Waking Life......

subtle suprises, that awe, the things around us that leave us inspired and captivated....we often tell ourselves, 'stop being childish', but i have to say to you preachers of sterility, fuck off.....for the 'real world' is nothing but your own personal chimera mirroring that sense of despair and angst that you hold deep within you...your wreched contentment only looks on at the objectified children with contempt. They may hate their situation also, or may cherish it, but alas, the 'child' that you objectify is your own despair and wreched contentment. Behold, the camel and lion, the star child awaits.....
[puns and references to thus spoke zarathustra are ment to be pretensious and hold no bearing on how i think right now...as a matter of fact 5 seconds past my previous sentence i disagree with it...wait..damn....change...the eternal reoccurance]

Nightmares

Dreams. I once used to dream quite frequently when i was a child and throughout my middle school years. I found a strange positive correlation between the frequency of my recollection of dreams and my overall sense of creativity. I used to have vivid dreams, dreams of sagas, adventures, mana, chimerical love stories that end in tragedy (isnt it odd that they seemed to always be haunting to some degree). For the past five years or so my dreams have seemed to evade conscious recollection. In tandem with this phenomena is the loss of a feeling of awe with everything... Even now, going into schools and giving a speech in front of a large crowd of disgruntled/half awake middle school studens, i manage not to give a damn about how i do...I said mother when i ment to say father and got some strange looks from people.... Isnt it humorous, ive lost that awe with some things, i tend to find it more of a sense of humility... my exsistence is an act in humility....i found that this perspective has allowed me to view the suffering, hate, destruction, as all absurd....yet i am the most absurd part about it...my apathy...i look on as if there were no morals to be learned, no final telology, only a process of overcoming, in a sense it is with this humility that i am allowed to overcome myself constantly, for if i were to grasp onto any one moment, i would instantly fall back into the spectrum of insane lust and nostalgia.... I find that when i think about the past now i say to myself 'oh...that was interesting now wasnt it....oh well its just synaptic connections now, nothing more...its effects are imminent throughout my world, but, alas, fuck it...i do not desire that which never was, for this nostalgia will not haunt me....but it is a lie... for it does each and every day... the longing for creativity (would i call that precognate nostalgia? for did i ever have creativity...in the sense described of as being able to apply information stored in my brain to new and unique situations? but i guess most people find that description of creativity lacking in creativity, for dont we all preform this each and every day? alas, we try and form an identity by making 'creativity' seem high and mighty, by allowing us to seperate ourselves from the herd....the eternal herd..... Anyways, back to the topic, or was it? i forget. anyways, dreams....last night i had a dream...in my apartment i drempt i was, of all places, in my apartment.. Yet it was different... The layout was different and i was on a hill, a steep hill. It was raining both in the chimera and in the chimerical state of being conscious after waking from the chimera, or would it be lapsing into another one? I forget... Anyways, as the dream/saga/chimera progressed... i remember the house falling over a cliff and consuming everything i had in it... I tried to salvage what i could, and found a keyboard and a few items still untouched... but most of it was destroyed... Given the grave situation i was forced to fly back to america and live with my parents, there my parents were overwhelmed to see me... and i remember putting on a smile when i met them... but for some reason i was dead inside....i neither laughed or did anything, just a sense of longing persisted....as if the consumption of the house by the earth consumed everything that was to be.. all potentiality gone....and returning to see the family left behind...only left a sad chill run down my spine....fuck simple rhymes........ Anyways, it was interesting....i awoke three times last night and this dream stuck with me. It was odd... now im teaching classes and telling people about myself.....im the lame duck, yet i dont imagine any other job being quite as good (with the exception of a few professions that i would esteem to, like composer/ graphic designer/ writer/ critical theorist, ect...) but anyways, i leave with this note........Nightmares and omens come in many shapes and sizes....usualy i have tooth dreams....but not this one...could it be that creativity will come to me? was it just that it never left? or wait, what the hell is this static locality that i am using as a point of reference... oh well......nightmares, so sublte, how the nostalgia of my childhood stays with me.

what does this mean:

