[[ RAIN CITY ]]
For all of you who have been wondering, this is a picture of where I live:
Yes, I've realized it's true:
I live in a dream world.
I live in a fantasy land where I can have a fourth bedroom and a stylish living room and a unicorn tapestry on my wall. I live in a place where even minimally fabulous living arrangements are completely out of my reach; in this same, place, however, I can also find huge zebra-print Versace pillows for $50 online. I live in a place where all my favorite pop-stars are plastered on billboards in every direction; I also live in a place where it seems every other short, average, and otherwise unimpressive person is famous for absolutely for no reason.
I live in a superficial place where people see me as superficial and perhaps shallow at best. I live in a place where everyone around me wants to be a model and shoes are more important than food. I live in this place where I am forced into thinking that if I can just lose weight and grow five centimeters in height then I will get anything I want--yet, ironically, the only way to be tall and skinny is to re-prioritize healthy food over expensive shoes, but these sort of logical things don't compute in the place where I live. After all, I'm not the kind of short, average, and otherwise unimpressive person who can be famous for absolutely no reason.
// conversations with dead people //
I live in a place where all of the writing is beautiful artwork, painted on signs with fine care; where you remove your shoes at the door and go watch the flowers bloom in spring before going shopping in futuristic locale, with a delicious sampling of fresh new music and fresh new faces every few meters. At the same time, the lights and the power lines dirty everything up like a ball of yarn, and all the same people just look tired and bored. I want to speak with them about real things, but the more people there are around, the less frank I can be, the more covert I have to be. I'm a hideout living in an intellectual graveyard.
I live in a place where cuteness is consistently ranked high above actual intellectual substance. After all, what happens when someone jumps in front of the train? "It's no big deal, we live in this place where things are cute; we can just get on with our day and pretend it never happened." I can think about it, and replay it again and again, and then create all the meaningful things I want, but all of these substantial things will eventually get overwhelmed by the cramped space and the shallowness. It rains for days here, and ever so slowly. It floods my brain, this place.
Opened my eyes, had a dream last night
That both my arms were broken;
Nature's cruel, she laughs at me;
Almost too much for my heart when it rains,
Tears my soul apart when it rains, rains so slowly
In the city where I'm from.
I live in a place where every foreigner seems to want to bother me, yet I seem to only be attracted to foreign people. I want to know their success stories intimately. I live in a place where every good opportunity side-steps me and goes to the person I'm standing next to; I, however, also live in a place where the only thing you really have to do to get anywhere is go to the right place at the right time with the right outfit--and if you play your cards right, you may be set for life. But I'm really bad with playing cards.
I live in a place where every famous building is copied off another famous building, every famous person is a copy of another famous person, and every person's path to their dream is just a copy of someone else's. (Who knew? Like art and architecture, even our dreams get recycled.) I live in a world where everyone pretends not to notice the drunks on the street and the homeless in the subway and the strangely small, sad, old women and the complete absence of God. And then I can't help but wonder if perhaps I've always lived in this sort of sad, nostalgic, dreamy, idealistic and Godless world. Mentally, I mean. I've always thought about being surrounded by bright lights, living in an expensive house, starving myself, and having conversations with dead people. Perhaps this environment is really just a physical manifestation of the crazy mental realm of which I've always been a native. I live in these worlds, I do.
I live in a small room that can barely contain all of my crazy thoughts; I live in this room where jealousy and shallowness pools on the floor like sewage. I live in a world no longer filled with crazy art kids and magical nights with some magical pills; I live in a world where all I want to do is sleep, and I can't even manage that. Maybe when I get a computer or get a job or get signed or get skinny or get taller; I live a life full of "maybe" this or that. This billboard or that billboard. This house or that house. King Kong creeping down a building, Ayumi Hamasaki rising up another building, the train coming, coming. I live in this crazy fantasy world.
I live in Tokyo, Japan.
That person's smiling face
Looks so dazzling and tender
I'm afraid I might show my weakness
And start crying
When the trees awaken to spring
And the leaves are freshly green
I want him to see my smile
More natural than now.
maybe I'll tell him how I feel
when the wind changes, the wind changes...
