Archive for July, 2009


A five year plan….You mean…like Stalin?

July 29, 2009

A Bullet-Pointed Wednesday.

1) I watched Happy-go-lucky on Sunday, I’ve loved Mike Leigh ever since I watched my brother playing Tony in Abigail’s party when I was WAY too young to understand what the hell was going on. Anyway, the line came up “A five year plan…you mean… Like Stalin…?” and it stuck me as terribly true. I’m all for organisation but five year plans and ten year plans have always seemed faintly ridiculous to me – If a bloody dictator can’t pull it off with genocide, coercion and propaganda, – well – it leaves one slightly stumped in the face of time, money and human affection.

Do you have a five year plan? Should I stop being so naive and get one?

Saying that, I don’t even have a two minute plan at the moment. Recently everything  I’ve known has come under scrutiny as a long and beautiful relationship drew to a close. The way I live my life is being torn down and re-made on a minute to minute basis. I feel like I’m on speed, or watching a time lapse film on loop. Sepulchres crumble and are remade, foxes waste and die and are reborn in the the space of three minutes, their images hung between the tiny constituent parts that make up me.

 Some things remain the same. The steady, strong voice at the centre of all things for one, bids me to go onwards, not looking for a path but to move just for the sake of moving. I have a tremendous amount of energy.

I suppose it’s all just bio-chemistry.

All the bonds that held me to an old mode of being are breaking down, the energy released is tremendous.  My entire body is in overdrive, tasked with the sad business of necessary heartbreak. In the implosive reactions though (which see tiny empires die and be born in the blink of my eye) dead synaptic ends flail in the stasis, looking for a new connector to forge to. I’m trying to take it slowly  – I don’t want to have to re-break these raw, new bonds – there is always a danger of reactionism in these situations. I will be party to it no matter how conscious I try to be.

Underneath this huge release of mental energy is the slow, dull nauseous ache of mis-belonging. Soft, bile-yellow emotions cling on in my stomach, under my heart which still cycles through rising bouts of grieved anger.

2) The beauty of it all, is that I am writing. It’s flowing through me like never before. I’ve sketched an outline for the novel I’ve been meaning to write since I was sixteen, I’ve written three poems. My drawing has gone to shit. I can’t seem to hold a pen straight to get anything out but I feel language in me in a way I haven’t since I moved into this soft grey Japanese limbo one year ago.

Other things to be happy about:

3) My hair has quite suddenly stopped being short. It’s finally, finally long! I’m sitting here with still wet stands falling across my back. I have missed that feeling so, so much. Cutting my hair off was cutting out a lot of the crap that had accumulated along with it and for it to finally feel like my hair again, in such a frantic time it seems like a sign – like all the dissolved parts of me are slowly regrouping and it is a good feeling. Who knew that such a familar sensation as my hair falling down my back again would have such a positive effect on me! Terribley vapid of me I know, but in my wobbly state it’s perfectly acceptable.

Similarly, my skin is clearing up (touch wood, praise Thor, Allah and Jesus and my insane Japanese Doctor who likes to pat me on the tummy whilst calling me “Amigo!”)

Clearly… strange things are afoot … but very wonderful things too!


as always





Old Poem, heralding the arrival of embryonic new ones…

July 27, 2009





I would like, once more,

To draw my tongue in

Ripples on your hoared water.

Lying low and puddled


In moss lawns and

Butter knifed in glass

My fingers, clotted with black sand

Could rake up scree –


Carve me up,

And opened out

like a salted slug

I would show you my dirty red heart.


Things are, presently, a little tough…But nevertheless onwards and upwards.

Here’s to an upcoming vacation, new writings and freedom.






Riding home at 5 am…

July 22, 2009

…is a beautiful, beautiful, beautiful feeling.

Last night I rode home from Whitney’s place, we had a movie night, we watched the Life Aquatic which was sad and visually very intriguing…I had never watched a Wes Andersen movie until recently when I rented the Royal Tennembaums which in turn was enjoyable but also a little hard to get into…Probably because when I watch movies on my Laptop I inevitabley end up farting around on facebook like the big media twat I am.

ANYWAY. I especially loved the David Bowie covers that were threaded through the movie’s narrative and I really, really wanted to listen to David Bowie as I was biking home. But, alas – my Ipod is Bowieless, so I pressed shuffle and let my music take me where it would.

  I was sweating my balls off the whole journey home, I keep getting these crazy fevers and dizzy spells. Friday night I woke up certain there was an earthquake because everything was shaking. There was of course no earthquake. When I woke, there was non of the usual uncomfortable feeling of being dredged  out from a lake, my lids flicked open easily and I was sat up on my futon wondering what the eff was happening in half a second. It got me thinking about consciousness and my brain in general. The conscious thought producing part of my brain really represents only a fraction of what my brain can do.  I have always marvelled at the automatic quality of breathing, temperature regulation and a thousand other physical processes that constantly keep me on this side of death.This time it was different. The tiny sliver of synaptic pathways that make up ‘me’  were completely shut down, but a conscious(unconscious)  remainder convinced my body that the room was shaking and and pulled me from the shallow waters of sleep to readiness without me even being aware of it.