Strange Encounters

Well, yesterday I went to visit the two JHS where i will be teaching... The first one was Sawauchi JHS. It seemed nessled in the middle of the Mts. and my meeting with the principal was quite interesting. We were discussing some things and i told them what my interests were... Then we got to the subject of philosophy (that seems unavoidable when trying to converse with me) and they asked me what type of philosophy i had or read. I told them that i read alot of marxism. Their reaction made me smile to some degree... They responded by saying how difficult and smart i must be to read up on marxism. In america just the suggestion of being a marxist (or rather reading marx, since i dont think i am a marxist in the orthodox sense of the term) would be probably more than enough for a dismissal from most jobs and ridicule or isolation from ones surroundings, yet here, once i said that they looked at me as if i was quite inteligent. Then i said that i read Fredrich Nietzsche and they immedietly understood and knew who he was (at this point i was a little bit estatic inside and in awe, i thought i found a place where i could, if i get fluent enough, have some fruitful conversations in subjects that i am interested in with the people i work with). Later when i met the english teacher at sawauchi he showed us around the school, when i said that i was interested in kendo (it turns out the school has a judo and possibly a kendo club, but im not sure about the later, i might have missed something in the conversation)and wanted to learn the piano and compose music...things got interesting, it turns out the english teacher is also the music teacher at the school, and seemed a little bit more than eager to teach me to play... THe visit to yuda JHS was not quite as eventfull, i botched up a simple introduction (i am going to do the same once i visit the mayor later today) but the teachers seemed to be quite willing to persist with my half broken japanese and seemed somewhat enthusiastic (though im still trying to find out if its genuine or not, but then again that question is b.s. since its assuming there is an essence, something behind the masks we wear, when all we have are the various facades, shillouetes to cloak a void a phantasm of a center...the center must not hold. Anyways, i have to give an introduction in front of both schools (with all the kids) which should prove to be interesting, but im not concerned, i have faced worse when dealing with my parents. Though it might not be as good as i am making it out to be due to my haphazard japanese skills, i am fairly sure that im at least in a proximal distance to an understanding of my environment. The sense of being in humility has not worn off, but a week in japan thus far has been more insightfull from a linguistic standpoint than three years of japanese in college. While i admit i wouldnt be here if it were not for college, the actual content of that education left much to be desired. Though i know my experience is due to some degree of orientialism and occultism, who among us has not held a sense of alterity, a sense of desire for something different? is that not one of the fundamential (insert flaw/reasons for despair/perspectives that arise from ignorance of the totality or nothingness of everything/or whatever perspective one holds) of the ontological paradox? Not that i am justifying my perspective, or saying that others should do as i have done, but i at least hold myself to a degree of humility....Its odd....I can still say that most of my views have not changed, as a matter of fact they have been somewhat reinforced by the experience hitherto (i wont say what, so as to leave ambiguous the suggestion) but it puts somethings into a different light. Like i said before feeling like a baby having your dipers changed for you (while your an adult)is probably a similar experience to the linguistic bootstraping and generosity/aquardness of being an alterity, a phenomena, something of a wonder in this new environment. I think it would make most pretensious politicians step back from their ivory towers and powerlusts and just realize the humility of it all, the existential paradoxs and mundanity of living, the temporal locality and dislocation of oneself into the depths of ones own understanding. In a sense, just to deconstruct oneself...I think this practice should be taken by a few people, to stare into the abyss....the abyss also stares back at you.. Sometimes one just should try to jump into the depths...and let the fires consume or revive.

keep it real bro.

Cement Jungle/Dreamland/Chimera......Its all fucked.

