dust in the sun

Monday, June 11. 2007

From The Heart Of The Matter

Monday, April 10. 2006
This is the church
You are my priest.
This is our sacrament,
This is our ceremony.
Now is the time
We shed all our fear and hate
Embrace the freedom and hope,
We hold the truth now.

For this is my confession.


Forgive me father, for I have sinned
It has been five months since my last confession
Now hear this.

Ive never seen you so happy!
Gonna miss you mate.
Youre the best!

Do you take this man to be your best fucking friend, through health and wealth, happiness, fucking great times and fun, till the end do you part?

Do you take this man, in sickness and in pain, paralysis and whatever ills you might have, in everything till death do you part?

I do, mate, I do.

You may now go fucking crazy!!!

Minus figures

Wednesday, February 22. 2006
Why oh why, cant I see
This three am atrophy
Man, I know its killing me
Time to sleep, not to be
Engrossed, as it were, so openly
In the content fair, truly
Of this download folder, woe is me.

Where am I?

Saturday, January 14. 2006
I am the top half of the Marunouchi line,
My wallet doesnt stretch part Ochanomizu.

I am the mountains bordering the city on the north and west,
Lined with snow but only those winter mornings.

I am the neon east of Yasukuni avenue,
But it stays on my skin and my clothes stay on.

I am the kids in Harajuku every day of the week,
And they let me in whenever I need to be at home.

I am the trees in the precious parks,
Rare edge of the scenery.

I am all alone in a club in Shibuya and home is hours away,
Dont you know that Ill be alone a lot longer than that.

I am Tokyo bay by moonlight,
One way or another all the crap this city has comes to me and I still shine.

I am the haze that hangs above us all,
I see you but you try and succeed in not seeing me.

I am the blue ocean beyond the concrete houses lining the high points of the Chuo line,
Only its not really there only in my head.

I am the homeless man sleeping under the overpass,
The traffic ignores me and as much as it keeps me up I will miss it if I go.

I am a forgotten spirit hiding away from the bulldozers in a corner of the forest,
No-one remembers I am here and wouldnt care even if they did.

I am a soul with no-where left to go except this car park under a mountain,
These sealed black windows and charcoal heater take me away.

I am a thousand desperate nights and men who pay for company,
Those ladies buy the brands with their very souls.

I am the sounds of an unbearable summers day in a pine tree,
Sticky needles and screaming insects paint a picture to everything except our eyes.

I am, I am, I am I am part of it all, but I am leaving. I am gone.

Heatstroke

Thursday, January 12. 2006
The lone soldier sits at beside his radio, waiting. Night after night, he sits. And waits. During the day he fights, fights enemies he can only just hear and sees only after he kills them. He cant ever tell if they were the right targets, technically; but if they are dead and he is not, they were right as far as he is concerned. He retreats to his safe havens at night, places he know he noises of his struggles to communicate will not cross ears set on finding him.

He grew used to hearing back, but the silence has grown deafening. It has been an eternity in his head since he heard a friendly, calming voice and he grows more agitated every day. Waiting, he is patient, but the fuel of his patience was the voices and he needed that patience to continue the fight. The fight. It will go on only as long as he does because he knows it will outlast him and he participates as long as he breathes. Theres no respite except the voices over the radio at night. During the day is heat, jungle, bullets.

Heat is all around. Everything bakes, boils or fries. It all goes eventually. Some days it is worse than others but never bearable. It is another fight all together. The night brings cool enough to rest but without the voices, it might as well be an oven in those safe places for all the respite he gets.

He cant wait any longer. Half the pain comes from knowing that the voices on the other end might have given up their fighting and crossed over. There will be no hearing from them ever again, no resonance or closure. Crossing over is the total goodbye.

Sitting by his radio, he sweats more than he does during the day. Straining to the static, he cant tell if the river coming from his tightly clenched jaw is sweat from his head, or tears, or blood. It matters not. Just a whisper

Into it

Sunday, November 13. 2005
Get bent, mashed, mangled, just because its a Saturday night and theres a party happening, somewhere. And I got and urge to have some fun.

