miss people not places.

exalted queens among my female friends
i can only value them so much more these days..
 i miss them as much i miss being in Brooklyn
 the city lights that blanket me
with that knowing sense of deep, rich nostalgia....

*******************

i wander around Kyoto quite like a gaijin ghost...unsure of himself but feeling the zeitgeist of the time...

the spirit of adventure..
and child-like wonder
of seeing new and strange places..


how often we become cynical and jaded when life gets in the way of our plans..we forget to step back, breathe in deeply..and explore new countries..

so this is a story....

....a husband is having trouble relating to his wife. She seeks understanding and advice from a close friend. He happens to be a older man who is blind.

There is no speculation of adultery, the blind man is more of a big brother or a father figure to her. In his vulnerability and curiosity, the husband seeks to understand this unique friendship in the hope it will give him answers to save his marriage.

Yet, her close friend lives so far away. She misses him dearly and corresponds by mailing out weekly audio tapes of recorded conversation since he is blind. This creates a dialogue between them. He records his response and they keep this exchange of ideas going through the postal service for quite some time. The husband listens intently to each conversation from across the room, while his wife is playing the friend's messages in her outdated tape recorder. She drinks her Irish coffee and sighs while smoking her cheap cigarettes.

In her loneliness, the troubled wife invites her blind friend for a brief visit to her home. The husband is in clear anticipation to meet this blind man who has befriended his wife. There is no malice in his heart, only a void of not knowing where the next day will take him being married to someone who is so cold to his affections.

Upon the blind man's arrival to the home, the wife decides to buy some things to prepare a homemade dinner for the three of them. She promptly asks the husband to keep her friend company while she goes to the market. The husband sits down in the den with him, not saying much in a few span of minutes except to offer him a drink. An awkward silence hangs in the air between them for quite some time. Just exactly what is he is supposed to talk about with his guest is unclear to him.

The blind man quietly takes out a small pouch and begins to roll a marijuana cigarette. He promptly offers it to the husband and rolls one for himself. They begin to smoke in silence. The air is soon filled with simple laughter devoid of suspicion....