A few blessed days ago I didn't even own a tie (excluding the neon green number which I wore paired with a wife-beater and a ratty pair of Chuck Taylors on the rare occassions when I felt the avatar of Avril Lavigne and faux-punk descending upon my shoulders) but after a few days here in Tokyo I feel like the full business suit look has become a part of me. As if it were a spirit quest, I entered the electric wilderness of Japan a young boy in surf-inspired T-shirts and ripped jeans, clinging to the freewheeling, no-parents sensibilities inspired by four years of college, but after two days in the woods (otherwise known as the conference room) I have emerged transformed, now a man with a gleaming silver timepiece strapped to his wrist, collars and cuffs worn proudly like the stiff and starched jewlery of a new warrior, with one arm raised triumphantly towards the sky, thrusting the various folders and pamphlets of my new manhood towards the gods at the ministry of education as the dim lights of the boredroom fall around my lightly heaving shoulders. Yes, I made it. Somehow. I climbed through basalt and brimstone on my way up, dodging the words countless CLAIR officials slung down upon me like fiery meteors, slogging my way through marshes of culture shock seminars and demonstrations of how to teach 7 year-old children to count to ten, feeling my way along the lightless passageways of formal dinners and welcome receptions, uttering the same words "where are you from, where are you going, blah, blah, Japan, blah, blah" like an incantation meant to hold the social world together or because sometimes we're all just robots programmed for pleasantries, but somehow or another I've emerged, a smile on my face and a business card in my pocket, ready to do battle with hordes of innocent Japanese children on the pedagogical battlefields of Maruzuka Middle School.
Well, the whole thing wasn't that dramatic, but I sort of wish it was, because if life were more like a commercial for the Marines I think I might like it better. But alas, the Tokyo orientation session wasn't quite a three day treck up a fiery mountain side, and there was no flaming Godzilla demon to fight at the summit. It was, in fact, much what you might expect from an orientation for a teaching job in a foreign country; panels about managing cultural differences, teaching tips, exhortations to persevere through difficult times, testimonials from former JETs, and various other generally helpful talks about assorted aspects of living in Japan. Thankfully I didn't have to sit through any lectures about the shocking custom of taking off your shoes before entering a house or anything, but I don't feel terribly enlightened by anything they had to tell me. I'm glad we had it, because as something of a decompression period it was nice, but I think I'm ready to experience my new life for myself. I'm kinda done being prepared for it, and need to see and touch and speak to Hamamatsu with my own two eyes and mouth. I'll get my wish soon enough, because tomorrow morning we ship out. Normally the 10:15 departure time would have me crying sleep deprivation, but since I can't sleep in past 5:20 AM anymore I think I'll be fine. That is if we don't get too torn up by downtown Tokyo this evening. More to follow.
I think I'll post my first poem here tonight, as well. There's not much of a reason for me to start with this one, it's not my favorite poem, it's not incredibly applicable to any of the stuff I'm writing about, but it's ok. It's called 130 AM, a title which makes sense because it is about writing and thinking at 130 AM. Self-reflexivity's a bitch but there's no escape.
It’s about the late-night-early-morning
Darkness of a sleepless bedroom,
The intangibly thin quality of the air,
And the ineffable settling of the atmosphere
That sets the surrounding black to shivering,
To swallowing me up and placing me upon
An invisible road, a spirit-conduit between
The moons inside of my head. Their lights
Shine upon lifetimes past, present, future;
Upon the overwhelming thinness
Of those lifetimes, this lifetime, which
That light reveals: or, creates confluence
Between, revealing stages of being that are instead
A Silver Running River of strung-together
Time that is all points at once, knowing, touching
The mouth of whatever wide open sea
Awaits from the meager headwaters
Of its germination, just like the Buddha said.
