Recently, exactly the right song at the wrong time, that is to say, the wrong song at the right time has been produced by the supposedly random selections Winamp-ing their way through the silent evenings in Kanki-cho. The thing is, it’s one of those songs that could be for real or a complete joke. I can’t tell if I’m just overly cynical right now. And I can’t tell if it’s nerdy to link to song lyrics in your blog.

It’s here

There are some new things up in the photogalleries and links sections. Lots more photos coming soon but incredibly black and white photography is all but a lost art in Japan and finding a place to process the negatives was difficult. I stopped using the school darkroom back in the fall when I realized the chemicals expired in 2002.

Oddest event of the week was getting initiated into a religious cult (mostly unknowingly – that’s my Japanese level right now) by a “friend” from my student days in Tokyo. And it wasn’t the Japan Vegetarian Society. Bounce over here to get the idea. Give me your impressions of these and anything else in the forums.

Last week of classes as a JET.

I wish I was a hip-hopper,
so my girl would love me again.
If I was a breaker, locker or popper,
I could dance back into her heart then.
With head spins and windmills,
I’d perform athletic feats.
While she shakes her Mano booty,
to the boom-boom-click beats.
 
I wish I was a rapper,
that could spit ten million rhymes.
I’d rap out that I love her,
ten million and one more times.
Her favorite flows are lovers rock,
such as the mighty mighty Mos Def.
If in good timing my ill punch line drops,
she might forgive me yet.
 
I wish I wrote graffiti,
or rather wrote it well.
I’d write E-Star on every wall I see,
from Japan to the P-Town swell.
For the letters I’d use platinum ink,
to make a big impression.
A crazy fresh design to make her think,
of others things than my transgression.
 
And if I was a DJ,
the backbone of it all.
I’d scratch and cut myself a way,
out of this perilous fall.
My name would be the Def Selector,
my choice of tunes quite dope.
On the ones and twos I’d balance her love,
on this rapidly untwining tight rope.
 
But I promise for now I’m still not a playa,
despite what she may think.
Got to listen to all she may say – a,
chance to step back from the brink.
But if only I was a DJ or MC,
With not hearts but samples to rob.
A b-boy that wrote tight graffiti,
I could prove I’ve got the skills for the job.
 
All these dreams and I’m just a white boy,
raised in suburban bliss.
Oh! to be down with the hood and not a toy,
not a grounded flapping fish.
Why is her soul in the light of hip-hop?
In the end she’s just as pale as me.
But maybe somewhere we can find a spot,
After all we met at Talib Qweli.

You ever have one of those periods in your life when it seems like everything is just going smoothly, you enjoy your lifestyle and are content with your level of consumption, you have meaningful things and people nearby, you have plans and dreams, maybe you’ve even found love?  How about having all that whisked from under your feet like the proverbial rug, sending you into a tailspin as distorted and dramatic as a cartoon character stepping on banana peel?  Faster than you can type “WTF”, the switch in emotional polarity is so powerful it almost makes a sound, like a massive “WHOMP!”, silencing a noisy room and sucking the air from your lungs.  Your reaction is so undefinable and inconcise; like dishes being dropped in a restaurant, we all wonder who did it but don’t rush to assign the obvious blame, and instead feel somewhat embarrassed that our mealtime reverie was interrupted.

Sometimes life just sucks like that.

Maybe we could even see it coming, see that dark oil slick on the road ready to help you lay that bike down hard, and we choose to disregard it, deny it’s existence for the chance to bask in sunny bliss just a little bit longer.  Maybe of all the valid and invalid emotions you feel at these times, from anger and sadness to anxiety and regret, the most overreaching one is a feeling of naiveté or inadequacy about your self-imposed inability to foresee this consequence.  I mean, if things are going so well, of course there’s going to be a repercussion.  Things change, people change, things are too good to be true, and shouldn’t you know by now that karma works both ways?  You were never perfect (who’d want to be?), but now some of those screw-ups are coming around to bite you in the ass.  It’s inevitable and it’s only ourselves we should truly blame for forgetting that fruit can be bitter, dogs can bite, roses can prick.  For those who’ve forgotten there’ll be a whole section of Hallmark Cards at the local pharmacy to sum up our emotions into convenient limericks and pithy adages to remind us that we’re not alone in our loneliness.

This one goes out to Jaime who said I shouldn’t write a depressed emo blog.