Friday, 16 November 2012


Have you ever thought about matching music with the scene around you?
I have, quite a lot of time.

Chapter 1  Highway
Song: I'm sorry - Gummy ft TOP

Night. Vaguely staring out to nowhere. Cars on the street were running at light-speed. You know how it feels like, passing through a tunnel, with yellow neon lights fliggering here and there. i had earphones on; music was playing at master volume, and suddenly i saw myself racing with the cars outside the window. How beautiful it would be if these cars were running to the rhythm of the music that i was listening to, how magnetic it would all look like when the cars were speeding, washed with all these yellowy red lights, one overpassing the other, one overpassing the other. And they were running un-manned. And this feeling stuck inside for quite a while, until i woke up to the sound of the sun rising, from the west end of the bus window, waiting out for something I didn't even know.

 To be continued. Suddenly tired and sick now. Better go back to work。

Chapter 2   Shinkansen
Song: マアンネヨ Mianhaeyo - Gummy ft TOP Japanese version

There is one greater thing than love. Freedom.
The sky moves as i sit inside shinkansen, departing from Chiba to Tokyo.
The sky opens a vast space above my head. This endlessly stretching blue that shelters me.
Of clouds, threaded like silk, strolling impassionately, drifting from nowhere, heading for nowhere.

There is one greater thing than family, than geographical bounds, than one's roots. Space.
Oh space, mon amour.
Je suis fou for you.

Chapter 3     Elevator
Song: Just a dream - Nelly

Everyday i take the elevator, shielded w glass.
The route is the same: 1st to 30th, 30th to 27th, 27th to 30th, 30th to 1st.
Layers of reddish purple sunset reflected on the window panes.
Where have I been?
Am I falling?

Streams of people passing the street.
Tears coming out of my eyes.
Make it last all night.

Friday, 14 September 2012

natsu no kemuri


that feeling when the wind swept through your hair, riding 160 km/h on a street.

this love
this street
this smell
this taste
kill me kill me kill me

freedom is when u do not have to search for it.

my freedom.

Tuesday, 14 August 2012













Monday, 16 July 2012

Homie stuff~

Got the package from home yesterday, but did not open until today...

Chocolate! Artichoke tea!
Mom knows my taste~ <blush>

And the little note that she included inside the pack was so cute <3
Having some snack to while the days <3

On Death


Confession of a roomophobic

This feeling is dangerous. No, I don't wanna go home. Anywhere will do, but not home.

I am drowning in this sea of human existence.... This sardine-packed space.

Everything is easily obtained
World pendulum swings
A light switched on the sound
At the distance of the shot
count is meaningless
What truth does not slip out of hands
And not break an endless circle

Out of range we have not identified
Out of range air we breathe
Out of range consciously
Out of range, we
Out of range, we
Out of range

Sunday, 15 July 2012


7h10. One's youth was at its peak until last dawn, only to be passed with the sound of cicada singing to a harmonious tone, out there on a calm Sunday morning.


I outlived myself.

Thursday, 12 July 2012

One Thursday (2)

Thursday. Just as I was about to slip into a state of being totally oblivious to all the things that were weighing on my shoulders, "Return to Innocence" pulled me back to reality. Script to be written for the final presentation, readings about Kabuki to be finished before next Wednesday, one report to be submitted on Tuesday.

This morning when I went out of my room to do some laundry, I had a chance to look closely at what my balcony is like. I have lived here for more than a year, but have never cared to see what it is like. I noticed the gutter which was drying, the room doors lining very meekly and silently. Inside those doors lay many lives which encompass different aspects to mine - Japanese kids burning their time youth with club activities, frivolous girls' talk, making love, watching baseball, writing, reading. Sometimes I could hear the girls' giggling from the room next to my own balcony. When I was pondering over my balcony, a sweet-sour taste of lemonade crawled up inside me, twitching my every muscle and appealing my every senses. That sweet taste of summer hot. All of a sudden I realized this was what Happiness and Calm all boil down to - that serene feeling of going about your daily business, even though they are just paltry and hold virtually no meaning, no more than when the moon orbits the earth or when I tell somebody "I love you"; indeed, as paltry as the cosmic moving around in its eternal recurrence.

