Scribbler's Cafe

One of you has read this before (and I don't care)

Latest bits:

An entire crew of gaijin from where I live has announced intentions of attending the next bluegrass show(this Saturday). They read the mandolin player's blog. They want to see the action. The venue is the size of a closet. I will be hiding under the bar, or behind the imported cow's skull.

Kyoto Candy Club: The drummer was as fascinating to watch as a child playing in the mud. His actual creations were sloppy and lacking, but his wild delight and enthusiastic flailings mesmorized effectively.

Walking along the darkened river in Kyoto's heart, first by the university students lighting fireworks, later under bridges swamped in pregnant shadows - the writer teases me about ghosts, but then jumps when my fingers poke his side.

Seen on the bag of a lovely lady while riding the train to Osaka:
SOFUOL: Sophisicated full length office lady
(I cannot look away or keep the smile off my lips the entire way)

Bach, Outkast, beck, Carmina Burana. Strange tunes fill my head. Lost... on the platform, in the melody streaming from my headphones, in the inky scenes that call me back to blank pages. Fulfill me, feel me. Do I really believe in this extreme, Mr. Camus? The All or Nothing? Medicority never enters the picture. Success or failure. Yet I argue that success is defined in such a hugely encompassing manner so that there is no space between do or die - as really that is the only choice. Do you or don't you? Passive or active? You can change your mind again - if you are strong enough. Doubtful.

My desperate push for oblivion has left me with nothing and now I act like I am surprised. A new empty follows each taste of exaultation. I am so hungry, yet all my resources have been spent.

The absurdity of longing makes me laugh out loud in the ramen aisle of the supa-coop. Stupid Gravely Beach. Stupid Pacific Ocean.

Each man was remarkable. At least that much was true. Does that make me remarkable? A deep blue nothing surrounds me - how foolish I am.

Yet still, I am.

While chasing oblivion I stumbled upon the solid core of myself.

Shock.

posted by Scribbler @ Wednesday, July 06, 2005