My heads in a different place, a different place to my mind and a different place to my body. All that talk, all those doubles, all the beats and thumping and banging, you take a few hours out there under the lights and repay it with hours upon hours the next day. Under the DJ hours fly over and the moment is full, the illusion total and your mates better be around somewhere, I made friends with the bartender and hes pouring them strong. My mate here is on a media pass tonight so I just followed his lead, I think he made me something with rum, my god, thats a fantastic dress

Lose it out there and float away, fly away. You the man, why cant we have always been here like this, how come years passed before this all came along? Doesnt matter here or now because the tunes are coming on and I feel a rush, look theres my mate, hes always out and about. Mate! What you doing here, I should be asking you, you my man and meet this guy here, you all cant be DJs, suppose you need a night off sometimes. All in this house, this temple to the light and the beat and to leaving your mind at the door

Dont talk to me, shit, is it fair that my head hurts this much? Its not really so bad, I dont have anyone to blame but me, Ive had worse. But still dont talk to me.

Tokyo Tales [crowded streets crowded prose]

Saturday, August 20. 2005
Never Alone

You can never be alone in this city. Everywhere you go therell be eyes from a window, feet next to you on the street. You cant get away in this city and all our relationships are shared, every moment you share with your lover you share with someone else and you cant escape this. No respite can be found from the crowds, they push on around you all hours of the day, shuffle past even on the smallest of streets.

Small handfuls of hours can be purchased to share your lust, but even then someone can hear, someone will be walking past and you, in a quiet moment as you stop to catch yourself, will hear the passions from the next room, the next door, the next floor

Your beginnings are caught amongst the conversations and flights of others, your moments of truth witnessed by strangers. The tears at the end cannot be hidden from the people nearby, so we hold them back until we cant be together anymore. The city bears witness to our love, so lovers get about with constant eyes on them. Sometimes they watch and encourage, sometimes glow purple with jealousy for they see a spark they lost long ago. Maybe they streak red across their vision of you for reasons their despair has driven them to, maybe they black you out but keep the sensation somewhere deep inside.

Each moment is not our own, we need this sometimes, but we live with the city, not merely in it, and she shares our love, but not shares in it.

Dead Trees and Traffic Islands

Thursday, August 18. 2005
Im wired in this evening and its been a 24 hours I would rather forget about. Coming back from the road is always a depressing time for me, the twelve hours after walking through the door again are the worst. I dont care that my own bed is here, or that I can have a clean shower whenever I want, all I want is a train heading somewhere and a destination. The bag on my back just feels useless after being both my anchor and my leash, pulling me to adventure. Now I just have to unpack it and throw all my gear in the washing machine.

What was the last week? Did it really happen? Twelve hours of soul decompression, but there was so much else to deal with this time around.

I wrote this about someone, but not about anyone. I wrote it for someone, with that someone in mind, but I really wrote it all for you.

The last part? I dont care right now. I just want to forget.


A love letter to you

You, who stunned me from the start,
You, who still takes the words from my mouth
When you appear, when you walk
When youre in front of me

And

Thats when time stops,
Nothing else is there but you
Thats when I feel strong and weak and perfect and useless,
All at once, thats when you make me feel

Alive.


Let me take you, let me hold you and tell you
These little truths and little sweet nothings
Let me make you feel like you are the only one in this world
The way you do to me
Let me hold you in my arms and whisper in your ear
All the ways you make the world a better place and
Let me feel the beat of your heart ,
The softness of your breath

Hear my voice and feel safe,
Hear my voice and feel happy
Look into my eyes and know I tell the truth
Look into my heart and find that I am true;
Would it be that we could be the most
Perfect and could it be that I could make you
The happiest in this world.


Be mine and mine alone, smile when I try to make you laugh
Smile when I try and stop you crying,
Laugh when I cant stop myself and go too far
Take a chance on me, Ill make you so happy.

Let me love you.


Please dont leave

wait

just stay a little longer, just talk a little more
Dont leave, please dont leave
Well make it, Ill be here when you want and

somewhere else when you dont

wait
wait

please dont leave
I dont want to dig the little pieces of you out of my life
I dont want to have to find some little box to put them all in and then hide it away
cant we hang onto this, we only just began

I don't want to live in this world where I'll never get to wait for you somewhere
never see your name on my phone
never see you walk away again.

I never thought I'd see you go, I never imagined
shock, I'm still in shock, still can't believe it all


just come back... don't leave me now



please...

i want you, i need you, don't you need me? You don't say you do, but I know
I know you want me still

so don't leave, don't go



please

True hipsters know.