My stare smoothly travels over to the far-stretched sky above our building. Blocks of houses, concrete, banners, the newly paved road, all residing peacefully in their normal state, except this time they tend to exert a kind of stealthy, nonchalant yawn, tired from their morning sickness. The sky was not white, nor blue, but a little tainted grayish ash colour, the air is stagnant. I went about my laundry.

Episode 1: Drying clothes

Hanging one by one with the hangers. The stick was set in my balcony. And I didn't care whether someone from the opposite building, standing there on his balcony, was looking at me. I just went about my business. It was getting hot.

I became disturbed by some murmuring voice, seemingly coming from a girl, somewhere from the opposite building. I was totally indulged in my afternoon silence when something and someone was trying to break it.

Episode 2: Know nothing, feel something

I knew nothing. I stared at my room, my eyes fixed on the white wall in front of me. Pieces of fabric - indeed it was sweaters and towels - hung loosely on the hangers, absorbing the smoke I was drawing from my nose, my mouth, the waves of white sulky smoke filled with menthol and stuff. This was so serene: I was amazed for the first time so far, at how this little 4.5 tatami apartment room could give someone such tranquility. The tranquility itself was not of an average kind: it was almost surreal, to the extent that my heart almost bursted in joy, in rapture, in revelation. I AM HERE, in this little space of mine (and is it mine?), feeling more content than ever.

Suddenly yet insipidly a kind of dizziness swallowed me up, the scene before my eyes turned awry, everything was swirling in a cosmic disharmony. Have I experienced hallucination or delirium? No, not yet, not any vision I could see so far. It was just a drunk feeling- I felt like I have emptied a bottle of Vodka. This little book on my right, this headphone on my left, The airconditioner going about tis daily business, the floor so lucid, the bottle of honey-lemonade standing in front of me, insolently and obstinately. I thought it was mocking me.

One Thursday

Tuesday, 10 July 2012

Black and White.


If ever is there a passing solace for me.

When I read through the pages, I encounter myself, my own vivid images and feelings, paraphrased in more concrete preciseness. Just like looking at a mirror for the first time after 50 years living on a deserted island.

In other words, it feeds my narcicism.
The page contains thousands of worlds, of nuances, sounds and colors.
The letters fling themselves up to me, trying to talk to me.

I know it, right from the beginning.
Books that are friendly and books that are not.

 Back to the house where I feel like a strangled man, his face pale-blue with suffocation, his little remaining engergy all focused on how to get his head out of the rope.
That tiny thread that connects me to the world has been cut off, one nanometer a second.

Let the breath that goes from my lung be joined with a world filled with warmth, with fresh colors.
Henceforth, let me sleep through this anguished hour with images and dreams.

Existentia preceeds essentia.

Tuesday, 26 June 2012

Violent Passion Surrogate

23 45 & Fivesta family's Ya budu is one of them.

Here I am sitting on the edge of my youth, of when all the roses should be at their blooming peak, when they are the redest; when all the birds are together singing their summer morning orchestra; when all colors in the world fade and zoom and blend and mingle into multi-layered multi-colored kaleidoscopic canvas pictures.

But the truth is, here I am sitting in front of the PC, my eyes fixed on the screen, and I'm increasingly lured into that pseudo experience of adventures, of love, of hatred, emotions, of the world changing and moving around me.

But since nothing has any value from the beginning, even change has no meaning at all.
So time is passing, but in a circle: and we are but marathon athletes running around and around in that circle, with no starting point as well as finishing line.

And so what we have to do, and must do, is to find meanings to them.
The marathon race we are all running.

And I need some Violent Passion now. With a glance of the eyes to a stranger in a public place, I smile wittily, knowingly. Then he looks at me, and during that single nano-second moment, something is born. That distance between us contracts into a breath: he suddenly stands in front of my eyes, his hair gently flutters in the wind, his eyes hungrily investigating my every singly cell and corner, and he whispers: "Kiss me, hug me"

And suddenly the world turns into a giant symphony orchestra....
Roses are red. So is my blood, and his, too.