私を殺してくれてください。。
生活は夢のようになりました。
でも、真っ黒のような思い出や東京で撮る写真をはりました。

Walking down Harajuku, riding on the Raimbow bridge to get to Odaiba, seeing the constant barrage of lights, masses of people moving around Shibuya and its musical/fashionable display..I once thought new york was eye candy and a prototype of how an infanstructure has such a vital role for everthing, that the groups of atoms moving in space colliding with each other at a massive velocity due to the compressed area, elicit an ominous relation for how fragile the infanstructure it all is. I think i snapped when walking....something gave, maybe it was the realization that my japanese is all but useless, i have lost all sense of sanity and confidence in myself, i just want to be one of the nihilistic youth walking around Shibuya as they consume the streets leaving the cars to rust in the summer sun. I want to feel what it was like again to loose all hope, to say fuck it to everything, yet in a few days i will start teaching....How to go about this..? I have not yet come to terms with my environmental revolution...I feel fragile, alone, desolate, broken, yet this is how i imagined it...this is what it would feel like...I am sure that its just the jet lag speaking, since sleep has eluded me for the past 50 some odd hours, but maybe its much more. Im sitting here at 1Am listeningn to this guy talk about Israel's right to bomb lebanon because they have no other resources to turn to when dealing with these 'fundamentialists' (as if the zionist militants were not 'fundamential' in their opression of palistien, their continued occupations of lebanon, their creation of an enemy and using its creation as justification for provacations that further justify militant moves.....kill the people, realize mock prejiduces in a state that only allows people of specific religious beleif to have automatic global immunity and citizenship.) Whatever, fuck it, i dont give a damn....I cant.... I want to articulate, i critique, but its all in vain, i realize that i lack the will to construct anything of worth to myself, i just give it up....Gotta worry aobut how much one is spending, got to go to an organic resteraunt in tokyo, only to have some vegetables for an expensive price, gotta go to a sushi bar and order kappa maki though stumble a couple of times in japanese when talking to the chef...Gotta fall asleep on the Subway and drool on my shirt after being awake for 30 hours and walking for 10. if this isnt living, if this is not a 'life', if this is all a chimera, then fuck it all..... The mega cd stores in Shibuya all spilling music from every direction, the people showing how fashionable they are. CJ, something about Shibuya just screems out to me as something that you should see.......The mass of young individuals walking, dominating the streets, the music shops all over, the arcades, the underground clubs, the individual isolation being surrounded by this cement jungle...Tokyo is by fare the most postmodern city i have ever been to...one moment a robot, the next, a monkey bein tugged by a trainer. Fuck....... I think im more confused by this whoe thing than anything....I am infatuated with the city just from visiting its major districts in one day, i see the yuppy Roppongi Hill, charging for everything, modern consumerism, plazma screens on the side, an ancient samurai stature, homeless people all around, cats roaming the streets, toilets that spray water at your ass.. I am so alone, so afraid, but of what? I dont have any expectations, any real future goals, i just want to be a nomad. Kill me, Let me live, breath the humid and polluted air....The phallaces of buildings all around us, i just want to live in isolation, quiet, but i dont know what to do with myself.....I am infatuated with everything around me, the ranting about israel's agression and realpolitik, the city that has willed its own destruction through the hegemonice force of pop cultural representation....how many times has tokyo been destroyed only to be rebuilt.....the pehonix city, ever dogging a vivid description, a static state, destroy/ rebuild, this modle is applied to every topographical movement, every temporal strain, every red light district...but what city is not like this any more? shall we fall into an orientialist trap....all i can say is that tokyo is a city for all and none....the homeless are ever more explicit than in america, the cats roaming the streets, the politeness and destructiveness all contained into one contradiction....one conjecture, each time the city reconstructs itself......and here i am taking pictures of the phalaces...of kabuki....of robots...of arcades, pachinko, my mind is so overdetermined right now, so confused, so contradictory....i want to experience things, yet fear experiencing the infinite horizon of tomorrow...Ill be a working boy now, with responsibility, ect... gotta write an introduction, gotta study form my host family stay... 3 years of japanese has gotten me jack shit...ok...i can read some kanji, pick up some sentances here and there, ask simple questions...but fuck, im glad i got kicked in the ass.....thats what this is, and i deserve it, i deserve to be looked upon with severe contentment at my pathetic japanese.....well....at least i can talk about it....in english......... Itinerary for tomorrow (i.e. today, i.e. i the horizoin) Kabuki, Hirajuku, Shinjuku, kitakami, Nishiwaga all so that i can dissapoint my employer with how under-prepared i am for all of this. Well, this is it....this is my dream...living a dream, living in a dream, a phantasm......Oh ya, its all fucked.

さようなら

he's on his way .

this message will find him in a new place, doing well, i'm sure.



hello.

phonecalls & postcards = poor substitution for friendships

either:
A)i'm crazy
B)everyone else is crazy
C)we're all crazy

i haven't felt this alienated from the world since i was a kid. and kids are supposed to feel alienated, because they're small, stupid, and all they know of society is what their parents let them. i walk around the street with this hostility and anger not directed at anything except all of the ambiguous characters i pass by and have disconnected moments that result from not acknowledging other living beings until it is completely unavoidable. to be honest, even when i was most comfortable with it, i never saw myself really fitting into the world the way most people do. i totally thought i could be normal for a second, what was i thinking.

