Jericho took a pair of sunglasses and painted the inside of each frame black. He didn't want to see, you see. He wanted to be blind and he wanted to walk around as if blind, and for everyone he met to treat him as if he was a) superior to them due to the wearing of shades in December or b) to treat him with the same caution that every disabled body receives for its fragility.
Once, Jericho took his dog to the park and tied him to a fence while he dug a trench. It was only three feet deep because the remains of the snow kept the ground frozen and cold. The dog's name was Oscar. Jericho dug for two hours and after he was done digging he took the dog and placed him in the trench, removing his collar and lead as he did so. They were worth more than any canine deserved. The dog didn't object, instead it looked up at its owner with sad eyes. Pulling the fence pole which previously held the dog, Jericho stood above his pet and met its gaze. The fence pole was near frozen with silvers of ice caught in the ironwork. He raised it above his head with one hand and brought it crashing down onto the dog. Dark blood escaped the dogs head as he yelped once and became limp. Before too much blood had mixed with the tundra and patches of snow, Jericho filled the trench quickly and went home.

Autopilotting

I type this from a self contained booth at the internet café I frequented two years ago during my time in Osaka. Before returning to the UK, I have one day to revisit all old the places that I used to go to, that until now stood at the back of my mind like phantoms. So far I've wandered round Osaka castle park; which is a place I used to cycle around late at night. Often at top speed out of fear from the gunshots (later discovered to be kids with fireworks)… then I walked to my old house and stared at a lady and her son leaving for school. Then I walked past the hospital I worked at. Gosh, life was so lonely back then. That’s why I went mental on the weekends. Later I plan on going into town. There’s a café that I used to go to, where I’d always devour a gigantic hot cake and a mug of black coffee, which in between bean sprouts and 0kcal jelly pouches, would sometimes be the only thing consumed for days…being alone does things to my head. Whatever, I survived.

Yesterday was interesting too…here’s what happened (I was writing and walking, I mean, I’m a human geographer. It’s in my nature to be continuously observing and recording)

A trip to the bank.
I am still walking a bit funny, but this time it’s for a more physical reason: in my bag is 20 quid worth of 10yen coins. That’s 5000 brown coppers, all about the size of 2p. Also, there’s a pouch of 1 yen coins but these are so light they may as well be plastic. I’m surprised they haven’t yet floated away.
I wander with my booty (the money, not my arse, which is always with me regrettably), looking for a place to change it into real money. The first three places all turn me down: luckily the Clerk-sans use such polite language that I walk away smiling, half because their tone makes me feel warm inside and half because I want to burst into hysterics: I feel like a dodgy salesperson trying to flog my wares. Finally, I reach it. Ghetto bank. I walk in and it looks like any other bank- strange cube shaped sofas, ticket machines, staff in toy uniforms fussing over grumpy customers. However this bank has something else, something far more worrying. On the far side is a big yellow Mc Donalds sign. I’m not even joking. The bank isn’t even discreet about it; there aren’t doors to divide the two establishments. They’re conjoined twins. Mc. Bank. Unsurprisingly, staff here were more than happy to change my coins up.

ten nights of dream

I dreamed...

everyone was doing the washing up in the giant kitchen

somewhere I rode a toy train

why do people do that, I asked

you want to go to the shop that wasn't owned by the place we were in

elsewhere, a fight breaks out

I try desperately to remember everything I see. I hold two fingers to the glass tracing the path of the train tracks running side by side.

I gaze in the mirror at my face. My tongue has grown; it has purple psychedelic bits trailing underneath. On top, an open nerve sits 14cm long. Waiting to be cut so I can vomit and shit myself.

What it this place that I live in, with you? All these people here, they live together.

The kitchen is large and the people in it work together so that everyone can survive.

I stumble backwards from my spot on the platform, the spot where I gazed at you for the last time before you vanished. A strange, hexed spot. A spot that would make the whole world seem massive as soon as our fingers unlinked. Bittersweet, it would be ending right where it began.
A spot that would rob me of my ability to make sense of the world.
As I try and walk I hear the stupid, soothing train music playing. I wish it would stop because it is not okay. Things are not fine. I'm thinking these things as I lift each leg and chuck it somewhere in front of me, each step laboured because the distance is much further than perceived. My steps are heavy and my legs are forgetting how to walk: a symptom of the desperate attempt my body is making to block everything out.
As I slump myself behind a bright yellow sign, I look at Tokyo. Tokyo looks back at me, silently.

I feel as if I've worked something out. That to get through each day, you need to love someone. I don't know why it took me 21 years to work this out: I grew up surrounded by love.
Anyway, when someone comes along who makes you instantly feel like you've arrived home from a long and demanding trek through a blizzard, you'll want to hang onto them for ever and ever. You'll be able to do nothing other than love them completely and innocently. Anyone would.

Vanished

In the dark , We come out and play

We are its children, And we're here to stay

Running through , Hungry for strays

No invitation, take me away

I'm not cruel, But thats still what you see

Club to club, Come see this city with me

Hungry for life, Without your pity

I don't want it, But you give it

still cant say she wont start up

still cant say she wont start up a fight

you go city

cause in the city of life she cant she cant wait

In the darkness, A killer awaits

To kill a life, And the lies you make

You do another, So this death can live

Just keep on dancing, To the movie you're in

The smell of your sweat, Just lures me in

Your heartbeat, does things to me

running feet, Beats my blood

My ghost inside you, Soon will be

still cant say she wont start up

still cant say she wont start up a fight

you go city

cause in the city of life she cant she cant wait

Now its over, You've taken your life

The dark grows thin,

And I'm left to hide

I don't regret it, But its sad anyway

Now were both dead, And scared of the black

This life of games, And diligent trust

Its the things we do, Or the things we must

Im now tired of being cussed

So go sleep forever end to dust

November Rain, Part One

They say that to express oneself in Japanese the politest way to go about it is to be really really indirect. The English language too, is founded on beating around the bush. Take last night for example. I desperately wanted to say to someone 'I hate you,' but I didn't. Instead I opted to tell the person in question a hundred bits of information; each was a token piece of the jigsaw puzzle which they would rearrange by themselves. A game that would eventually reveal the truth. That I felt incredibly sour about almost every aspect of their sad little life. Hopefully when they realised this, I would be far away.

Said person is not a friend. Nor are they an enemy. Only a random human, met by chance through another human last night. And thankfully, I will never see them again. Let's set the record straight though – I don't think I'm being harsh. Everyone's the same: some personality traits make me shudder. And this blessed person managed to incorporate all of them into his being. I should congratulate him.

oh and one last thing...

That last post was depressing. Life is good other than money. See photo evidence. Money isn't everything. Money isn't anything, I know it's true, but it's somewhat hard to belive while standing in Tokyo feeling as frail and windswept as an Autumn leaf!