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Friday, November 23rd, 2001
4:00 pm - My Cellphone Sucks
Today the weather is Really nice. It's almost 4pm, and I'm sitting here next to the open window, watching people clean up the mess after a car accident that happened about an hour ago.

I've never been able to figure out what it is, but there's a certain smell that I've never noticed outside of Japan, and it's coming in through the window again. It's not like a food-smell or a flower-smell, I really have no idea what it is, but I really love this scent. It reminds me of Spring back in Hikarigaoka, sitting on the steps, watching the skaters and the little kids and the dance groups practicing, and just relaxing and smoking a joint, without having to worry about getting pinched for it. I use to notice this smell a lot back then. That was a long time ago, though. I can even remember how I generally looked back then: "Yellow Monkey"-style fluffy, dark, ring-patterned button up shirts opened up halfway, steel ball choker-type necklace, huge (super-wide leg) black jeans, really short hair, tanned skin, blue mirrored sunglasses, and constantly chainsmoking Larks and Marlboros like it was going out of style.

Quite a big change from the Me of recent days, with the back or black & gold suits, red, slightly opaque sunglasses, huge jointed, almost Gothic rings, longer hair, usually slicked back, really white skin, and constantly chainsmoking Mine's or Cherry's like it was going out of style.

This smell is really starting to get to me. I'm thinking of (finally) taking a shower, shaving, getting all dressed up, and going for a walk around Saiin, just to bask in the just-before-dusk glow and this beautiful fucking scent.

In fact, that's exactly what I'm gonna do.

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Wednesday, November 21st, 2001
5:33 pm - Jesus Fucking Christ
It's been fucking DAYS since I wrote in this thing, man.
Again, I'm hella lazy, so I'm not going to bother catching up with all the shit that has gone on since like 2 months ago. I'm just gonna pick it up again from here. Hopefully, I'll stick with this again.
Today has been as of yet pretty fucking uneventful. I woke up around 1pm, and haven't even turned on the TV or anything yet, let alone gotten up, gotten dressed, or gone anywhere. I've just been laying on the floor with my mouth open like Christopher Reeves after a trip down the stairs, mailing back and forth with Saori-chan, my new merutomo. For those of you who don't live in Japan/haven't lived here within the past year or two, "merutomo" is basically "mail friend," someone who you write mail back and forth with on your cellphones. It's really popular in Japan recently.
And by the way, No, I am NOT a fucking "otaku" or anything. I call her "Saori-chan" because that's the appropriate way to refer to her in this situation. For all you Sailor Moon-ers out there, please do me the favor of choosing to do one of the following:

1) Stop calling everyone and everything "-chan," because 95% of the time it's misused, and it basically just sounds gay.
2) Learn Japanese.
Thank you.

I just wanted to get that off my chest. It's been annoying the fuck out of me for days.

Anyways, back to my story. Actually, there wasn't really any actual story, but still. So like I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted (by Myself), I've been talking to this girl Saori since last night. She's 22, and she lives in Shiga Prefecture, the next one over. She's really cool. I'm hoping that when my mate Scott gets here next month I can present her to him as a sort of "gift," like I'm going to do with Kana over here, hahaha. He's helped me out a lot in the past so I feel that it's the least I can do to give him a few girls when he gets out here. I'll have to use my "Magical Powers Of Fucking With And Otherwise Completely Ripping Off And Totally Fucking Over Japanese People" (aka "Charisma") for about another week or so before I'll be able to get her to do something like that, though. I'm pretty sure it's a done deal, though, seeing as how I already got her to bring up the idea of coming to Kyoto for me to show her around and shit. I love Japanese people. or more appropriately, as I like to call them,


Of course, I don't see ALL of them that way, no no no. Rumiko, for example. She's completely impervious to my shit. She's a smart fucking girl, man, I'll tell you. And that's ok, because I don't try to fuck with her, anyways. She's my friend, and I don't fuck over my friends. Anyone else, though, that's a different story, hahaha. Also, Chika-pa. He's cool as fuck, I wouldn't fuck him over, either. Wow, that's about it, for now, at least. I thought there were more. Hahaha I'm a worse person than I thought. Yeah, yeah, yeah, I'm the worst person on this planet........I swear.... FUCK SHIT FUCK SHIT FUCK SHIT FUCK SHIT DICK VAGINA BELLYBOTTON

Anyways, why is "Banana Man" smiling all the time? There's nothing funny, or even interesting.... In front of him, there is only WHITE WALL... Is that funny, Banana Man???

By the way, I sometimes realize that my GF is such a beautiful girl.... But you know what? She likes to eat shit on toast..... hahaha Just kidding, she doesn't like bread!!!

(The part from "Yeah yeah yeah..." to "...she doesn't like bread!!!" was written by Gina, when I was outside having a smoke. I swear she's the funniest fucking yellow monkey I've ever met. By the way, "Banana Man" is name that she gave to this "Bananas In Pajamas" doll that sits on top of our TV. Actually, she's right; he does just sit there staring at the wall and smiling all the time. Fuck, she's hella funny.)

Well, my French toast is ready, so I'm gonna go sit my lazy ass down and eat and stare at the TV and laugh at all the silly little ragheads on the news running around dodging bombs and screaming about whatever bullshit it is that's fueling their most recent pathetic little acts of pure futility and stupidity. Anyone feel like commenting on this statement?

I'll try and write again tonight or tomorrow. Until then, BOOYAKASHA.

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Friday, September 28th, 2001
3:27 am - "NyQuil, we love you! You great big fucking Q!"
I haven't written in either of my journals for some time now.
As you could probably guess, all kinds of mad shit has gone down, but I'm not even going to bother getting into to most of it, as I suppose that most of it doesn't even really matter all that much in the long run. Of course, at The Time, all of these things probably seemed extremely fucking important, but when I look back none of it really seems all THAT important after all, once I remember that Shakespeare line: "Life blah blah blah idiot blah blah blah sound blah blah blah fury blah blah blah nothing." (Of course I'm paraphrasing, but you get the general idea.)