He's stupid, he's dumb, he's the pilot: Part 2

Anyways, as i progressed after the encounter with the dirt and pavement (behold the rider on the grass! and the proceding ass festival! Look at the jesture playing jokes and making enigmas to be pondered about, the asses gaze, dance, feast, for whom is the ass in a world of asses? Zarathustra must be watching, for he himself once experienced the ass festival in a vivid way) i continued to muster my self humility, along with some self determination brought about by that humility, and washed my hands of the blood soaked pants and scars at your local Menards (brought to you by X parent corporation : ) ). Anyways, i progressed on my jouney to repay a constructed feeling of debt (which is infinatly more vile than the void, for it is a negativity, an absence, something that needs to be filled, repaid, the void just sits, does not need anything to 'fill it up' like a phallus, roses, or money) by construcing a token economy of semiotic value creation, reifying something that is supposed to be my intent in an object (i.e. a gift). If we observe the gift economy, it is facinating and hauntingly revolutionary (i will stop at this point for fear of digressing into a pesudo econo-philosophical rant, wait...damnit.) Anyways, after the desire constructed by my schema of 'debt' that has been aquired through the repetions of 'ungreatfulness' and 'spoiled brat' callings that have colored my episodic memory, i showed my willingness to bow to my internal desires, the structures that determine our actions, oh how they overdetermine! As i rode back with roses stuck tightly in my backpack (one must not be willing to admit that they had not planed in advance how the final undertaking would commence and getting object from point A to point B without a secure method), i recieved weird looks from the occupants of all the cars as i rode by. Was it that i was on a bike, surely not, for who has not seen someone ride a bike in this modern society (well, question probably is valid, who needs a bike when we can have more pavement, more oil, more toxins, more SUVs, more Wars, 'the american way of life is nonegotiable' as long as it benefits some corporate interests and wall street. LONG LIVE THE PEAK, THE FUTURE LASTS FOREVER, THE FUTURE IS NOW!). But i digress, the looks became ever more apparent, ever more gaze like, ever more, at least to me, rediculous. Was it the flowers... I must admit, i have not seen someone bike with some flowers in their backpack, but would make nothing much of such an encounter. Oh well, the flowers and the heat (upwards of 96F) must have made me seem like a hallucination, my bloodied palms, flowers, bike, rolled up pants, only a lunatic would do that.... It must be someone insane, I am insane. I would rather bike than car ride, walk than consume gas, apparently i am making things 'more difficult on myself' (the words of a wise and self reightious sage whos genetic material composits a little less than half of my own), im insane. The insanity of it all, is all i could think about, the roses i used in my gift economy screamed out at me, they showed me my insanity, to get a gift that involved the decapitation of flowers, to ride a bike in a society of hidrocarbon machines, to sweat, to bleed, to fall in the rush of things, to waver as one carries flowers on their back. It hit me, I am insane if there ever was such a gague as sanity, but then again, isnt it the sane who produce the insane, who elicit the insanity of the sanity in our society. I repeat, fear me, laugh at me, gaze at me, for i am the epitomy of insanity. I am the ass dancing on the roof, why would someone care, why would this dialogue even be taking place, if i were not totaly and completely insane. Those gazing from their high tower, full of sanity and wreached contentment, can have it, i choose the insanity of it all, to be insane, if only that i can bring a little bit more to bear on our soeicty by exposing it for what it is, an ass gazing, declaring all that defy its logic insane, attempting to imperialize those that it deems unsutable through their gaze, through the internalization of phantoms, through the semiotic of sensual oddity. Maybe it is the haunting ghost that these gazers look upon and feel a sense that they too are insane, that maybe they are afraid of their insanity and thus must externalize it to validate their saneness? Hmm...To speek of such would be deemd blasphamy in the sanctuary of the sane, i should go hide now, whith my bloody plams, my sweaty clothes, and my assorted roses....For FEAR ME, THE INSANE, THE ASS, THE ORIENT! But alas, the fear is expressed and effective through engagement, through the attempted destruction of the alterity.....I go.....to sleep.

He's stupid, he's dumb, he's the pilot: Part 1

Well, another misfortanate adventure. Speeding along the cement, the euphoria of a bike beneeth my feet, i wipped out. This wasnt any typical wipe out, no, this reflected the hight of my absurdity, an action that would defy most logics, though there are enough logics that one could construct that could justify the action of speeding along the sidewalk of one of the bussiest roads in southeast wisconsin and trying to rush across an intersection while the light was red, and a car (cars seem to forget that there is ever anyone else who might use the road to walk, ect... it seems to develop into a mass psyche of the domain of gas powered vehichels, epitomizing the blind isolation and self destructiveness that taps into my prototype for anything 'american' if there is anything coherent that fits that nomenclature in my schemas.) was pulled out blocking the entrance to the other sidewalk. So me, being the rambunctious youth flying along the bike, felt that i could continue to do so and just jump the small inclination to the other side...... Class, take this as example 1 of my prototype of stupidity (that is, it can only apply to me, being that i dont know what others were thinking at the time of their actions, and thus feel i am in a weak stance to judge them harshly, though i still cant ignore that I judge an action by its effects and from its intentions, i guess i just use a sense of empathy as my heuristic morals. Oh well, i will leave moral sentiments to another date.). After scraping my hands and getting my pants a little bloody, the guy in the car (who was on his cell phone) honked his horn at me and was laughing and gave me a thumbs up, and i looked back and laughed at myself. My own sense of humility is probably one of the few things that keeps me from relapsing into a nihilistic pesudo-rage of self destruction. I managed to find the whole incident humorous and worthwhile, if only for its humor (and not the pain, though that could make it worthwhile also). But sitting there, i was thinking how everyone seeing the incident probably thought "gee whiz. theres one stupid dumb fuck", in their self enlightend glory, well i have to say.... i was in agreement at the time.... But maybe it wasnt as dumb as it appeared to those standing in the glass tower, maybe the rush was worth it, maybe the pain was worth it, maybe the sense of personal humility was worth it..... 'worth it' what the fuck does that mean?