I don’t remember the exact contents and course of the conversation but he asked me what I do, to which I hesitantly responded that I teach English. He gave me the benefit of the doubt and asked if I’m a businessman. –I wish, I wanted to say and asked him his deal. So, he told me he lived in Thailand for seven years, and can speak English and Thai pretty well. We got to talking about the economy and the recession and as we meandered through this topic I asked him about the Japanese side of things—something about which I’m always curious. He told me that what Japan must do to survive is to find new breakthroughs in it’s various industries. For example, to combat the cheap new Nano from India, he said Japanese car manufacturers will have to come up with something revolutionary. How can Japanese companies, and by extension the country, consciously do this? The man’s answer was simple: cultural diversity.

I was shocked to hear this coming from a Nihonjin. But I guess living in Thailand for seven years has broadened the man’s horizons. He pointed out that Japan is a very closed nation, with stringent immigration laws that make it unfriendly to immigrants. He also noted that despite the recession, one of the greatest assets that the US has is it’s great cultural diversity. Make note of these facts to a typical Japanese person and suggest that maybe the solution to the low birthrates, cultural stagnation, and impending foreign competition on all fronts is merely a more lax immigration policy, and they’ll blush and try not to sound xenophobic as they tell you it’s not a good idea for no particular reason. So it was refreshing to hear the opposite coming from a Japanese native.

I don’t want to make a crude generalization. Japanese people from my experience are mostly tolerant and friendly individuals. But they have a deep seated paranoia that too much foreign cultural influence—especially in the direct form of immigration—will somehow forever infect and dilute Japan’s cultural heritage. In the age of glottalization this is a farce. On the contrary, cultural diversity strengthens a culture the same way that genetic diversity does. Hearing this minority-held perspective from a Japanese person was a breath of fresh air for me, and as usual I’m glad I had a nice chat on the train. We parted ways in Shinjuku. I didn’t get his name but I got something to think about.

A few weeks ago I read an article addressing the misconception that human evolution has come to a near standstill. The article pointed out that modern era humans are evolving at a faster pace their ancestors, the reason being a staggeringly large gene pool. Because our civilization is so large and varied we have great genetic diversity. This diversity, the article argues, increases the rate at which the human race evolves.

What does this have to do with my run in with a liberal Nihonjin on the train? I’ve been recently tossing around ideas in my head that cultural diversity affects society in the same way that genetic diversity affects the gene pool. The more diverse a culture, the more ideas get tossed around and the quicker the culture changes and adapts (usually for the better I think). Hearing my thoughts come from another mouth really drove this idea home for me. I firmly believe that higher cultural diversity in a society greatly increases that society’s ability to adapt and improve. Anyway, the sun has long come up and my eyes burn. I’d love to wake up to find feedback on this matter.

It seems that something strange happens when a small group of foreigners is put in a place where they are very easily apparent to one another (Japan being populated with black-haired Asian people, brown haired whities tend to stick out). On more than one occasion I was walking through a busy train station—let it be Shinjuku or Tokyo, whatever—and I spotted another gaijin, always white, and unwittingly made brief eye contact. If this ever happens back home or any place where there is an abundance of white people, there is no effect. But in Japan this brief recognition of a fellow foreigner gets me a nod or a smile or even a –sup. This is so fucking weird. I don’t know these people and where do they get the notion that we are in some elite club of honkies carousing around Tokyo giving each other secret handshakes?

Clearly I’m offended. But that brings me to another interesting phenomenon among some gaijin in Japan: hatred of other gaijin. For some reason I relish in the fact that I’m here, and I want nothing more than to be one of a select few foreigners in Tokyo so that I may be a wonderful and unique snowflake to which everyone Japanese can desperately flock. Why is this? Because I was a loser back home and I have a fleeting chance to be the cool center of attention. It’s pathetic, I know. The thing is I’ve spoken with many foreigners who share this odd sentiment. I hope we’re not all pathological narcissists but rather this is some psychological effect of being an obvious expatriate in a foreign country, particularly a nation which tends to glorify western (especially American) culture.

Though I sound like a complete asshole, I’m actually very cordial when I meet other foreigners and usually return their acknowledgements rather warmly. As for desiring to be the only foreigner in all of Japan and enviously resenting other foreigners—in truth most of my friends are not Japanese (though I really want to befriend more locals to practice speaking but all I do is work and work is populated with English speaking gaijin). Maybe that’s the source of my frustrations. I came here to be friends with Nihonjin and to speak Nipponese with them, but instead I’m friends with a bunch of fucking Americans. At least the mainland Europeans I’m friends with are a step in the right direction.