Okay.... so what should I talk about? Let's talk about Shakespeare. Why? Why the fuck not? Is Shakespeare not as good a topic for discussion as anything else? Anyway, it's already in my head so I might as well write SOMETHING about him. Here are my thoughts on Shakespeare: Terribly boring crap. Yes, I said it. And I'll say it one more time, just in case any of you want to hear it again: Terribly boring crap. I've probably offended a few people by calling one of the most famous and overrated oops I mean run into the fucking ground oops I mean recognizable playwrights in human history "terribly boring crap," but you know what? If you're reading this, and if I've offended you, then you're exactly the kind of person whose opinion I value even less than, well, something very unimportant and worthless. Let me explain why it is exactly that I think that Shakespeare is "terribly boring crap." Here, I'll put it in hideously simple form, and then I'll elaborate.....

Shakespeare = The Backstreet Boys.

Is that a little too simple, perhaps?

Okay, I'll explain it in three (3) words: Lowest Common Denominator.

Now you starting to catch on?

I hate Shakespeare for the same reason that I hate the fucking Backstreet Boys. No, not because it's "cool" to say you hate the Backstreet Boys, just like how 4 or 5 years ago it was "cool" to say you hated the Spice Girls. I hate Shakespeare* AND the Backstreet Boys* because in my opinion, they were both created for the same purpose, to appeal to the Lowest Common Denominator, and are both similar embodiments of all of the crap that is now called "Pop Culture."

*(Note: The term "Shakespeare" pertains mainly to "the collective works of Shakespeare," not to the man himself, whereas the term "Backstreet Boys" pertains not only to the "music" of said group but to the individuals involved as well.)

Have you ever read Shakespeare? To those of you who have, can you really, honestly say that you actually enjoyed it anymore than you would enjoy reading, say, "Dilbert"? I can't. And please... do me the favour of not blatantly insulting my intelligence by thinking something like "Well maybe it's just too difficult reading for you." Because you know what? Contrary to what every single English teacher I had throughout jr. high & high school may have told me, it is SO NOT "difficult reading." The only excuse that I can possibly think of for calling Shakespeare "difficult" would be the difference in grammar and a few archaic words thrown in here and there. Once you get past that, it's all SO FUCKING SIMPLE IT'S EMBARASSING.

I'm almost positive that I have yet to convince anyone who may be reading this that Shakespeare is "terribly boring crap," and I still have a few individual thoughts on the subject/reasons why I think so, so what I'll do is I'll make a list...

1) "Famous" and "Good Quality" are two TOTALLY different things, a fact made quite obvious by specimens/pieces of trash such as Courtney Love, SPAM, Picasso, Nike, Keanu Reeves, the "Home Alone" series, and the Holy Roman Catholic Church. I mean, if some dog in Central Park dropped a talking pile of shit on the ground, and EVERYONE in New York flocked to come see this amazing talking pile of shit, it doesn't change the fact that it's STILL JUST A PILE OF SHIT, talking or not. Just because it's a FAMOUS pile of shit does not make it a GOOD QUALITY pile of shit.

2) In a slight variant of Idea #1, "Somewhat Difficult To Understand" ALSO does not equal "Good Quality." Drunken Australian sailors are somewhat difficult to understand. Scientologists are somewhat difficult to understand. Graffiti written 14 years ago in pencil on the wall of a men's restroom stall in Candlestick Park is somewhat difficult to understand. But you know what? All of the aforementioned are STILL completely full of shit, 95% of the time. Regardless of their respective levels of difficulty. One more example: "Ore no atama no ue ni akai chiizu ga notteru." Do you know what I just said? Most of you probably don't because it was written in Japanese, which would make it pretty difficult to understand for someone who doesn't quite savvy the language, right? Well, what I said was "There is red cheese sitting on top of my head." See what I mean now? Just because something is difficult to understand does not make it a work of art.

3) One of my high school English teachers was particularly obsessed with Shakespeare. "Listen," she'd tell us, DAY AFTER DAY AFTER DAY, "to how the words flow together to make this whole picture in your head! Isn't Shakespeare brilliant? The way he paints the whole portrait for you, right there, with only words..." You know what I think? I think that that's a crock of shit. Sure, Shakespeare may have been quite an intelligent man, but it seems to me that he wrote the way he did not to show off his skill with the English language and his brilliant way with prose, but for an entirely different reason. He realized and grabbed ahold of something that marketing/ad executives and producers of shitty TV shows and movies would in turn realize and grab ahold of (and then continue to choke the dear life out of) hundreds of years later. You know what this Brilliant Revelation was? You want me to tell you?
Come here, move in a bit closer...
That's right... Now listen really closely, because I'm about to reveal one of the Secrets Of The Ages... Ready? Here it goes.....

Most people are stupid.

That's right, folks. Most People Are Stupid. Which means that if you have this horribly brilliant idea for a book/play/song/whatthefuckever that is totally advanced and intellectually stimulating and thought-provoking, well, sorry, but you probably won't be making that first million from pedalling it to the masses anytime soon. You know why? Because it would require too much thinking on the part of the reader/audience member/listener/consumer. That's right, the Lowest Common Denominator Back Then was a lot like the Lowest Common Denominator of Today, only to a much lesser degree of semiretardation. If you can get past the "strange" grammatical structurings and occassional archaic colloquialisms (Note: Keep in mind that back then, that kind of language was a LOT more commonplace and thus easier to understand than it would be considered now), Shakespeare's work does indeed "draw a portrait" in your head of what's going on. Because God forbid we might actually have to think for ourselves and use our fucking imaginations just in order to enjoy a book!!! Why that would be just fucking HORRIBLE now, wouldn't it?!?!? All of that "laying it out for you exactly as it happened" shit should be reserved for auto-/biographies and other forms of historical accounts and such.

