Dear Tokyo:
I want you to know that I'm no expert. That's not what I'm telling people. I'm just going with my gut...just trying to figure out some things. I see things...pieces of the puzzle. But I'm not so vain to think that I can put the whole thing together and make some sense out of it. There is no sense to be made. There are only stories to tell. Take from them what you want. You can only ride one of those bullet trains into the rising sun and hope for the best. I hope that you are in a good mood today.
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Thursday, September 08, 2005
Postcard
Dear Tokyo:
Gaijin always talk about rules...there are too many rules. But I believe that you have to know the rules so that you can break them creatively. That's when the fun begins. That's where the freedom comes from. If you creatively and gently break the rules, you can affect change...good change. The key is to not get too big for your britches. I see Gaijin filled with hubris. It's best to do things gently.
Gaijin always talk about rules...there are too many rules. But I believe that you have to know the rules so that you can break them creatively. That's when the fun begins. That's where the freedom comes from. If you creatively and gently break the rules, you can affect change...good change. The key is to not get too big for your britches. I see Gaijin filled with hubris. It's best to do things gently.
Postcard
Dear Tokyo:
It has been two years since I've breathed you in. I want to touch you, smell you, eat you. I recognize every little thing about you...and no thing. The surface is always shifting...a city of illusions, smoke and mirrors.
Coming back here is like falling back into a dream...it's utterly familiar, yet everything concrete slips through my fingers like water, like light.
Did you pine for me? Did you think about me everyday I was away? Are you happy to have me back?
It has been two years since I've breathed you in. I want to touch you, smell you, eat you. I recognize every little thing about you...and no thing. The surface is always shifting...a city of illusions, smoke and mirrors.
Coming back here is like falling back into a dream...it's utterly familiar, yet everything concrete slips through my fingers like water, like light.
Did you pine for me? Did you think about me everyday I was away? Are you happy to have me back?
Postcard
Dear Ken:
I just can't figure out what you want. Every time I talk to you, your story changes. Man, are you so inconsistent? Or, is this maybe the process? Am I witnessing your process of reinvention?
Do you believe in universal truth with a capital ìTî? I don't think you do. So you have to find your own truths. You have to write your own story. And I will bear witness to your story. Can you maybe even let me participate? Will you let me push you? Will you let me go with you at least for a little while?
I hope this story has a happy ending.
I just can't figure out what you want. Every time I talk to you, your story changes. Man, are you so inconsistent? Or, is this maybe the process? Am I witnessing your process of reinvention?
Do you believe in universal truth with a capital ìTî? I don't think you do. So you have to find your own truths. You have to write your own story. And I will bear witness to your story. Can you maybe even let me participate? Will you let me push you? Will you let me go with you at least for a little while?
I hope this story has a happy ending.
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