Archangles

To him, they were saviors.

How many years it had been, he can’t remember.

But he knew them in a way, with his heart, that time doesn’t really matter.

Just those precious moments.

“How many years?” he asked himself.

Technology, to him, was a maze. Too technical… perhaps.

He was always more interested in the strength and delicacy of the chambers, the flow.

“Can I really see where they are? Let’s try this thing out…”

Another Box

First I was interested.
Then I was bored.
Later I was a little confused.
Then I was almost pissed off in a bad way.
At last, after watching everyone cry, I was hopeful.
But with a potentially angry twist.
'Cause it's all happening in that big fat now.

Last weekend was "B0xed Lunch D4y" - which doesn't sound all that exciting.
And normally it wouldn't be. Yeah, there's plenty of 'bento pr0n' out there on the net; this post ain't about that. Even if this hippy page approach turns you on, be forewarned... our BLD had the effect of a bent0 snuff vide0. For a number of reasons I'm still trying to work out.

Summer

Rainy season's supposed to let up some time soon. And until that time is over, the after-shower humidity can get on everyone's nerves, making people crabby, irritable, and just plain wishing no one wus ever born.

Occasionally, the clouds will break up just enough and light will shine through.
For us, that happened last weekend.

So, we celebrated. And it just so happened that one of our precious pods that has been growing in the garden... it hadn't been ravaged by the crows or carried away by the any of the red-assed monkeys that parkours across our roof from time to time. This year, our crop survived even though we still don't have a clue as to what we are doing.

Maybe all the noise coming from the house these last few months... maybe all that hate-fever, heat-induced screaming and shouting had scared 'em all away.

Yeah, we celebrated. Our melon spent the night in our fridge, chilling with a bunch of other goodies before time came to bring it out and slice it open. 

 

Simple pleasures bring back memories of hotter-than-hell summers past. The smell of tomato plants, the lazy sound of the pressure cooker pulling that sweet pork flavor up from the bottom and into those black-eyed peas. Okra, maybe some fried catfish, cornbread...

Sometimes you miss stuff that isn't there anymore, even if you were to go back.

So you take what's around you and do what you can with what you've got. And we've got plenty. Which is hard to see sometimes.  Wifey decided to give it a shot and pickle the melon's rinds by making up a recipe that included a little bit of soy sauce and some chili peppers. 

When we do stuff like this, is dawns on me that we are creating memories for our kids... memories that they may some day look back on. Maybe even looking for guidance.

And it kind of stuck me in the gut when I heard what had happened last night. When I'd gotten in from work, the kids were already asleep, so Wifey and I spent some time talking. Small talk, here and there, and then we went a little deep, but not for too long.

You see, when you talk about some stuff before going to bed, it can call up things from below that won't be satisfied till they've devoured your dreams and deprived you of your peaceful sleep.

Just before bedtime, they'd had the TV on, watching a nature show. Son had asked Mom a question. Mom had explained what is kind of happening around the world. Where things are headed and how much of a mess we are making of this place... and the outlook for the future.

The news had upset Son so much that he puked.

God Unique

Trains, Post-racism, and Shit-kickers

(unedited)

Dear Loco (and anyone else who happens to read this),

I’ve enjoyed reading your first book. It’s a good start. But I am worried. You see, you’ve got me thinking. I'm still a little groggy from my sleep. Not yet wide awake, but getting there.

Yeah... you sure got me thinking. On a trajectory… so to speak.

As it so turns out, I’m one of your readers who has been kind of watching things unfold in terms of what has been going on in the blogosphere. Which is still kind of an odd place. Particularly the English-speaking expat living in Japan’s little portion of it.

Now, before I run the risk of boring you to death with any tedious details about where I am coming from (which is not really important), I would like attempt to address something  one of your readers put forth in his book review (or was it in the comments?). An observation was made that went something like:

“So many people who’ve read and reviewed the book say that Loco’s made them think. But people aren’t saying what...” 

(I’ll clear this up and hopefully add the exact words that were used… under a bit of a crunch right now)

Food and Thought

Often Raw or Just Slightly Cooked

Often Raw or Just Slightly Cooked: More of the Shit

Quick Background: 

Unintentionally flushed the big file (Parts II-IV were lost). Part V of The Series hasn’t been written yet. Part II does tie into Part IV. Part V…well, we get there when we get there. 

For now…heeeeeeeeeeeeere’s Number Two. Get it? The title and the number?

Okay, so, humor isn't one of those talents everyone is born with (thank heavens).

But what about hunger?

Helicopter Man

Kazumi Kurigami made a number of commercials that were done well.


Now, the day after that post was made, I asked dear Wifey about the helicopter.

"Oh, that's Issei Miyake..."

Issei who?


Though he's more well known for the turtlenecks he gave to Steve, he's a force to reckon with. A piece of history.

When you watch something like this:

Mr. Glass

The level of satisfaction that comes from this piece is based on a person's ability to live. Full on.

Like Mr. Glass.

No, not him. 

He's just someone's dreamt up idea of a supervillian. Who happens to be played by Samuel L. Jackson.

Listen. Go ahead and listen. Just press play, it won't hurt you. The background music will explain itself. All that is needed is a little cooperation. Not much. Just a little. One click.

No other links. Not this time. 

I promise.

Independence

Life has a tendency to divide itself up between ages with childhood playing a very important part. Yeah, childhood... that special time when little minds are still growing, learning about the world, exploring innocent ideas about what this grand thing might just be all about. 

When you grow up with someone during that magical age of preteen eternity, you kind of have what might be understood as a shared sacred space. Or something like that. Maybe just innocence...

They hadn’t really talked so much since the time they were kids. There they were, relaxed with time to walk and talk about pretty much everything. Which they more or less did.