Well, it seems that I've gone and done it again, gone off on an almost completely irrelevant and even somewhat bitter rant about something that cannot be changed. I might as well stop here before I make even more of an ass of myself.

Anyway, if I want to read (what I consider) truly good writing, I'll stick with Kurt Vonnegut, Hunter S. Thompson, or A*****'s journal. Now THERE'S someone who knows what the fuck she's talking about and knows how to write it down with Class and Intellect. Once again, to put it quite simply, and in the words I'd probably use if I was to actually vocalize this sentiment, "she got like a real fucking way with words, man."

Personal Note: If you want, I'll remove the link, sorry about using it without permission.

I'll write more later about some of the shit that's gone on over the past few months.

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Thursday, July 12th, 2001
3:57 am

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Tuesday, June 26th, 2001
1:49 am - Legal Drinking Age (Hahahahahahahahaha)
I just turned 21.
Happy Motherfuckin' Ass-spankin' People-stabbin' Teruko-poundin' Birthday To Me.

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Saturday, June 23rd, 2001
11:25 am - The Reason God Invented Things Like Cerebral Hemorrhages
Butada Hikaru.

That fucking bitch is the reason.

If you live in Japan, or somehow keep up with Japanese music and/or news, you'll probably have heard of this by the time you read this entry. Butada Hikaru has just participated in one of the most disgustingly blatant and obvious publicity stunts I've ever witnessed. You know about those little kids who got their asses stabbed to death by that Takuma guy in Osaka a few weeks ago? Well, Butada has decided that because one of the lucky little girls was "a big fan" of hers, she's going to "dedicate" her newest single to one of the murdered girls.

I don't care what anyone tells you, that is complete, 100% BULLSHIT, folks.

I can't fucking believe that they're letting that bitch and her fucking record company get away with this fucking sacrilege, man. The saddest thing is, with the current state of affairs in Japan recently (basically I'm talking about 99% of the people in Japan being FUCKING morons these days), I'll bet you won't hear a SINGLE word of this shit on the news, outside of how "kind and caring" and shit Butada is supposed to be.

People need to be more careful.
Bad things might happen.

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Friday, June 22nd, 2001
4:19 am - "PAGING MR. HERMAN..."
If you fools are reading this, get ahold of me~


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Thursday, June 21st, 2001
9:12 pm - Maniacs, Man. Every Single Last One Of Them... Maniacs...
Fucking Christ, Nakatani Miki is tweaking like a fucking bozo on "R-17," man.
"Just another Freak, in the Freak Kingdom..."
Hell yeah.
She was so much fucking prettier when she was younger, up until the "Keizoku" movie. After that, it was all downhill.

I've said it before, but what the fuck is up with all these SKANKY, NASTY, FREAKY-ASS bitches on TV here nowadays? Did the Ugly Federation come and take over all the TV stations in Japan or what the fuck?
Hamasaki Ayumi's surgically enhanced and failed ass, Fujiwara Norika's old shakureteru Jay Leno-looking ass, Matsushima Nanako's alien-looking plastic ass, Butada Hikaru's just-plain-butt-fucking-ugly ass, Kuraki Mai's Butada-wannabe ugly ass, Koyanagi Yuki (Kokaibutsu Yuki)'s fucking monster-looking ass, Chinen Rina's Steven Tyler-looking ass, Uehara Takako's retarded hamster-looking ass, Fukada Kyoko's fat stuck up ass, Sayaka's "I can be just like my mommy" ugly ass, all of them. ESPECIALLY the nasty-ass "Maybe I can get Someone, ANYONE to believe I'm black..." wannabe whores, like Misia, Butada, Kuraki Mai, Kokaibutsu Yuki, Tina, all of these disgusting bitches. I actually HIT Butada's crackwhore-ass with a cigarette once, in Shibuya, at some appearance in front of Tower Records. It was fucking beautiful, man, pegged that bitch with my Marlboro RIGHT in the arm. It was even on the news, I believe.

And I'm not even going to start Thinking about the fucking otaku's, man.

I'm gonna go back to watching "R-17" now, I'm fucking sick of thinking about all of these worthless pieces of wannabe trash. Fuck 'em all. If anybody has anything to say about this (anyone who KNOWS WHO THE FUCK I'M TALKING ABOUT, not just someone with some fucking comment about how it's "mean to talk like that" or some shit), feel free to comment on it.

Later, chillunz.

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Sunday, June 17th, 2001
3:58 pm - Gloomy Sunday
This is a song called "Gloomy Sunday" which for some reason has recently become my favorite song. Teruko tells me not to play the song in front of her because it makes her sad and depressed, and a friend of mine who I played the song for told me "For someone who's so bright and happy and laughing all the time you sure do have fucking dark tastes in music and art..."

Note: Don't worry, I'm not depressed or in a bad mood, and I'm not going to kill myself or anyone else or anything. I know that this is probably one of the darkest songs you ever heard, but I didn't write it. Here's a little history lesson:
"Gloomy Sunday" was originally written in Hungarian in 1933 by Rezso Seress and Laszlo Javor. It drew little attention until 1936, when it was connected with an unusually long string of suicides, including both people who were in some way related to the song and people who had nothing to do with it whatsoever outside of the fact that they had listened to it. Some counts place the number of suicides as high as 70, and the people whose deaths were apparently linked to the song included people whose suicide notes contained references to the song or its lyrics, people who had heard the song played by a band or on the radio and then killed themselves soon after, people who had killed themselves while holding the song's sheet music in their hands, and people whose bodies were found with the song playing on a gramophone. Shortly after, it was banned temporarily. Around the end of 1936, the song was translated into English and released by Billie Holliday. This version was said to have been linked to up to 200 suicides worldwide, mainly in the United States and the UK. It's also been said that this song has been the cause of various accidents and tragedies, ranging from car accidents to plane crashes to outright murders and people going insane and subsequently being placed in mental institutions. A bit more specifically, the lyrics to the song were originally written by Laszlo Javor for a former girlfriend, who soon after committed suicide, her suicide note containing nothing but the words "Gloomy Sunday." Rezso Seress, who wrote the music, also committed suicide later on by jumping to his death from a Budapest building.