The fortunate thing is, despite not achieving the cultural exchange I’d like, I do really like the expatriates I’ve met. They’re an eccentric and charming bunch of rejects and fuck-ups. I love ‘em.

I was standing here, minding my own business reading a book, maybe The Little Prince or Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?, with my headphones on trying to ignore the dismal situation around me. Soon before the doors closed and the train departed someone got on the train and sort of tripped on my shoe and stood next to me. He apologized in English and I mumbled –daijōbu, which means ‘that’s okay’ and went on reading and listening. The guy kept verbalizing something about it being hot on the train and I knew he was trying to spark up a conversation. Now, I like to have a nice chat with a stranger but it seems that most often in Japan the stranger wants to practice their English. Their ability tends to be shoddy and, being an English teacher after a days work of coaching people with bad English, the last thing I want is to do it some more on my way home.

But despite my attempts to avoid conversation he got me. I don’t know what he said exactly but I couldn’t resist and started talking to him about this and that. But I was pleasantly surprised because his English was quite good and we talked about his time as a student in Canada and other such things. He just talked about himself and I could tell he wanted to practice, but it was alright with me because it helped pass the time and I didn’t have to teach him English. He never asked me what I did or anything and before I could get his name we rolled up to my stop, bid each other good night and off I went home.

That was something like two months ago, and the strange thing is I ran into him again tonight. He saw me on the stairs and asked –do you remember me? I said –of course, and we chatted on the commuter rapid all the way to my station. He told me about his ambition to learn more English slang. I gave him some advice: hang out in a group of English speakers and try to keep up. He was very happy when I complimented him on his English ability and we finally introduced ourselves. It was a weird coincidence and in a city of 30 million people kind of far-fetched, but on the other hand we daily take the same line home so it was a matter of time before we ran into each other again. In any case, I’m glad I didn’t ignore Yuki that first time because I ended up enjoying the spontaneous and brief conversation. I hope to run into him again some time.

The sun is up. Should probably get to sleep.

24. woolgather
to engage in fanciful daydreaming.

25. brobdingnagian
something of huge size, tremendous.

26. ambergris
an opaque, ash-colored secretion of the sperm whale intestine, used in perfumery.

27. tchotchke
an inexpensive souvenir, trinket, or ornament.

28. daedalian
difficult to understand because of intricacy.

29. abacinate (ll. abacinatus)
to blind by a red-hot metal plate held before the eyes.

30. crepuscule
twilight; dusk.

31. lamister
a fugitive from the law.

32. frondescence
the process or period of putting forth leaves, as a tree, plant, or the like.

33. umbrage
leaves that afford shade, as the foliage of trees.

34. verdure (ll. viridis)
greenness, esp. of fresh, flourishing vegetation.

35. Shrovetide
the three days before Ash Wednesday, once a time of confession and absolution.

36. chutzpah
unmitigated effrontery or impudence; gall. audacity; nerve.

37. braggadocio
empty boasting; bragging. a boasting person; braggart.

38. demur
to make objection, esp. on the grounds of scruples; take exception; object.

39. demiurge
a supernatural being imagined as creating or fashioning the world in subordination to the Supreme Being, and sometimes regarded as the originator of evil.

40. firedamp
a combustible gas consisting chiefly of methane, formed esp. in coal mines, and dangerously explosive when mixed with certain proportions of atmospheric air.

I’ll post the following 17 in some time.

The track list is as follows:

1. Riow Arai – Daybreak (I Dine at)
2. We – Hang On
3. Eliot Lipp – Beverly Rhode
4. The Exposures – Ein Lied Für Frau Thyssen-Henne
5. Machine Drum – Offs
6. Flying Lotus – Beginners Falafel
7. Dabrye – The Lish
8. Gotan Project – Chunga’s Revenge
9. Mr. Scruff – Jazz Potato
10. Gak Sato – One Good Turn
11. Swayzak – Skin Diving
12. Telephone Jim Jesus – Blue in the Face
13. Dabrye – We’ve Got Community
14. The Exposures – Das Freundliche Rocksichord
15. Flying Lotus – RobertaFlack (feat. Dolly)
16. We – Dyed Camel Skins
17. Eliot Lipp – Harmonix
18. Charanga Cakewalk – Carmela
19. Gak Sato – Omniscape

We sat in the sun for a while and I stared up at a blank sky. There was nothing forever beyond the two condos that flanked my view. We had come to Takaido to visit the health spa nearby. We wanted to soak our weary bones in the healing waters of the spa’s onsen. After our breather by the river we headed to place and bought tickets and rented cheap brown towels. But we didn’t go in right away. Still sleepy, we needed a nap, so we went downstairs to the cafeteria. Just adjacent to the lunchroom there is a bank of lazy boys and two flat screens turned down low. I don’t know about Yui but I slept for about forty minutes. I was out, quietly snoring and enjoying the outrageous dreams that usually come to me during a midday nap.