It is in this contemplative, displacing,
Out-of-bodyish darkness that
One, I, feels less foolish in throwing
His intellect out like a symbolic lasso
Over the high points of his life, to catch
The trend and inexpertly extrapolate,
To predict the consequence of blurry dots
And stray, negligent erasure marks
Upon the character or direction of the line;
The all-important, all-encompassing
Two dimensional line that plots
The course of a three-dimensional person’s
Multi-dimensional life. 1:30 AM is the hour
Of resolutions, of defiant promises
To keep the shards of myself and my life
Together; 1:30 AM is the hour of healthy
Fear, of precognition, of decisive plans of action
Deferred to the weaker, complacent hours
Between sunrise, sunset.
It’s the time that exists outside of time,
That doesn’t run out and we can spend
Just to spend; don’t think twice, think
Instead like an itunes visualizer, in streams
Of just barely linked orange, green, violent,
Blue vibrations of the soul.
Curiously,
It’s the only time when who I am really
Matters, when I most want to manifest whatever
Is essential about myself just to see what
It looks like. It’s when a vaguely familiar voice
Or an old chord progression can work like a time machine
To force me into an oddly painful trespass
Upon a better-barred memory-lane;
The magic is in the dark;
The magic is in us;
The magic is all made-up.
It doesn’t really matter, because
At 1:42 AM everything is true, everything
Is false, everything is a beautiful thought
That seems beautiful only until we think
Again in the morning; then, everything
Seems a jumbled, incoherent mess of syntax errors
And melodrama.
Monday, July 28, 2008
Sunday, July 27, 2008
Sunrise over Tokyo
Dammit. I just deleted this post for the second time in as many days. It doesn't get much more annoying than that. Who knew that accidentally hitting the tab button could have such drastic consequences? Well, I had a nice little sappy poetic lead-in to the post penned down, but I feel like I'd be faking it if I tried to do it again, so let's dive right in, sans intro.
I wrote this on the plane yesterday.
What is there to think about when you're strapped into a plane seat for 9 plus hours? Plenty of stuf. Plenty of stuff I should be thinking about at least; 1 (+) years in a foreign country, not as foreign as some but foreign nonetheless, a job teaching children things, hey, having no friends except a computer, a notebook, a couple unexpected stalwarts from the past about to move across this country pretty soon anyway, and, uh, well a shit-load of made-up fools in books (I bought enough books to satisfy a ravenous Hermione Granger for at least six months). What else? Kissing my college and everybody I love goodbye for an indefinite amount of time, kissing, kissing, kissing, well I don't really want to be kissing much of anybody for a while, jumping off a ledge into a misty future with a potentially holey parachute crafted out of assurances and the vague promise of a cushy landing if you can brake through the bumpy landing. Why, hello Real-World, I was under the apparently false impression that you would be less crazy than the Whitman dream I've abruptly woken up from.
But then again, I could be crunching numbers at T. Rowe Price or pounding nails into house frames, or even better, still pounding the pavement looking for a grocery store to lend me a smock to hang up next to my diploma before I crawl into bed at night. So, yes, things could be worse. I could have boils. Or halitosis. Or an artificially implanted aversion to ice cream, night terrors, a lifetime contract with Jiffy Lube, two left feet, two left balls, a monkey surgically attached to my left shoulder, a third arm I can't control, a desire to read Joseph Conrad, and undying love for the musical stylings of Korn. I could be an unloved bastard child, I could be balding at a young age, I could have come of age in the 80's, I could have an outie for a belly-button. Shit, I do have an outie, but the fact remains that I could be bent over in a shower in the Walla Walla prison with a dick up my ass, so all things considered, life aint so bad. Life really aint so bad.