Anyway, here's the song, in the form of Billie Holliday's 1936 English version:

"Gloomy Sunday"

Sunday is gloomy, my hours are slumberless
Dearest, the shadows I live with are numberless
Little white flowers will never awaken you
Not where the black coach of sorrow has taken you
Angels have no thoughts of ever returning you
Would they be angry if I thought of joining you?
Gloomy Sunday

Gloomy is Sunday, with shadows I spend it all
My heart and I have decided to end it all
Soon there'll be candles and prayers that are sad, I know
But let them not weep, let them know that I'm glad to go
Death is no dream for in death I'm caressing you
With the last breath of my soul I'll be blessing you
Gloomy Sunday

Dreaming, I was only dreaming
I wake and I find you asleep
In the deep of my heart, dear
Darling I hope that my dream never haunted you
My heart is telling you how much I wanted you
Gloomy Sunday

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Friday, June 15th, 2001
4:02 pm - I'm An Asshole
Recently I downloaded a song written by the great Denis Leary, one of the most brilliant and funny-as-fuck men ever to live. I feel that it reflects something that can be found in all of us, or at least my father and me and a few good friends of mine. Now, here it is, for your listening pleasure:

by: Denis Leary

"Folks, I'd like to sing a song about The American Dream. About me, about you. About the way our American hearts beat way down in the bottom of our chests. About that special feeling we get in the cockles of our hearts. Maybe below the cockles, maybe in the subcockle area. Maybe in the liver, maybe in the kidneys, maybe even in the colon, we don't know..."

I'm just a regular Joe, with a regular job
I'm your average white suburbanite slob
I like football and porno and books about war
I got an average house, with a nice hardwood floor
My wife and my job, my kids and my car
My feet on my table, and a Cuban cigar

But sometimes that just ain't enough to keep a man like me interested
Oh no, no way, uh-uh
No, I've gotta go out and have fun at someone else's expense
Oh yeah, yeah yeah, yeah yeah yeah

I drive really slow in the ultra fast lane
While people behind me are going insane
I'm an Asshole~
I'm an Asshole~

I use public toilets and I piss on the seat
I walk around in the summertime saying "How about this heat?"
I'm an Asshole~
I'm an Asshole~

Sometimes I park in handicap spaces
While handicapped people make handicapped faces
I'm an Asshole~
I'm an Asshole~

Maybe I shouldn't be singing this song
Ranting and raving and carrying on
Maybe they're right when they tell me I'm wrong...

Naw, I'm an Asshole~
I'm an Asshole~

"You know what I'm gonna do? I'm gonna get myself a 1967 Cadillac El Dorado convertible, hot pink, with whale skin hubcaps, an all-leather cow interior and big, brown baby seal eyes for headlights, yeah! And I'm gonna drive around in that baby at 115 miles per hour, getting one mile per gallon, sucking down quarterpounder cheeseburgers from McDonald's in the old-fashioned non biodegradable Styrofoam containers. And when I'm done sucking down those greaseball burgers, I'm gonna wipe my mouth with the American flag, and then I'm gonna toss the Styrofoam containers right out the side, and there ain't a goddamn thing anybody can do about it. You know why? Because WE GOT THE BOMBS, that's why. Two words: Nuclear Fucking Weapons, ok? Russia, Germany, Romania, they can have all the democracy they want. They can have a big democracy cakewalk right through the middle of Tienenmen Square, and it won't make a lick of difference, because WE GOT THE BOMBS, ok? John Wayne's not dead, he's frozen, and as soon as we find a cure for cancer, we're gonna thaw out The Duke, and he's gonna be pretty pissed off. You know why? Have you ever taken a cold shower? Well multiply that by 15 million times, that's how pissed off The Duke's gonna be. I'm gonna get The Duke, and John Cassavetes, and Lee Marvin, and Sam Beckenthorpe, and a case of whiskey, and drive down to Texas and... ("Hey, hey! HEY! You know, you really ARE an asshole!") Why don't you just shut up and sing the song, pal..."

I'm an Asshole~
I'm an Asshole~
Everybody! A-S-S-H-O-L-E!

"I'm an Asshole, and I'm proud of it."

Thanks, Denis. Right Fuckin' On, man.

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Wednesday, June 6th, 2001
5:54 am - Some Things Never Change
Fuck. Something's not right again. I can't quite put my finger on it, as always, but I know it's there. I've been getting this feeling a lot recently. Maybe it's the weather. Too humid for me. It's like there's ether in the air. Inside my head, I know exactly how I have to do things and when and where to move, everything. My brain is telling my body "It's only around 55 degrees, it's not hot." But my body won't have any of it. 55 degrees out, and raining, and I'm standing there in a Hawaiian shirt, jeans and sandals, and I'm sweating like a fucking fiend. What the Hell? The sky is dark and cloudy, light rain falls, I'm almost shivering, yet no matter how many times I wipe my forehead and underneath my sunglasses I can't stop sweating like a pig. My name is not Snowball, this is not early 20th century England, I do not live on a farm plotting revenge on my human owner, I am not a pig! I am a human being! And I won't stand for this any longer!

