autumn tactics

Though the particular date often escapes me, summer always brings the terminal feelings associated with my anniversary of living in Japan. Another cycle is spent; I’ve been here five years. I don’t know what is right anymore; I act but with so much less anticipation. I’m so tuned and adept at certain things but so blind to a myriad of others that I used to entertain. It’s like being in a crowded room with hundreds of people talking all at once but over time you unconsciously develop the habit of filtering them out one by one, until it’s as if you’re the only person for miles.

The first place I lived was a weekly mansion in Takaido. I bought a used mint green Ralph Lauren oxford for five hundred yen and I wore it to work the first day after nicking my Adam’s apple shaving in the morning. The photographs I took then were beautiful to me, but now looking at them I can hardly believe that they’re mine. It’s like seeing yourself at a party as a stranger.

I am exhausted, completely exhausted: physically, mentally, emotionally– in every way imaginable. A single pint of beer makes the following day almost intolerable. It seems that 85% of my life is muscle memory, and my brain is eternally drugged. I keep thinking to myself, if I just eat a little healthier, if I just change the position I sleep in, or how I hold myself when I walk, it’ll all come together and I’ll feel like I used to, like I barely remember.

I’m learning, but how much and at what cost I can’t keep track of any more.

Too tired to sleep…

[I just noticed that this is post 700. Seven hundred in just a little over five years; though the last nine months the rate has really slowed.]

Today I have to say goodbye to someone very important. Today I have to say goodbye to my mentor, Randy Pausch. Randy died today after a two year battle with pancreatic cancer. He was my inspiration and my teacher. He came into my life when I was lost and aimless, and he gave me something to live and dream for. He helped make me who I am.

He was intelligent, outgoing, and an excellent speaker. He talked about ideals and dreams, and what to live for, and I believed in him with my heart and soul. He was honest and straightforward; he demanded much from me because he knew what I was capable of.

From the moment I met him I admired him, and he drove me to excel beyond my wildest imagination. I sought his approval and recognition, and through my efforts and my passion, I achieved them.

When I was was joyous, he rejoiced with me, and when I was lost he showed me the way. He spoke to me plainly, and wisely. He made me feel good about who I was, and what I could achieve.

After I found out he had cancer, even though we were apart, he still continued to touch my life. As the world came to know Randy Pausch, I found an even deeper lesson to learn from him. In his suffering and trial, he endured with a strength that defines the beauty of the human spirit. He will always live in my heart.

I cannot repay a fraction of the compassion and wisdom he has taught me. I can only hope to spend every remaining day of my life to live as he did: with honor, and strength, and endless gratitude for all that I have been given.

I miss you Randy…

Today is July 3rd. I don’t remember when I last wrote, but it seems like yesterday, whatever that means. Releases to client fall like rainy days and it’s a miracle I remember to pay the utility bills.

Tomorrow is America’s Independence Day, 232 years from when a group of influential Anglo-Saxan landowners decided they’d had enough of being controlled by a group of other influential Anglo-Saxans several thousand miles to the northeast across the Atlantic Ocean. Of all the major holidays I’ve had to abandon since forsaking social security and the right to bear arms, the Fourth of July is probably the most derelict. I’m always working late, but there’s no marketing support for it in Japan, so it comes and goes with only a mid-compile passing thought of so many teenage romantic entanglements amidst fireworks.

Tomorrow Chub-Du has a concert, as does a minor band that has shown interest in hiring me for photography (which I have badly managed). However, I’ll make it to neither as the gaming industry is one of the most underdeveloped, taxing, and grossly inefficient wings of software development. This is no cause for alarm, however, as I’ve long since acquiesced to the fact and simply accept is as being inevitable as mortal death.

In any case, I have two independent productions on the board right now, though the first is quite tenuous for lack of definition. If anyone is interested in providing artistic consul, I would be much obliged. You may leave comments or mail me.

Ikuno Oribe said, “If a retainer will just think about what he is to do for the day at hand, he will able to do anything. If it is a single day’s work, one should be able to put up with it. Tomorrow, too, is but a single day.” — Yamamoto Tsunetomo, Hagakure, The Book of the Samurai, seventh chapter

The longer I spend wrapped up in work, the more disheveled I become and the more frustrating the moments of free time are. It’s when I take a step off the merry-go-round that I realize how much time has passed and how many virtual dishes have piled up in my personal life.

How many dozens of rolls of negatives are piled up on my desk?
I haven’t replied to that person in three months?
The friend’s concert I missed was when?
…
Yeah, I guess I wouldn’t put too much stock in our relationship either then.

Every time I wake up on a Saturday at noon and do a quick mental check on how many promises to myself I’ve broken, I feel sick to my stomach and roll back over, pulling the blankets over my head once more.

Why can’t I have the strength to be able to sort through all the perishable parts of living and consume them by value, in turn?

Today is the first day I have been able to rest in over two months. Last night we delivered another build; all the milestones have run together like watercolor, and then proceeded to pack the company for moving on Sunday. When I left at 11:30, everyone got together and went to eat yakiniku, but meals centered around meat have become like strolls down the cheap whiskey aisle the morning after an all-weekend bender… my mind and my stomach are in complete unison in their revulsion towards slabs of red animal protein. So I dropped back to the tail of the procession and politely excused myself.