Crazy stuff and worse still it took me bloody ages to nod off again ad when my alarm went off (hideous thing that it is)  it felt as if treacle had been poured into my lungs and grey sludge choked my eyes. nice.

Anyway, back to my five am bike ride. These thoughts were wandering across my mind as I biked home, it takes about half an hour from Ujina to Hacchobori, following the eastern most river as it phases inland and west. It’s a cool path, breezey and quite beautiful (apart from the stench…the river is tidal…) and listening to music: radiohead, Bob Dylan, Arcade Fire, Espers, The Cinematic Orchestra and others of that ilk  waves of freedom and happiness rolled over me. I sang a long out loud feeling very pleased with myself. Sticking my tongue out at people who stared at me (knobs) and feeling in general like I was right where i should be (hm…on the move or in Hiroshima…not sure which yet?).

I thought about sexuality, gender, what flip flops I wanted to buy tomorrow and how yummy Whitney’s Salad dressing was. All the things that a typical in my life here.


I have to go now, I’m getting a headache and my apartment is begging to be cleaned. We’ll have to see which one takes priority.


Mizi-chan xoxoxoxo


Itchy Feet

July 9, 2009

In England, when the sun finally peaks out the streets are flooded with people and the  kinetic energies this creates lends to the summer, a tremendous sense of movement.

Well that’s how it always felt to me any way, and it fostered a terrible sense of wanderlust every time. Wanting to move, to change, to go somewhere…anywhere.  Last weekend, the sun was out so I headed out to central park in Hiroshima and i was really shocked…I was the only person there!  The huge green fields spread out on either side of me and apart from the occasional pedalling Granny no one came to the park at all.

I suppose it’s the last few days of bargain season at the moment so a lot of people were snapping up the last few half-off trilbies, romper suits and gladiator sandals that have been piled up in bargain bins but still…it shocked me.  I guess the sun is no luxury here – it shines plentifully and happily so why take the time to revel in it.

Well, revel in it I did. And maybe it was the vitamin D but since then a horrific energy has settled into my stomach – I want to move and I can’t because I made the choice to stay here for longer. As much as I love my life, I am and always have been ruled by the impulse to move – to go, to take action and do something. And making the choice to do the reverse is a little hard for me.

One Year Anniversaries (in addition) make this all that much harder… The Cicadas are screeching again. The heat is billowing around the buildings again, I’m counting down the days to Obon again.

Of course all this moaning makes one ask, why the bloody hell did you stay if you were only going to moan about it.

Well – friendship, finances and not having anything else to do all rank highly up there…So I will try to stay motivated and keep at it. 

Work, exercise, pass out, wake up. rinse. repeat.


Plum Rains…梅雨…

July 1, 2009


I’m wet and I smell that smell again. The wet dog, damp duffel-jacket, moldy bathroom smell of dirty rain water in a dirty city. Only thing is, am I in Belfast? No – I’m not. I’m living in a country where, to be honest, it hasn’t really rained since I arrived apart from when I’ve been drunk. And there’s nothing as awesome as being tiddled in Monsoon rains, wearing flip flops and being flippant.

Wednesday mornings spent biking to el Doctor, one hand clutching mi Brolley and the other on the left handle bar (my pinky finger tentativley hooked over the break) are quite a different thing. They’re just shit.

The old doctor is a strange chap – he speaks very good English but insists on speaking to me mostly in Spanish (aha! My Olive complexion must have him fooled…) and patting my tummy at intervals as he calls me “amigo”. Extra weight in Japan takes on the status of public property it seems. Everyone is quite at liberty to pat and giggle, its the same with penises too.  It used to horrify me when I first arrived (one year ago on Sunday), but now such things no longer bother me much. One positive change has been my amazing ability to ignore everything that’s going on around me and carry on regardless. Yes I am in Japan, soaked to my skin in a doctor’s office wearing nothing but a Mickey Mouse towel having my tummy rubbed by a bearded Japanese bloke who affectionately calls me amigo, but am I bothered?

 Ha! I’ve coped with more. 

The Doctor is treating me for the mad crazy acne I seem to have developed since I moved here, he’s given me this herbal coffee to take 3 times a day and it’s mad stuff – It usuallymakes me shake and feel a little light headed but my dear amigo insists that just means it’s working, speeding up my peristalsis and internal machinations and whatnot. I’m much happier taking it then I was taking the shite my dermatologist prescribed me…I don’t know if it’s just him or a Japanese approach to medicine but I left my dermatologist with 4 packs of pills: antibiotics, sulphur supplements, Vitamin B12 and some other shit I don’t even know…PLUS 3 creams and a bottle of liquid sulphur.

The doctor says my acne is caused by the fact that non of my organs are really working…which is always  massively comforting, visiting a doctor in a foreign country is always great: Languagebarrier + doctoral inability to empathise = mad fun.  SO I’m off to drink some  more coffee and try and get some of my systems back on-line.


Mizi-chan xoxoxoox