It's a shame that I haven't quite figured out how to do all those neat tricks that God does. Controlling the weather, turning Pepsi into Coke, passing switchblades through metal detectors. Otherwise, I'd have something done about this nonsense. But for now, I'll just do what I do best when I'm confused and agitated. I'm going to go have a cigarette. Don't worry. This isn't necessarily linear. You won't even know I'm gone.

See? I bet you had no idea that I was just gone for 13 minutes.

I finally called Megumi today. I hadn't talked to her in over two months. She thought I was dead. It wasn't the first time that we hadn't been able to talk to each other for a long period of time. Except this time she wasn't angry like she had been before, on occasion. She was just really worried. I understand, though. I actually hadn't spoken to her a single time since I moved down here from Tokyo. She sent me mail a few weeks ago asking if I was all right, asking me to please contact her, because she was worried about me. She wanted to be able to take comfort in the fact that we'd be able to go to that small, run down old park in the middle of Kabukicho, Tokyo's dirtiest redlight district, in every sense of the word "dirty." It doesn't look like much, but it's a special place. Lots of memories. I've been going there for almost three years, many times not even on purpose. There were countless occasions on which I'd wake up there, or at least regain full consciousness of my surroundings there, after however many long nights and weird mornings of self-destructive behavior. It's especially dear to her, though, being the place we'd usually end up sitting at for hours when we'd meet at Shinjuku Station, halfway between my apartment and her workplace. She doesn't have many close friends, seeing as how she left home to go to college in Tokyo and is so busy with school and work. She says that I'm the only one who fully understands her, and I believe her. I understand her more than she understands herself sometimes. She's a beautiful girl, and very sweet, but there are a lot of things she just doesn't have the real world or mental experience to be able to fully comprehend yet. And because of her looks, people often take her for just a pretty face with nothing behind it, and she realizes that. Besides me, she doesn't have anyone that she can open up to and basically be able to cry in front of. When I went with her to her university a few times after spending the night with her, she introduced me to some of her friends. They all thought we were a couple, but we never were. We never could be, actually, even if one or both of us wanted to be. We know each other too well. We may have shared some of the close personal experiences that only formal couples should, but it was always different. It was never out of love, on either of our parts. Or maybe it was, but not the kind of love that a husband has for a wife, or a wife for a husband. It was the kind of love that two people who have been friends for their whole lives develop, except we had only known each other for a few months at the most. We were basically two human beings, far from home, in a strange, lonely place, clinging to each other in the middle of the storm, trying to keep warm and not get carried away by the wind. Things turn out the way things will turn out. And by the way they happened to turn out, I've gone through a lot of trouble with a lot of people because of that girl. But I don't mind. It's all over now, and everything is calm again. I just wonder what's going to happen with everything once I go back to Tokyo in a few weeks. She said she's busy with school and work so we'd probably have to meet on a Sunday. I guess I'll have to be able to look her in the eyes and talk with her to know exactly what it is, but she's hiding something from me. She's still got that bad habit. She can't lie to me, and she knows that. She was never able to. I can tell just by the tone of her voice and the way she words things that she's trying to hide something. Like the time she tried to hide the fact about her job, I knew right away exactly what it was she couldn't tell me. And about the things that she had done in school, I knew she wanted to tell me but couldn't, and I already knew what it was, so I never made her say it on her own. I don't want to make her have to remember. I just wish that she'd stop trying to hide things from me when she knows that I'll find out what it is the second I see her eyes. It's a waste of time and energy for her. Well, that can't be helped. She'll learn to stop it someday. She's just used to not being able to trust people. I just wish that she'd quit that goddamn job she's been doing. That's not doing her any good, either. It's a shame what financial debt can do to someone. She'll grow out of that, too, with a little help.

It looks like I'm going back to the States for a few months. I have to take care of some things that I've been neglecting to take care of for too long. I may not be able to meet up with Angela after all, though. Unless she happens to be in Tokyo when I am. It would be a shame if she wasn't. She's a really cool girl. I was hoping to meet up with Seiji in Tokyo as well, but he won't be there until weeks after I'm gone. But that doesn't really matter. I see him everyday here at the University, anyway. Anyone reading this except for Teruko won't know who the fuck I'm talking about, but don't worry. You don't know them.

It's getting too bright out and my fingers are getting tired so I'm going to go have some shrimp and go to sleep. No worries, just as before, you'll never know I was gone.

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Monday, June 4th, 2001
4:45 am - The American Dream
I've decided on something. I'm going to search for It.

The American Dream.

This is a letter I wrote to my two partners, whom I'm hoping will be able to accompany me on my journey:


Hey~ I want to talk to You about some shit. I have an idea, and I wanted to know like how You guys thought about it.
Ifm probably gonna be going back to the States around like September, or at the latest October, but probably not that late. Ifm trying to find my ass a job and shit right now to save up a shitload of money for my trip, cuz if everything goes as Ifm thinking itfs gonna be kind of expensive.
Ifve spent the last week or so watching my brand new copy of Fear & Loathing and it came to me. I need to do something. But I canft do it alone. I need other Folks with the same basic Beliefs and who have come to the same Understandings as I have. That means You guys. I donft know if this is going to be possible, cuz like I know that You, unlike me, have important shit to do and are relatively busy Folks, what with school, for Shea, and probably work, for Scot-tho, but Ifm hoping that maybe something can be managed, because in order for this to work Ifll need at least one of You, if not both. Itfs gonna take kind of a lot of money, and a lot of time to prepare, and from start to finish probably about a week. Herefs what Ifve been planningc
I want You two to come with me on a journey to find what people throughout the world have been searching for for 225 years. I want you to come with me on a search for The American Dream. Hunter S. Thompson, I believe, was totally on the right track back in 1971, back when he wrote my Bible, gFear & Loathing In Las Vegas.h He had only a few small problems which ultimately resulted in the failure of his journey, and Ifll get into those in a second. I believe that itfs now up to Us, the Chosen Few, which I have taken the liberty of calling whomever decides to come with me, to find The American Dream.
About the flaws in Hunter S. Thompsonfs journey:

Youth. Wefre three young, intelligent, able-bodied, narcotically-experienced men, too old to be gimpressionableh and gimmatureh but still young enough to be considered gyouthfulh and gfresh.h Wefre still young enough to determine the courses of our respective lives, and we havenft yet been completely ruined by the harsh realities and cynicisms of the Real World. To put it simply, wefre still young enough to fuck ourselves up without fucking ourselves over.