Saturday, July 30. 2005

Tokyo Tales [crowded streets crowded prose]

Saturday, July 16. 2005
Afraid of the Dark

The sky around, always a grey, a patch of blue, a glow or red orange crimson at night, pink and purple when the sun slips up or down and browns and blacks when it goes sideways. A searching spotlight, the blaze along the highways, fields of neon stretching the avenues and a million evening wares all lit up so the night owls can feed. Blinding pink blue green white, even; words and pictures so the denizens can find their mark.

Its dark, but never pitch, say its never really dark. Could your eyes have really adjusted to a permanent level of light in the air? Should true black ever banished make a return to this place, would we all become blind? We would, the insides of our eyes have forgotten the feel of real darkness and become fatally attracted to these more real than real colours our science has created.

Every turn, every corner and alley, every box and shelf calls us and we cannot resist this new spectacle and drawn away from the fearful dark retreated as it has away from the city we now stay here, packed and crowded in our apartments lined with LED filled devices and walk from one fluorescent enclosure to another alone with the lights from LCD screens to guide us. Calling now are the neon marked dens of the night we have half shut out, half welcomed to the day.

Sunday night

Sunday, July 3. 2005
Live 8: raising awareness for the new Coldplay record.
All the people who paid money for the Crazy Frog CD single: utterly beyond salvation.
Dick Cheney: unable to have an orgasm without seeing Condoleeza Rice biting the head off a live rabbit.
Condoleeza Rice: still considered a spelling error in Bill Gates world.
Sting: still not returning my phone calls.
The entire nation of people who watch Big Brother: still fucking retarded.

Its Sunday night, raining and I am hungry. You should be too.

heart!

Saturday, June 25. 2005

I luv the valley (setting up)

Sunday, June 19. 2005
I luv the valley, Oh!

The J was ultra-busy. His last hear of university was reaching the apex, the crunch zone and culmination all at the same time. Between working and getting everything together so that he might graduate he had to fit me into the workings. In a display of planning and micromanagement I could never undertake he managed to juggle me and helping me get done what I needed to get down as well as juggling the debris of his own life. I managed to get done all I needed to, he managed to graduate and there was time a-plenty in between for bigging it up, pushing seeds, messing with the traffic commission, raging the valley with some Massive Asian Pride and some Chinese noodles to take on home.

This week on the Dragon: September 2003, what happened and where it left us.

The Exile Diary

Wednesday, June 1. 2005
May 6th -- Page One


I hope this transmission gets to you. Its being sent in the hope that one day the events of these forlornly headstrong days might be remembered and recalled by those who were left in the dark by them; but methodology has left us all in the lurch, the word reliable has slipped from this worlds vocabulary and technology has failed, outright, failed us all.

What became of the participants? Did their worries and scurries come to any fruition, did they merely waste the energy supplied by the sun? Its beyond relevance now, their names as forgotten as the times. Still, there is a small pocket of urgency in their story and thats why I send it to you the left behind, so that the gaps may be filled in and you can be complete in ways we could never be.


[X]
Sleep. The enemy, because I cant goddamn think when I have to sleep. Also, I dont get enough these days. A mundane fact in a boring life. My left eye droops when the end of the day nears and everyone knows that Ive been ignoring their advice. Sleep is for the weak. That make me weak and I already know that, I tell them, so what? They dont call me so much anymore.

Its all broken up, too, like a chocolate wafer I sat on by accident. Its still got all the properties of what it was, it just doesnt come together and when its done, pieces are fucking everywhere. Pieces of sleep I feel like Im missing pieces of sleep. It makes my head hurt and I get so drowsy on the train, but its good, you know. I feel like Im in a Henry Miller novel. Cut and pasted, neither here nor there and when my brain is on that verge of shutting down, the moments of awake lucid sleep in those moments the world is so beautiful. Nothing can be wrong, or angry, or hurt me. Then some fucker bumps me and suddenly I see the demons behind all their eyes, only for a split second. But I see them. They all have them, they all dont know. But I know, because I dont get any sleep. I am like those demons, they dont need sleep. Sleep is for the weak. I know why they dont call so much anymore, no-one likes to be around a monster.

