| Lonely Planet addendum |
[Oct. 8th, 2009|07:27 pm] |
Was politely informed by the office secretary today to expect a hike in the price of apples, following this week's typhoon.
And why's that, I asked.
Because the typhoon rattles the trees, she replied, tearing the fruit from the stem before they've had a chance to grow.
Ah. |
|
|
| (no subject) |
[Sep. 18th, 2009|05:42 pm] |
|
The sun's so unbearably fierce today, if we could but lift up this city we could probably sterilize the whole drainage system. |
|
|
| monday drag |
[Aug. 31st, 2009|01:27 pm] |
Woke from a dream of a faceless girl and cockroaches at my feet, while mouthing the words over and over again, "Where is the spray(insecticide)?" (Later on I would walk into the kitchen and adroitly locate the assuring cylinder, though by then the small platoon of dream roaches had all but vanished.)
The silence of the 6 o'clock hour reminded me that I had not spoken to anyone for the past two days, and made me wish for the hazelnut checkered shirt I never had. Pity really, I would have been in great company with the wallpaper otherwise. If of course, the wallpaper was, in fact, hazelnut. And checkered.
There's a heaviness that's always been noticeable, one that I would like to disown, but has been there for so long that it commands some measure of authority in the department of identity. See, I have a scar on my left knee from where I fell in kindergarden, one across my right temple from an earlier time and, further back, a scar across my abdomen from when I was a baby because I'd cried myself a hernia. All of that provides some sense of personal history that becomes more and more tied into the personal aspect as a function of time.
But there are also some scars that cannot be seen. And unlike the scar on my knee, temple and abdomen, these arrive with all the intangible weighlessness and flair of a monday fog.
If the lady's kind to you, you may remember how you got them.
But I don't. And it's there.
Leaving me to take on dream roaches with a can of insecticide and eyes wide open. |
|
|
| Mosquito |
[Aug. 27th, 2009|06:19 pm] |
I slept like a babe, with
dream's currency in bulging pockets
and a number or a key I held
the singing man by his throat
then deft and dormant your
serrated wings travelled
with manners all of your own, singing
Ba'al's little wheezing song:
'In light you see it not then
darkness brings no cheer
to searing violins you pray
begone, begone! No more!'
You give the world your ass then
bowing take what's mine
dream's currency, a parting plum
- this kiss left in your wake! |
|
|
| monday tiramisu post |
[Aug. 24th, 2009|12:19 pm] |
That's one weekend well spent there, and I must say that I owe it all to myself. So, I know that I don't say this enough Teik, but job well done.
Teik: Nono, really, I can't take all the credit, you were totally sharp on Saturday morning.
Teik: Well, yeah, but I owe it to you to have dragged yourself out into the rain.
Teik: Not that I could have made it through that run if you hadn't started making up those silly songs, so there, you rock.
Teik: Nah, YOU rock, it was great.
|
|
|
| stealth gaijin complex |
[Aug. 16th, 2009|08:37 pm] |
Running in this hot weather never makes sense. For the first few minutes you're struggling to understand why you're out there, and for the next half of the run all arguments become mute, faced with the fact that if you stop running now you'd never get back home.
So I'm twenty minutes into my Sunday long run when I perk up at the sight of a girl with a sharp profile walking down the other side of the street.
Simple things like that get me going.
Hair parted behind into two ponytails, gray cotton vest and nice tan - that's my summer girl. Plus, there's a tattoo of Guan Yin, the Goddess of Mercy over her right shoulderblade, which, when you're sweating it out under the sun and breathing in them exhaust fumes, makes Guan Yin my patron saint of the day. Call it fate. Plus I'm thinking, tattoo, that's good, tough enough to not take shit from me(which I'm good at dooling out, it's true, it's true).
Things go wrong as I run by and, in the few seconds that its taken me to practise it in my head, say out loud, "Nice tattoo," - only I'm short of breath and the words come out something like, "nahtaaaTWO," which is probably wookie speak for "traitorous ovaries!!!"
I regretted it immediately, and cringe as I know that I've just come across as the stupid Japanese who barks at the gaijin - the fraying of the planned moment, together with the heat, overwhelmed me and I kept on running. Somedays, being a stealth gaijin just sucks.
On the flip side, at least I have a good opening for an apology for the next time(which I'm also good at). |
|
|
| navigation |
| [ |
viewing |
| |
most recent entries |
] |
| [ |
go |
| |
earlier |
] |
| |
|
|
![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small}
saikoutron's journal