Location. Hunter S. Thompson had the idea that The American Dream would be found in Las Vegas. This is a good idea, as it is essentially the type of place in which some kind of Dream is bound to be found, seeing how it is basically a multi-billion dollar gambling mall built smack in the middle of the fucking desert, seeked out by millions of people every year from all over the world. But after a long time of thinking things through, in several distinct altered states, Ifve come to the conclusion that The American Dream, if existent at all, can only be found in one place, right under our noses for the past two-something decades: California.

Distractions. When Hunter S. Thompson went off to Las Vegas from LA, he had other intentions for the trip when he first set out. It was purely coincidental that he was sent to Las Vegas, and once he was sent there he first had the idea to search for The American Dream. If we set out with the express purpose of finding it, wefre bound to have more luck than Thompson had. He also had other distractions to worry about, such as unpayable hotel bills, and coworkers and other people who suddenly popped up out of nowhere. Seeing as how wefre not being sent out anywhere in particular by anyone, wefre just going out on our own accord, we wonft have any of those distractions. All wefll have to distract us is a shitload of Drugs.

Violence. One more problem that Thompson had was the constant threat of Physical Violence. Now Scot-tho has never fried before, but as Shea knows, Physical Violence and the looming threat of it is one thing that can seriously fuck up a perfectly smooth-flowing Drug Binge. Along with Thompson was his attorney, Dr. Gonzo. Dr. Gonzo was prone to violent outbursts, which were certainly not helped by the presence of a revolver and several large, sharp knives at his disposal. I admit that sometimes I am also prone to sudden fits of Physical Violence while under the influence of various Narcotics, for some reason this has never happened in the United States and these outbursts are strictly limited to situations in which I have been thoroughly provoked. None of the three of us have ever had any kind of physical altercation between us, except for Scot-thofs and my gKing Of Pain,h which was only once and was not in any way related to interpersonal conflict. Wefve all been cool for years now, and I donft see any threat of Physical Violence of any kind breaking out amongst us for any reason.

You see what I mean?
Now, here are the basics of my plan, which I havenft fully thought out yet, seeing as how this needs to be thought out and agreed on by all those involved.

What Wefll Need:
(These are just rough figures)
An ounce of marijuana
A few grams of hash
A few grams of crystal methamphetamines
About an ounce or two of magic mushrooms
A bottle or two of SKYY vodka
Around nine or so hits of Ecstasy (about 3 per person)
A few boxes of nitrous
A sheet or vile of acid
Two bottles of sleeping pills
Any other Narcotics that we can get our hands on
Two or three sets of clothes per person
Lots of music
Lots of candy (the small, hard, suckable kind)
A box of lightsticks
Two or three cartons of cigarettes (Ifll need around two personally)
A video camera
A regular camera w/film, or a few disposable cameras
A diary-type book and pens or a tape recorder
Lots of water
Money (a few hundred dollars per person, probably)
A car
A map (for Extreme Emergencies Only)
A First Aid kit
A harmonica
Pooled gas money (separate from the personal money)
Feel free to add anything else you may feel is necessary

Where Wefll Be Going
This has not been decided and will not be decided until the day of departure. Basically, wefll go wherever we feel attracted to. Ifm thinking maybe somewhere to the South, but who the fuck knows?

How Long Wefll Be Gone
This has also not been decided, but Ifm thinking it will take around a week.

Who Will Accompany Us
I canft think of anyone who would truly be able to appreciate the spiritual value of actually finding The American Dream outside of the three of us, which is why You are the only ones Ifve sent this mail to. If you can think of anyone else that for some fucked up reason I somehow overlooked, please alert me right away.

When Wefll Be Going
As soon as itfs possible for the three of us (or however many of You will be accompanying me) to get together with an allowing amount of time. This means as soon as I can get back to the States, as soon as Shea can get a week or so off of school and work, whether or not Scot-tho has free time from whatever it is hefll be doing at that time, and as soon as we all have the money and goods together. By that time, any of the three of us will be able to legally purchase alcohol anywhere in the States, so that wonft be a problem. The sleeping pills are readily available at Wal-Mart, and the nitrous can also be easily bought around the Bay Area. I can take care of the Shrooms, because they can be legally purchased here in Japan and brought back to the States easily. The weed shouldnft be a problem, seeing as how everyone we fucking know smokes it. The hash and the meth shouldnft be Too hard to get ahold of as long as we really put our minds to it, and if we have the money to spend I can purchase it over here when I go back to Tokyo for probably about twice the price as it would be sold for in the States, but if itfs the only choice we have, then fuck it, wefll just have to live with it, I guess. The biggest problem facing us would have to be the acid and maybe the Ecstasy, which is going to take some time to find. I guess we could always bite it and go to a fucking rave for the E, which shouldnft be impossible to find, but as for the acid Ifm thinking we may be able to get it from Hannah, who seems to have a connection back at school, which should be in by the time we get around to doing all this shit.

These are the plans I have so far. What do You guys think? Mail me back or call me like whenever you feel like it, man. I got fired from my elementary school teaching job (hahahahahahahahaha), and so Ifm not doing anything at the moment. I went for an interview at a billiard parlor/casino place the other day for a bartending/card dealer job, but it will be at least a week before I start, if I even do, so Ifll be free for awhile.
I hope You guys are able to participate/interested in my plans. If so, or if you just want to tell me to go fuck myself for being a fucking crackhead, mail me back. Ifll be waiting here, man.
See You guys later, and Be Excellent To Each Other.