(Still on the plan stuff) I woke up this morning at 7:20, showered away the sweaty sheen of fear covering my body, made a final good-bye phone call, and loaded up, well, loaded myself into the car my father had loaded up for me, and got ready to treck it to the airport. It was a nice quiet ride, which I suppose makes for a nice boring post, but what followed next is more of a series hastily scanned photographs or a slideshow in fast forward than a continuous span of time: NW airlines baggage counter; tickets, passports popping in and out of boxes, bags, pockets; a fruit cup; lines, more lines - slow it down hugging my mom, my dad twice, Keelie three times, crying in an airport again, on an airplane again, fuck, my travel routes seem to be mighty tear-stained of late (there's a joke in there somewhere I'm just not willing to make); Burger King, and then
the big freeze. 9 + hours of it. My only question now, is what happens when we hit the ground and everything thaws out?
End plane entry. Thing is, transit is always more difficult when you're still in transition, so it seems really bad from what I just wrote. It got a lot better though. It got pretty hilarious actually. Unfortunately my computer is running out of battery so I will have to leave you with a sad taste in your mouth and the anticipation of happiness on the tip of your tongue. Tomorrow I'm sure they'll be some silly stuff to say, because Tokyo is a silly place.
I wrote this on the plane yesterday.
What is there to think about when you're strapped into a plane seat for 9 plus hours? Plenty of stuf. Plenty of stuff I should be thinking about at least; 1 (+) years in a foreign country, not as foreign as some but foreign nonetheless, a job teaching children things, hey, having no friends except a computer, a notebook, a couple unexpected stalwarts from the past about to move across this country pretty soon anyway, and, uh, well a shit-load of made-up fools in books (I bought enough books to satisfy a ravenous Hermione Granger for at least six months). What else? Kissing my college and everybody I love goodbye for an indefinite amount of time, kissing, kissing, kissing, well I don't really want to be kissing much of anybody for a while, jumping off a ledge into a misty future with a potentially holey parachute crafted out of assurances and the vague promise of a cushy landing if you can brake through the bumpy landing. Why, hello Real-World, I was under the apparently false impression that you would be less crazy than the Whitman dream I've abruptly woken up from.
But then again, I could be crunching numbers at T. Rowe Price or pounding nails into house frames, or even better, still pounding the pavement looking for a grocery store to lend me a smock to hang up next to my diploma before I crawl into bed at night. So, yes, things could be worse. I could have boils. Or halitosis. Or an artificially implanted aversion to ice cream, night terrors, a lifetime contract with Jiffy Lube, two left feet, two left balls, a monkey surgically attached to my left shoulder, a third arm I can't control, a desire to read Joseph Conrad, and undying love for the musical stylings of Korn. I could be an unloved bastard child, I could be balding at a young age, I could have come of age in the 80's, I could have an outie for a belly-button. Shit, I do have an outie, but the fact remains that I could be bent over in a shower in the Walla Walla prison with a dick up my ass, so all things considered, life aint so bad. Life really aint so bad.
(Still on the plan stuff) I woke up this morning at 7:20, showered away the sweaty sheen of fear covering my body, made a final good-bye phone call, and loaded up, well, loaded myself into the car my father had loaded up for me, and got ready to treck it to the airport. It was a nice quiet ride, which I suppose makes for a nice boring post, but what followed next is more of a series hastily scanned photographs or a slideshow in fast forward than a continuous span of time: NW airlines baggage counter; tickets, passports popping in and out of boxes, bags, pockets; a fruit cup; lines, more lines - slow it down hugging my mom, my dad twice, Keelie three times, crying in an airport again, on an airplane again, fuck, my travel routes seem to be mighty tear-stained of late (there's a joke in there somewhere I'm just not willing to make); Burger King, and then
the big freeze. 9 + hours of it. My only question now, is what happens when we hit the ground and everything thaws out?
End plane entry. Thing is, transit is always more difficult when you're still in transition, so it seems really bad from what I just wrote. It got a lot better though. It got pretty hilarious actually. Unfortunately my computer is running out of battery so I will have to leave you with a sad taste in your mouth and the anticipation of happiness on the tip of your tongue. Tomorrow I'm sure they'll be some silly stuff to say, because Tokyo is a silly place.
