(no subject)
the sunlight pelting down on the street makes me forget for a moment where i am, what continent i'm located on, what country and city i have come to call my home. i'm struck dumb by rays that bring me back to four years ago, traipsing through a dusty south america- yet the landscape here is not strewn with the stone architecture, the beautiful aftermath of colonialism. why is it that invaders used to leave such pretty scars, and now all they use is daisy cutters and grenades... even christian evangelists, once prone to leaving magnificent and opulent churches in their path, now resort to cheap-looking "modernity" to keep the margins down...
i feel stuffed with joy; perhaps because the moon is on the wane, or perhaps because i actually photosynthesize and the vitamin d is rippling through my capillaries...
this country, this country, ah, we could talk about it endlessly. it doesn't matter how long you've been here; six months, three years, or even fifteen, 'japan,' itself always comes up as a topic of conversation. you would have thought we'd be used to it now; but it continues to throw curve balls, refuses to answer your expectations, spins you around on your head and your presumptions...
the summer sees erotic gunpowder explosions erupt all over the city, and the streets are crawling with yukata, clompy geta sandals and the swish of fans for perspiring brows. late night early morning sees crowds swilling around, barely dressed and swigging beer, shrill shrieks washing through the muggy night air. the neon seem to melt into the moist air, the men in white folded hats outside beckoning in custom fading into the haze. girls in suspenders and whorishly short shorts wobble down the street in patent stilettos, clutching cans of premixed cocktails and whooping louder than any japanese girl should... the rattle and scream of hurtling trains is offset by the eerie peace of fusama-lined interiors with wooden slats, customers soon sprawled across the tatami'd floor, sockless and senseless with alcohol and humidity. the ritualised call of shop staff is like birdsong, backtracked with the clatter and pant of construction behind them...
i feel stuffed with joy; perhaps because the moon is on the wane, or perhaps because i actually photosynthesize and the vitamin d is rippling through my capillaries...
this country, this country, ah, we could talk about it endlessly. it doesn't matter how long you've been here; six months, three years, or even fifteen, 'japan,' itself always comes up as a topic of conversation. you would have thought we'd be used to it now; but it continues to throw curve balls, refuses to answer your expectations, spins you around on your head and your presumptions...
the summer sees erotic gunpowder explosions erupt all over the city, and the streets are crawling with yukata, clompy geta sandals and the swish of fans for perspiring brows. late night early morning sees crowds swilling around, barely dressed and swigging beer, shrill shrieks washing through the muggy night air. the neon seem to melt into the moist air, the men in white folded hats outside beckoning in custom fading into the haze. girls in suspenders and whorishly short shorts wobble down the street in patent stilettos, clutching cans of premixed cocktails and whooping louder than any japanese girl should... the rattle and scream of hurtling trains is offset by the eerie peace of fusama-lined interiors with wooden slats, customers soon sprawled across the tatami'd floor, sockless and senseless with alcohol and humidity. the ritualised call of shop staff is like birdsong, backtracked with the clatter and pant of construction behind them...