*End Of Letter*

Anyone have any ideas or suggestions? Contact me.

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Thursday, May 31st, 2001
5:48 am - And A Good Day To You, Sir
It's been days since I wrote in this. I've been busy again. I got fired. No worries, though. Something will come up. It always does.
I've got a good quote for anyone who might happen to be reading this:

"...Then, onto the Hollywood Freeway, into frantic oblivion... Safety... Obscurity... Just another freak, in the freak kingdom..." - Raoul Duke

Fuck, that was great.

I've been thinking about a lot of things, recently. Remembering a lot of things, too. Mostly Good Things, things that I like to remember. But also some Bad Things as well; things that I'd rather not remember, or things that I wish had never happened in the first place. Come to think of it, out of all of the Good Things and Bad Things that I've been remembering so vividly and so colorfully (and sometimes blurrily and incoherently), how many of them actually happened? There are sometimes when I'll think back and reminisce over places I've never been, things I've never done, and Good and Bad Times I've never had. That's probably because of the drugs. But who knows? Maybe it happens to Everyone, and only a few of us actually realize it. Or maybe I just fucked my own head up one too many times.

Sometimes I can prove to myself that my memories are real with things like pictures, or letters, or sometimes physical scars. But sometimes I can't decide for the life of me if this time, this place, these faces, these voices, were ever really even there. The time I took a tour of the ancient shrines and temples in Ueno Park? I have pictures. The time I spent living in Sapporo? I have pictures and emails from that, too. The time I accidentally cut into a vein while trying to draw blood for a birthday present? I still have the scar from the knife. The time I took too much crystal and rode my bike all the way to Gunma Prefecture from Tokyo? Fuck if I can prove that. The 6 months I spent living in Canada? I'd have to ask.

You see? I can prove to myself that some of the stupid fucking things I've done have been real, actual events, but sometimes it's the important things that I'm, for some goddamn reason, never clear on. Maybe I'm going insane? I doubt it. I don't have any reason to. I almost did one time, though. Ask Yuka. She was there the whole time. And I don't feel anything like I did then,. Not only that, I actually feel pretty good about things. About Everything. So it can't be that, right? Then, what the fuck IS it?

Sometimes I think I'm having acid flashbacks. I wonder. I've never actually seen anyone have one right before my eyes before, so I can't really tell. Actually, there was that one girl, Elena, I think her name was, who tried to tell me that she had done so much acid that she could flashback just by cracking her back. She then proceeded to crack her back and told me that she'd be fucked out of her skull within 30 minutes. Four hours later, she threw up and passed out drunk on the couch. What a bunch of bullshit. But then again, was THIS memory real? I can't ask her, she's dead now. I heard she died of heart failure caused by a sweet little cocktail composed of a heroin overdose and AIDS complications. This was a little while after she'd become a prostitute in order to fund her very own Official Heroin Addiction. It's sad, really. She was a really nice girl. Full of shit, and a lowlife, proven by the fact that she was, as earlier stated, a heroin addict, but still a sweet girl. Maybe someday I'll miss her. Like when I get tired of missing my other friends.

What the fuck was that sound?

Mornings in Kyoto are so fucking beautiful. There are mountains all around me, and the air smells nice. Not clean enough to hurt my lungs, and not rancid enough to sting my eyes. I like Japanese air. It's got character. The air in Vancouver was too clean, too thin for me. Too close to space. Gave me slight breathing problems. I was never fully able to concentrate or to lie my way out of trouble at that kind of altitude. But I have to admit, I saw the most beautiful morning view of my life in Vancouver. It was on the night that my old mate Scott and I walked around Stanley Park for about 6 hours smoking weed and discussing everything from history to literature to game shows to ghosts to our dead friends. We were walking down Robson from the Vancouver Library towards my apartment, and all of a sudden, right in front of me, about 50 miles or so away, was some huge, snow-capped, beautiful fucking mountain. It looked just like the Paramount logo. I swear I was about to have a fucking aneurysm, it was so amazing. I just stared at it for about 15 minutes, in awe. I've got to find something to beat that. It'll be awhile, but I'll find it.

Just a little longer. Morning in Kyoto. I'm going to go outside and have a smoke before the sun comes out completely and ruins things.

That was nice. I smoked a little faster than usual, so now I have a nice cigarette buzz. Actually, I hate cigarettes. No, I like cigarettes. I hate the addiction. I don't like the idea of not having a choice in my own personal affairs. But for now, it can't be helped. It will pass someday.

Here it comes. The Rain. Falling down. I love The Rain, too. I spent all of yesterday walking around to the different temples in this area of Kyoto in The Rain. It was tiring but it was really nice. Today, I'll probably end up either sleeping in late or going to the University again. Maybe I'll run into Chie again.

It's really sudden, but fuck it. I'm going to stop here. Maybe I'll write again tonight. Maybe not.

Be Excellent To Each Other.

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Tuesday, May 15th, 2001
11:44 pm - Rumiko
Thanks hella, man.
For reals.

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Monday, May 14th, 2001
1:10 am - A Survey I Stole
I stole this. Thanks, Sakari.