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
Getting my Feet Wet
Hm. So this is what it feels like to blog, huh? I remember back when blogging was the ultimate in middle-school overdramatics, back when people used to tearfully impress declamations of their love for various fourteen year-old boys or girls into the not-so-secret-and-discrete bosoms of online diaries, and I certainly remember vowing to never post my most personal feelings over the internet, but... well shit. Times change I suppose, because this here blog, which, I admit, will mostly just be a compilation of my favorite anime porn websites, will otherwise serve as a window into my soul, a comprehensive mapout of my emotional state, a public declaration of my deepest and darkest secrets. In short, everything you never really wanted to know.
Gotcha. I kept a private journal the last time I was in Japan, and even that was emotionally stunted, so I don't suppose I'll be posting anything too racy or embarassing on this publicly hosted one. However, you never really know. Well, this first post is turning into something of a mission statement, but as I sit here in my kitchen, T-minus like 4 days from shooting off into the white and red curtained East, I think that's appropriate. I'm figuring things out as I go along, and this seems like a nice way of helping that process along.
So, what am I going to write in here? I'm thinking everything. Funny stories about cultural misunderstandings, reports upon the state of the Japanese educational system, perhaps reviews of my favorite Bed and Breakfast's/all-night Manga Cafe's. It's all fair game. However, in addition to that I'm thinking about trying out something a little more risky: though I always feel like a fairly massive darsh referring to myself as a "poet," I have written a lot of poetry in my day, and because most everything I have ever submitted to various literary publications has been summarily rejected, I think from time to time I will publish them here myself. That's one way to beat the critics, I suppose. The coolest part of this whole thing, however, is the interactivity of it, so feel free to tell me what kind of stuff you guys want to hear. I'm certainly writing this for myself, but if I didn't want to involve all of my friends then I could just scribble my thoughts in a notebook that I keep locked in a drawer in my desk. So let the fun begin! I feel sad that I have to go away and leave everybody, but the beauty of the information age is that I don't have to seem as far away as I really am.
(To my family: I apologize for mentioning Anime Porn. I promise I don't really like it. It's just that it's sort of an inside joke/ a curse I've unsuccessfully tried to shake for some time now, and failing have decided instead to embrace. Maybe I'll tell the story of how it all started later.)
Gotcha. I kept a private journal the last time I was in Japan, and even that was emotionally stunted, so I don't suppose I'll be posting anything too racy or embarassing on this publicly hosted one. However, you never really know. Well, this first post is turning into something of a mission statement, but as I sit here in my kitchen, T-minus like 4 days from shooting off into the white and red curtained East, I think that's appropriate. I'm figuring things out as I go along, and this seems like a nice way of helping that process along.
So, what am I going to write in here? I'm thinking everything. Funny stories about cultural misunderstandings, reports upon the state of the Japanese educational system, perhaps reviews of my favorite Bed and Breakfast's/all-night Manga Cafe's. It's all fair game. However, in addition to that I'm thinking about trying out something a little more risky: though I always feel like a fairly massive darsh referring to myself as a "poet," I have written a lot of poetry in my day, and because most everything I have ever submitted to various literary publications has been summarily rejected, I think from time to time I will publish them here myself. That's one way to beat the critics, I suppose. The coolest part of this whole thing, however, is the interactivity of it, so feel free to tell me what kind of stuff you guys want to hear. I'm certainly writing this for myself, but if I didn't want to involve all of my friends then I could just scribble my thoughts in a notebook that I keep locked in a drawer in my desk. So let the fun begin! I feel sad that I have to go away and leave everybody, but the beauty of the information age is that I don't have to seem as far away as I really am.
(To my family: I apologize for mentioning Anime Porn. I promise I don't really like it. It's just that it's sort of an inside joke/ a curse I've unsuccessfully tried to shake for some time now, and failing have decided instead to embrace. Maybe I'll tell the story of how it all started later.)
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