I moved again. Something of a biannual ritual, this. Only this time nobody could come help me out so all that stuff, all the things that hold living together, I threw it all out. I dismantled my life and bagged it up then left it for the trash man. Took the valuables and posted them home (home, it makes me laugh to hear it) and the essentials and heartbreakers, well, I might forget Im alive if I didnt keep them around. The pain reminds you, I read once, that youre still alive. Who the fuck was that again? Never mind. So I moved. Thats the only activity of worth I see to report here. So I guess the reporting is finished for now. Didnt even need a whole page.

Oh, F left. It was sudden. Shes gone to Germany, she told me, didnt have time to even give me five minutes to say goodbye. Or get an e-mail address. So, goodbye, F, good luck and I might never see you again. Thats a page.

[Y]
That useless prick. Now I know why I made that promise to never work in an office again. Also, X didnt write again. Why do I bother. I think I need to get rid of this girl, too, but I wont. I never felt so jealous in my life. This Sun Yan Zi song is really fucking good.

Damn, the boss is coming. Fuck

No. It was that guy who looked like the boss. Ding. New e-mail! Shit. More fake Olsen Twin pics. Waste my time Hang about. That Photoshop work, thats really, really I need to go to the toilet. I hope the batteries on this laptop last


[Break in transmission]

May 9th -- Page Two


[X]
What a painfully dull couple of days. Absolutely nothing to recommend them to anyone, lest of all me who lived them out. I feel an insult to my existence. Their very mediocrity is their sole point of definition. Mediocrity truly is a constant and that paper I wasted attempting to justify their passing, I apologise to the trees that died.

But what happened today makes all that crap worthwhile.

Digging down here on my own, the daily reminder that the walls dont talk back is so unnecessary as to make it permanent. Some days it get to you more than others and keeping sane through days like this.. What does get me by? All that stuff, all the misses that I think about right when I dont need to, all goes away with a wave of her hand. And then some, since I didnt solicit a goddamn thing. Im so shallow, that this makes it all go away.

Just having a quiet time, getting ready in my head for all the crap that needs doing tomorrow and she waves at me. No one waves at me, not in this city, not in any city, but she did. Wasnt much on, but her friend was something special. What fortune.


[Y]
I know I even went and told people I was leaving here this month But Ill put it back another few months, maybe that will magically fix all these problems Ive made for myself. Yeah, that should do the trick. Time to call the office and tell them that Ill be in late tomorrow, I need to extend this visa. Whats that? What do you mean, you thought Id never be back? Weird bastards, you think theyd know better by now. Cant think where they might have gotten that impression of me. Ill make him apologise tomorrow, calling me flaky. The cheek. Whatever his name is.

I wonder if the old lady at immigration will remember me? Ive been in there almost every month this year, its about time she did.

May 27th Page Three

[X]
I wonder what happened. I found happy and sleazy all at once and stopped writing. That was funky but its morning now and I got to be out of this place by midday, not a pleasant place to be. I still feel like Im short on sleep.

Summer, mathematically, is almost here. Just the rain to keep me down for the time being. Im going to bed.

[Y]
I got drunk and then drank some tequila. Then I threw up but thats manly so its ok. I might have insulted some people and when I tried to drive I lost my keys in the river. I hope I didnt insult the boss or the bartender, the bartender looks like my boss. I got drunk, did I tell you? I think Ill stay here. Must remember to e-mail everyone and tell them. Ill do it tomorrow.

[The data stream was interrupted by a freak solar storm at this point, followed by a comet hitting the satellite dish. Coincidences.]



June 1st Page Three

[X]
Fuc**ng us***ss pric--- wis******h hed just make up his mind and stick with it, just godDAMN***ick with it and st^*^^^^^leading us all on. I bet Im ###########88**** fed up with ## bullshit and I dont want to be------------==============----------got other things to worry about, like cockroaches. Sisters and girls, too, working and sleazy. Its EASY, world of slEASZY. No one knows my pl****ut Jesus*H*Chr****ist I got one and thats m88****ore than required. If you ask some people. What may come of all us? Insignificant, but these are the best days and Ill be sick of the best days and then therell be nothing to come to. Hear that? Good thing Im not talking to you a888****nyway. Fuck this fucking ---

[Y]
Ill stay. No, Ill go. Ill stay. Go. Stay. Go. Repeat, rinse, warm up and eat it for breakfast. Stay. Go, stay. Go and then stay? Stay here and go later. Stay here later. Yeah, thats i-----*************************************************

End transmission

The weekend sucked nine times sideways

Tuesday, May 24. 2005
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