I came home and had a glorious three-quarter pint of Kilkenny’s, and fell asleep in front of the TV with the screen door open to the chilling drizzle. Luckily, the bitter cold got me up on time for my lunch with Yamamoto-san. In the process I actually managed to look half respectable in a button down with my new haircut and a fresh shave. We talked about pedestrian things: friends and family, the yen’s legacy of being pegged to the dollar, and the price of butter. After waving goodbye I stood in front of the Tokyu Plaza and my mind drifted for a few minutes. The breeze carried the mist in waves through the canopy of umbrellas in Shibuya, but I decided to stop at Omotesando and walk home through the Meiji shrine inner gardens.

I am so taut and bristling with verve. Yet my body has learned not to fight my spirit in fatigue and instead simply acquiesce, being led along at the hand like a bemused parent to a child’s string of sensuous wonders on Saturday.

Do you remember my eyes? How they shift between blue and grey depending on the weather? The amber ring in the center that catches the sunlight?

Yes, the circumstances have changed, but my eyes and the soul behind them are still the same.

How many reasons do I have to have to explain the way that I feel well maybe I don’t have to or it doesn’t matter if I do or what or not and it’s done by me not you and old still something new left alone on my on with friends under the sky on a highway in a train by myself with fields of grain rice and mountains beyond to the oceans with sand and towels and people I don’t know but laughing it looks so much fun it’s just a part of the things that make me smile and laugh and it’s okay if you can’t understand it because I’m sure you feel it too it’s just inside and bubbling through in a different way because we’re both human and I love you no matter what happens to us and that’s just enough for me.

ええねん!

Hotel Locoz, Royal. Hotel Chapel Christmas. All of the Hachioji love hotels hanging along the opening stretch of the Kanetsu expressway, so many garish, sordid havens calling to tortured lovers, tempting with the poorly cloaked promise of two to four hours’ escape from prying eyes and questions.

Shuffling through the Dogenzaka rest stop idly for the tenth time, I look at the tsukemono, I look at the over-sized nikuman, slowly taking in all the chain-mall glory of the Japanese highway system: surreal, smug. They aren’t actual products I’d ever consider buying; it’s QVC and a sideshow. So many hours of saying nothing but thinking so much idly, it’s the closest thing to switching off that a neurotic medical journal entry like me can manage.

Sometimes a man meets a woman and is sure of his future in an instant. Sometimes it takes him his whole life. I used to believe that there was a certain way to fall in love, but as the years have passed I’ve grown to believe that there is no correct way to love a person. Change is eternal, and the only unifying constant in the world. I will be what I was but more and never less, forever.

What frightens me is what I don’t understand, and what may be. But I can’t predict the future, not from reading a thousand books or running a million experiments. But I can choose how I live and who I am, every day from now until the last. It’s nothing unique in its existence, but the actions I take are.

I am independent, and a voice, one of billions but one nonetheless. I have no more right to my own pursuit of happiness than any other, but no less either. My freedoms and privileges are immutable and as natural as the force of wind. These things are to my mind undeniable, so perhaps that is why the founders of America declared them as such. Be it God or chance, we have been given these infinite possibilities. So quick to favor ourselves and shift doctrine to ego, being human is certainly a challenge. Though we can identify with the ideals of freedom, truth, and love, they are not automatic. However it is said that nothing of any value comes easily. These beliefs number among our greatest strengths, our instinctive and unflagging desire to challenge, grown, and learn. So flawed is man, but so beautiful. As troubled in petty ways as I forever may be, I have never for a moment wished to be directed as to be infallible and not make decisions on my own. Life is hard, and it’s the hard that makes it great.

May all the buddhas of love and compassion always give me strength, so I may share it with others.

Thank you mother, thank you father. Thank you all.

The last several days have been…vintage Rusty. Assumptions, preconceptions, goals and limitations. Extremes are still my master, I soon forget my rules and principles. But oh how the fire burns! As the flames shrink, a deeper heat, an enduring one swells within. What have I learned other than my own weaknesses ad nauseam? Small things. Small beauty more timeless and sacred than my petty aspirations. Stories told by captivating old men, designs for a home to confuse invaders and protect one’s family, through time I slipped– centuries of valor, betrayal, honor, and poetry.

Fujiwara, Yoshitsune, bakufu, and Basho… Tokugawa, Ishiguro, Aoyagi, and Odano. I hiked through knee deep snow under a canopy of dormant sakura. I ate kiritanpo and dojou nabe, visited half a dozen bars and snacks in one night, faltering only at the end. I talked with locals about the Minamoto, matsuri, wabisabi, and satisfaction with life. So many mysteries unresolved, shades of light exposed then drowned out in unfolding darkness. So many questions, so much uncertainty; like the fickle weather of Kakunodate: ten minutes indoors and a crystal blue sky becomes a swirling snow storm.