Feeling refreshed we finally went upstairs to enjoy hot brown water and avoid looking at saggy balls. We undress and leave our junk in the lockers, wearing nothing but the locker key on an elastic band around the wrist. (Some people choose to put the elastic key bracelet around their ankle, making them look like an aquatic parolee under house arrest.) Onsen etiquette dictates that you must shower before heading to the hot baths. Upon entering, it is immediately apparent that the showers are different from the western style. Instead of standing in a stall or even in a shower room, you sit on a plastic stool and wash using a hand held hose and shower head. There is also a bowl for your convenience so you may douse yourself with water. It is not unreasonable to find some guys shaving, brushing their teeth, and doing any number of other things that one usually does in privacy.

Washed, I headed for the outdoor section of the onsen. The little courtyard has three pools. One that contains ionized water, which to me might as well be tap water, and two connected pools of mineral laden spring water from 1600 meters below the surface of the earth. The first pool is quite hot, and the water flows down an inclined stream of sorts, scattered by stepping stones, and enters the large main pool where it only pretty hot. Here we spend most of our time, alternating ten minutes in the water and maybe five minutes on a bamboo bench or a cold flat rock like a stool. It is mighty relaxing to soak in the onsen water. Due to the high mineral content, a good portion of it being salt, the water has a strange viscosity and texture. You are also much more buoyant in this soup, and I wish they would install handles on the pool floor so you could easily prevent yourself from floating away.

By this time it was evening and the sun was gone, though the air was still warm and the sky was about half way between its daytime blue and nighttime near-black. A star or two was out and the moon hid behind the scraggly branches of a sickly cherry tree. The mood was austere. No one spoke. There is also a steam room but I didn’t go in. I didn’t fee like stepping into a room full of solid heat and walls, floor, and ceiling coated with sweat. Not today. I closed my eyes and breathed in the steam wafting up from the hot pool.

I am not quite honest when I say that no one speaks. When people come in groups they do speak quietly, but most onsen denizens come alone and sparking up a conversation with a nearby naked man is not very Japanese. Yui and I always banter about the usual shit, and often crack jokes about the size of the Japanese penis or the droopiness of old testicles.

Many men carry around a small towel with them that can be used for one of three things: it can be folded and put on the head, it can be used as a mat when sitting on a bench or a rock, or it can be used to cover ones genitals in embarrassment or modesty or both. The latter is most often employed and I think this is the sole purpose of the towels while the other uses are merely a ruse or convenient secondary uses. About one of the most offensive onsen fouls one could commit is to soak or rinse the towel in the onsen water. Apparently, the little towel should never be placed in the onsen water. I find this strange because the towel covers the nads and the nads are allowed in the water. But I remind myself that this is Japan, and in Japan many things do not make sense.

After about an hour slowly cooking in brine we rinsed and off and headed back down to the cafeteria for some hard earned dinner. We ate beef curry with fried pork cutlet and drank beer. The curry at the spa is quite good and only 500 yen or so. I also had soft serve vanilla ice cream for desert. After that it was back to the recliners for another power nap before the ride home.

And that was basically the end of my wonderful last Thursday.

We were lucky, the light was green, and we slipped by the almsmen undetected (though, later, on our way home we forked over our change). We headed to Tokyo Dome City, the theme park near the Yomiuri Giant’s home stadium. In the park there is a burger place called Zest Burger. As far as I know their burgers are the best in Japan. They’re made from quality beef, and in fact, you can watch the staff carve up the beef and make the patties. Next to the register there’s a glass partition behind which the meat handler (for lack of a better term, butcher doesn’t fit) unpacks the raw meat slab, sponges off the excess, and chops it up. More often than not you’ll witness the fatty beef being molded into patties ready for cooking, but if you’re lucky you might catch the actual cutting of the beef. There is something fascinating about watching a college-age Japanese chick handle a thirty pound slab of prime cut steak.

Besides the live show, the menu is interesting. Though I’m sure it’s not unique in the world, my favorite menu item which I have not tasted anywhere else is the Avocado Burger. It’s a standard burger with avocado in place of the cheese. Between the juicy ground beef and the soft avocado, the sandwich is a taste bud orgasm. Add some grilled onion, fresh tomato, and lettuce all on a toasted bun, and fries and of course a coke to match, and you have yourself something truly special.