Yes, I've realized it's true:
I live in a dream world.
I live in a fantasy land where I can have a fourth bedroom and a stylish living room and a unicorn tapestry on my wall. I live in a place where even minimally fabulous living arrangements are completely out of my reach; in this same, place, however, I can also find huge zebra-print Versace pillows for $50 online. I live in a place where all my favorite pop-stars are plastered on billboards in every direction; I also live in a place where it seems every other short, average, and otherwise unimpressive person is famous for absolutely for no reason.
I live in a superficial place where people see me as superficial and perhaps shallow at best. I live in a place where everyone around me wants to be a model and shoes are more important than food. I live in this place where I am forced into thinking that if I can just lose weight and grow five centimeters in height then I will get anything I want--yet, ironically, the only way to be tall and skinny is to re-prioritize healthy food over expensive shoes, but these sort of logical things don't compute in the place where I live. After all, I'm not the kind of short, average, and otherwise unimpressive person who can be famous for absolutely no reason.
// conversations with dead people //
I live in a place where all of the writing is beautiful artwork, painted on signs with fine care; where you remove your shoes at the door and go watch the flowers bloom in spring before going shopping in futuristic locale, with a delicious sampling of fresh new music and fresh new faces every few meters. At the same time, the lights and the power lines dirty everything up like a ball of yarn, and all the same people just look tired and bored. I want to speak with them about real things, but the more people there are around, the less frank I can be, the more covert I have to be. I'm a hideout living in an intellectual graveyard.
I live in a place where cuteness is consistently ranked high above actual intellectual substance. After all, what happens when someone jumps in front of the train? "It's no big deal, we live in this place where things are cute; we can just get on with our day and pretend it never happened." I can think about it, and replay it again and again, and then create all the meaningful things I want, but all of these substantial things will eventually get overwhelmed by the cramped space and the shallowness. It rains for days here, and ever so slowly. It floods my brain, this place.
Opened my eyes, had a dream last night
That both my arms were broken;
Nature's cruel, she laughs at me;
Almost too much for my heart when it rains,
Tears my soul apart when it rains, rains so slowly
In the city where I'm from.
I live in a place where every foreigner seems to want to bother me, yet I seem to only be attracted to foreign people. I want to know their success stories intimately. I live in a place where every good opportunity side-steps me and goes to the person I'm standing next to; I, however, also live in a place where the only thing you really have to do to get anywhere is go to the right place at the right time with the right outfit--and if you play your cards right, you may be set for life. But I'm really bad with playing cards.
I live in a place where every famous building is copied off another famous building, every famous person is a copy of another famous person, and every person's path to their dream is just a copy of someone else's. (Who knew? Like art and architecture, even our dreams get recycled.) I live in a world where everyone pretends not to notice the drunks on the street and the homeless in the subway and the strangely small, sad, old women and the complete absence of God. And then I can't help but wonder if perhaps I've always lived in this sort of sad, nostalgic, dreamy, idealistic and Godless world. Mentally, I mean. I've always thought about being surrounded by bright lights, living in an expensive house, starving myself, and having conversations with dead people. Perhaps this environment is really just a physical manifestation of the crazy mental realm of which I've always been a native. I live in these worlds, I do.
I live in a small room that can barely contain all of my crazy thoughts; I live in this room where jealousy and shallowness pools on the floor like sewage. I live in a world no longer filled with crazy art kids and magical nights with some magical pills; I live in a world where all I want to do is sleep, and I can't even manage that. Maybe when I get a computer or get a job or get signed or get skinny or get taller; I live a life full of "maybe" this or that. This billboard or that billboard. This house or that house. King Kong creeping down a building, Ayumi Hamasaki rising up another building, the train coming, coming. I live in this crazy fantasy world.
I live in Tokyo, Japan.
That person's smiling face
Looks so dazzling and tender
I'm afraid I might show my weakness
And start crying
When the trees awaken to spring
And the leaves are freshly green
I want him to see my smile
More natural than now.
maybe I'll tell him how I feel
when the wind changes, the wind changes...