I watched all four hours of Gone with the Wind, witnessing the horrible self-defeating tragedy of mankind and the eternal yearning for fantasy (ignorance of truth). Satori seems scarce at first but perhaps there is something deeper here to bring to heart.

summer of what to do
fell right back into you
and i still lie to you
awkward and in your room
but i’ve got something to prove
and i still lie to you
but what else could i do

i’ve got you
you’ve got me
you think something’s missing
we still dance
everybody knows it
it’s my way to tell you
everything is for you
i’ve got you
you’ve got me
and that’s all

-The Great Escape Rocks

This was a good weekend. I got to do what I enjoy best: exploring, learning, and taking pictures. I also was able to talk to some new people. If you talk to almost anyone the first time, there’s always a sense of freshness, hope, and innocence. I want to believe the more I talk to people the better I’ll get at it, and maybe somewhere along the way I’ll find a little peace. But for now at least I know I need to be the center of attention, whether because I’m spoiled or just lonely. I love two-way conversation. I want so much to believe that if I just be myself, people will like me for it. it’s so hard holding back all of the tempestuous fire in my heart that swells with the tides. Oh to be a dreamer and alone.

When I was in elementary school, the annual book fair was always a time of great anticipation. How many yarn-tasseled Garfield bookmarks could I con mom into buying me this year? One time I bought a book, From the Mixed-up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler. At the time I thought that it was related to Disney’s The Great Mouse Detective, in which the main character was named Basil. However, this was not the case as my mother informed me before buying it, but stubborn and not wanting to believe such depressing news, I insisted I knew this and wanted the book nonetheless. So, she bought it and it did indeed end up about being nothing about detectives or mice named Basil, but it was a very interesting read about two children who run away and live in a museum for a number of months. The image of all those toilets to oneself; the kind of comfort that comes only from the absolute pristine silence of dozens of toilets all to oneself, was strangely appealing. There is a similar line in the film With Honors; Joe Pesci makes such a comment about the bliss of living in a Harvard library.

I have a similar situation presented to me now, the only patron in a camping area with dozens of empty, tidily swept lodges. I enjoyed heavenly twenty minute trips to the ice cold toilets, slowly savoring my third read of The Dharma Bums.

Today was indeed a day spun in stories. Like a lot of times my assumptions and plans were all nonsense, but i was lucky to have people showing me the way. I climbed a 1200 meter mountain, I rode a horse, I picked my way through suicide woods at desk, I went spelunking in a bat cave, I bathed in hot water springs and ate one of the most perfect meals of my entire life. Twelve miles, thirteen hours, and a sense of deep satisfaction. I have half a bottle of the most delicious win but Japhy was right, in the mountains the air is thin and you don’t crave it. Kerouac was telling the truth, and I know how he felt…

Too physically active to drink, and something of completeness, and the hope to start a new direction in one’s life. The silence is almost maddening. [It was at least until a deer scream from the forest behind sent me quaking deeper into my Carinthia.]

You know the feeling you had as a kid right before something big happened? A special moment of clarity when you woke up from your own world and read the tension in all the grownups’ faces. That weighty realization, like the morning of a major operation or waiting on the front steps for your lost dog to come home.

It’s like I’ve had that feeling for so long that I’d stopped paying attention to it, and kind of forgot that it was even there. But life changes in ways you can never imagine. There are moments when you’re near friends and no one says a thing, but you can feel that it’s going to be all right, really, because it is all right.

Looking out of a minivan window full of dusty, exhausted travellers, the only sound trickling piano raindrops from the radio. Muddy rice fields and mountains flew by with the beat of my heart, all of us part of some great giant dreaming beyond the horizon.

ほこりっぽくて疲れた旅行者でいっぱいのミニバン窓の外を見ながら、唯一の音はラジオのパラパラなピアノだった。心臓の鼓動と一緒に濁った田圃と山を走り回って、僕らは地平線の彼方にいる巨漢の見てる夢の一部。

ばらの花 - くるり

雨降りの朝で今日も会えないや
何となく　でも少しほっとして
飲み干したジンジャーエール　気が抜けて

安心な僕らは旅に出ようぜ
思い切り泣いたり笑ったりしようぜ

愛のばら掲げて遠回りしてまた転んで
相づち打つよ君の弱さを探す為に

安心な僕らは旅に出ようぜ
思い切り泣いたり笑ったりしようぜ
僕らお互い弱虫すぎて
踏み込めないまま朝を迎える

暗がりを走る　君が見てるから
でもいない君も僕も

最終バス乗り過ごしてもう君に会えない
あんなに近づいたのに遠くなってゆく
だけどこんなに胸が痛むのは
何の花に例えられましょう
ジンジャーエール買って飲んだ
こんな味だったっけな
ジンジャーエール買って飲んだ
こんな味だったっけな
安心な僕らは旅に出ようぜ
思い切り泣いたり笑ったりしようぜ

A moment, for me, but not. When was I here before? Maybe I’ve been here all my life and it just slows down to now for an instant, for me to realize it. This has been, and will be, my life. Am I outside, or in? Can I avoid it? Should I make a pretense? Maybe we’re all wearing masks, from the second we dream until the day we die and our time is up.