But where the burgers succeed in taste, creativity, and presentation they fail miserably in construction and structural integrity. All but once have the burgers slipped apart on me. The juices from the meat and the onion and the slippery texture of the sliced avocado combine to create one of the most effective lubricants known to science. Something always slips out of the undersized bun. This one caveat aside, I love these burgers and never miss a chance to have one when I’m in the area. For 800 yen during lunch time, and a little over 1000 after that, they’re worth the price.

We ate our burgers at one of the tables outside, underneath the ferris wheel, the roller coaster, in sunlit shade. As we ate, we eyed the beauties that like to hang out in Korakuen on a sunny Thursday afternoon.

There’s yet more to this wonderful day.

I caught a local train, which usually means I could get a seat. The local trains in Tokyo are not as crowded as the expresses, especially on a lazy Thursday afternoon. But today I only stood in the corner by the door. I could comfortably look out the door’s window. The train was filled with the usual denizens of that time of day. There were grandmas and mom’s with little kids. Japanese kids are mysterious creatures. They are unusually quiet, and I rarely hear babies crying in Japan. They have dark deep eyes and round bulbous cheeks. Sometimes they make me laugh and other times I fear them.

As the train coasted through Karasuyama on it’s way to Shinjuku I stared out the window while the music hummed into my ears. With the right track and a certain kind of day to match the mood, simply watching things go by while riding the train can be really something. But you have to pay attention. I live that little part of my life in my own tiny dream. Everything is just right, and the whole universe feels in order. Or rather, the chaos looks acceptable and for that moment I join in it without resistance.

I took the Keio New Line through Shinjuku to Ichigaya, and switched trains. I was meeting my friend in Korakuen. In Ichigaya, I took the stairs out of the underground into the most splendid sunny station. Just across the tracks there is a pond (I think it’s the remnant of a river) with a nice fish farm and wharf for hobbyists. The opposite bank is lined with cherry trees. Not a month ago they were in full bloom. Pink petals carpeted the ground like cherry snow. But now the trees were lush green. My train arrived promptly and I took it two stations over to Suidobashi. Along the way I spotted fisherman covertly casting their lines on the banks of the pond, outside the protected area of the wharf. To my knowledge this is illegal. It was a pleasure to see them. They felt the need to go outside the boundaries normality, even if just a little bit. I haven’t been fishing in years…

I’ll finish this soon.

my brain hurts from living

I want to continue, I really do. But why continue in the face of an utter and complete lack of substance. What is substance? A goal, maybe. I need something to distract me from past regrets. I need something that will fill the void that mistakes have left in my life. I want only a few basic things. But as I write that sentence. “I want only a few basic things.” Want. Things. This is the problem right here. But I can’t not want them. Can’t.

Want. Things. Can’t.

I used to be able to overcome this. Why can’t I anymore? Used to. Why.

I can only look to the future. I can only take what will come with it. I can only love what I have. I must not love what I don’t have. So I love this. Am I deluding myself? Or am accepting the truth? Does it matter? I think I already know the answer to this last questions.

Nothing matters. My choice is this: does it make me despair?

Or does it make me free?

Nothing matters. I am free. Carefree purposelessness.

Good. I feel better. But now I know that I suffer. I must love to suffer. Tomorrow I will suffer. Let’s suffer together.

To exist is to suffer. To suffer is to be alive. I am alive. I am not dead. I will be alive tomorrow. I must love to be alive.

End catharsis. Sleep.

Now.

***

Do not look to the past. To look back, is to die. I kept re-framing what I had done over and over. Re-contextualizing what I have done, not what I do. This has held me back. I have dwelled in the past. I must exist in the present and create in the present. Past creations are meaningless. The serve only as a record of action, not product of effort.

If a project persists to be unfinished, the project is finished. Once it has left the present and entered the past it has been lost. Do not dwell on unfinished things. They will remove the drive. It is easy to being but difficult to finish. Things will finish as they sometimes do. This will happen naturally.

Go to work. Now. It will finish as it always does.

***

The vapid musings of a vestigial organ.

It is never too late. It is always better to start sooner. Abandon stagnant projects. Always move forward. Sharks suffocate unless they swim. Profound leaps never come. Don’t wait for profound leaps. Archive, but don’t collect. Don’t tend to past work. Doing so is ego stroking masturbation. The greatest work is the work you start today. Today.

When you have an idea, act on it. Now.