Ename: If you don't know, you probably shouldn't
Efamily: Blood - Ken (Father), Lauren (Mum), Mike (Younger Brother), Jodi (Younger Sister); Adopted - Motoaki (Father, dead), Mirei (Mother), Murasaki (Younger Sister)
Elives: Kyoto, Japan
Edoes: Teacher/freelance civilian recreational pharmaceuticals distributor
Eeducation: some high school
Ejobs had: correctional facility occupation
Elast love: Why "last"?
Ebest friends: A couple chillunz
Eshoe size: 11, 11.5
Ebody modifications: 2 ear piercings, tattoo, burns
Efavourite footwear: Black buckle dress shoes
Efavourite outfit: My special black suit
Ehaircolour: Light brown
Eeye colour: Blue
Edo i snore: Yeah, and I talk, too
Escared of: Are you talking to me?
Eworst place to be in the summer: Early evening subway
Emost embarrassing CD in collection: "Long Vacation" soundtrack
Ewhat's in the purple box and the grey box that i keep locked: I don't have one, but if I did it would probably be a gun and some teeth
Edo i smoke or do drugs: Oh yeah, it's what I DO, hahaha
Edo i drink: Bet your ass
Ecellphone: A DoCoMo i-Mode Full Color P209iS, and a Toshiba H Hyper Carrots PHS
Ei really should stop: Going to jail
Eweird things i do: Make A-bomb and "glow in the dark" jokes at the Peace Park in Hiroshima
Ethings i do too much: Shoot people
Eobsession: I'm 20, I'm a guy, and I live with my woman. Fucking guess

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Thursday, May 10th, 2001
11:46 pm - Damn
Dude, I'm HELLA fucking tired. I can barely even type properly. Goddamn. I'm going to sleep soon.

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11:30 pm - Pimp Minister
Goddamn, man. Koizumi Jun-chan (as I like to call him, being best buds and all), the new prime minister of Japan, is the raddest fucking politician I've ever seen. This guy's a total PIMP, man.He's going to do a lot of good things for My Island, I can tell. The dude's a fucking genius. He looks like Richard Gere, too, but that doesn't really enter into it. Maybe he'll do something about those fucking wannabe losers that keep dirtying my TV, like that fucking monkey Misia, and ANYONE from Janizu Jr., and Kuraki Mai, and Butada Hikaru, and 99.9% of all the shit dramas they've been running for the last year or so. I doubt anything will happen, but at least I can dream.

They caught that guy with the stupid hat who shanked that one chick, the guy who was wearing the bear or fox or whatever it was on his head. He was in some factory in Asakusa. I think it's fucked that the girl got snuffed, but what the fuck is the point of showing hours of footage of her funeral and interviews with people from her school who had never even met her and all of this shit? Yeah, she's dead, we know. She's been consistently dead since she was initially murdered (which is the first major side effect of being murdered, actually). And you know how I know that? Because it's been on the news every day for like two weeks. I saw it yesterday, in fact. And the day before, too. And when I saw it tonight, she was STILL dead. I'm even willing to bet that tomorrow, when she's on the news again, she'll still be STONE COLD DEAD. Jon Benet-style. Come on, bet me. Anyone?
Please show me something else, News. I'm getting real tired of it. Oh well, at least it's better than Koreans jumping in front of fucking trains again.
To put it My Dad-style, "I guess I just have to wait for some other broad to get whacked."
Thanks, Ken.

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2:37 pm - A Happy Little Experience
When I went out to buy smokes just now, some little kid walked by and waved and said "Hello!" That was nice.

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Monday, May 7th, 2001
3:55 am - Smigarettes
By the way, I'm down to 1 pack every 2 days, or half a pack a day.
I'm so proud of myself I could stick a fucking pencil in my eye.
Somebody please help me.
I need tar.


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3:53 am - A Very Special Trip To Kyoto Station
Today Teruko and I took the bus to Kyoto Station to go shopping. We didn't even end up buying anything, except for lunch, so I'm not sure exactly why we went in the first place.
For some reason there were a lot of retards walking around today. I don't mean like "stupid people," I mean like actual retards. They were all over the place, just kind of bumbling around in their sweatsuits and white sneakers. But they were like totally random, not like in a big group or anything. It's not like I'm against retards or anything, I'm just wondering, why were there suddenly so many of them?
We ate lunch at some soba/udon place, it was pretty good. Unfortunately neither one of us had slept in like a day and a half, and it was hot out and starting to get humid, so we both felt like shit and I couldn't finish my food. I was going to steal the little sauce holder-type bottle thing (it just looked cool), but I was too tired to STEAL. Can you fucking believe that? That's how tired I was. Damn.

(Where the fuck are my smokes?)

I looked around the CD shop in the mall-type place we were in for Kunimoto Takeharu's CD (ANY of them) but I had no idea where to look. He plays the shamisen, which is kind of like a reeeaaallllyyy old Japanese banjo-looking instrument, except he plays it more like a guitar, songs that sound like "Freebird" and shit. The guy is fucking rad. Really nice voice, too. He's got a lot of soul for an old Japanese guy. They didn't have a single album of his, and the clerks had never even heard of him. I told them to go back home because their Brittany Spears mp3's were getting lonely. They didn't seem to get it.

(Aa, here they are.)

On the way back home, Teruko and I both fell asleep on the bus. I had this weird fucking dream about being in India or maybe Morocco at some outdoor market, and I was balancing these clay plate-looking things in both hands, and for some reason I got really pissed off and threw them up in the air and just let the drop and break. The instant they hit the ground and shattered, I woke up just as the bus was pulling up to my stop and just as I dropped my ticket on the floor. Pretty much as soon as we got home, around 3, Teruko and I fell asleep on the floor. We woke up just before 8pm, and I was fucking pissed to find that because of the goddamn monkey turd-collecting ballsack-grabbing shit-sucking motherfucking Tokyo Giants, "Warau Inu" wasn't going to be on tonight. I was like "Fuck this," and I would have gone back to sleep except Teruko made me dinner. We watched TV and talked and shit, and I helped her with her English homework and she went to sleep. She's up in the loft right now.

I'll write more again tomorrow. I've got to get back to work on the new chapter I'm writing for my book and then I've got to get to sleep. Later.

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