His hair has a very gentle scent. I sniff it. Like i would the fresh pages of a new book, or something mysterious I happen to find in my drawer.

The time has come. I've to go now.

Sunday, 10 June 2012


I love those political revolutionary movies, as they offer me a kind of escape from my everydayism, channeling my unused mental energy into a form of pseudo unknown-of experience, my craving for liberation, anything that can act as an alternative to the hollowness felt inside me. Sometimes while I watch the scenes going on before my eyes, a vague feeling of frustration silently crawled up inside me; a devastating realization of my powerlessness in doing anything other than indulging in theoretical masturbation and banal self-pondering. I wish I was born in those days, when revolution was running everywhere in the world, in Europe, in America. People with hot hearts and burning passion to fight for a cause. Am I the only one who listens to “La Rage” and feels turned on?

“Dope chokes up young people’s revolutionary energy” (The Edukators)

Is it dope or is it the very process of development that halts my mental energy?
Maybe, maybe not. Maybe both.

Walking the rue d’Assas, dropping by a patisserie for a hot French toast, stopping at a sidewalf café for a hot morning mocha. Smoking, reading the morning papers, chatting with friends, bathing in summer sun light.

Other than that, on weekends I spend my days like a lazy cat cuddling up in its warm, furry blanket on a cold winter day. Weekends locked in my home, having a movie watching run, thinking. 

Real slow life. Beer everyday in a run. Scenes dancing before my eyes, people’s lives, tears, happiness, revolution, guns, bloodshed, everything that exists. Now I feel the very core of what is called “mobile privatization” learned in my media studies class. People rooted in one place watching thousands and millions of lives happening around the globe. The sky’s the limit. No time or space oppression. 


Writing is a way to detoxify myself. Here as I am sitting on the wooden floor of my room, looking at the laptop clock showing 12:11 AM, splurting out shit, I see my existence at the very core of it. Suddenly felt stomach-empty a while ago, I tried to struggle with the instinct to pull out all the evils hidden in my kitchen cupboard, by making some corn soup to calm myself down, and store up some energy in order to write this.

Let’s put it this way: I am, after all, a human being. By a human being, I mean a single one, not two, not together, totally detached from the social definition of our human race (the same as in gender vs sex). Even when I talk to friends/my family, exchange flirting sms with my boyfriend, go to class, go to convenience store to grab some coffee and cigarettes, I am eventually by myself. That means, the way the world revolves and things happen take place inside my head, and mine alone, not shared or determined or controlled by any means by any other external factors. I have a whole world with its own stories and melodies inside my head. And here, at this very moment as I mentioned above, I see my existence as a lonely, socially detached, single form of living creature that happens to be awake at 12:19 am, sitting straight up on my wooden floor, splitting out shit and eating corn soup.

My life is an everyday fight with the virus that has not only taken its evil root inside me but has spread and permeated every single cell of my body. Yet, the even more scrary fact is that it has eaten into my nerves, my brain, controlling every single movement of me, driving me crazy until my mind screams and I finally burst out in a chaotic mess, ending up with the obnoxious muddy stinky pool of my own bodily puking.

Please, do not read this if you are eating. Alert to those biologically fragile to human feces stories during meal time or hypocrites trying to appear sophisticated or ladylike or whatever terms you call it.

 The idea of social accompany gives me a nausea. That does not mean I am anti-social, or hate human, or look down on them. I do hang out with people; indeed I can never forget the time spent with the crazy kids from my high school time. I do enjoy the social and emotional aid that hanging out offers: it releases pain, it strengthens my beliefs, it enforces my own egoistic thoughts. Yet, I do not believe in the technical meaning of social accompany. Decisions are after all made by you and yourself alone.  

Friday, 2 March 2012


加藤諦三 「自立と孤独の心理学」






フィリッピン人は自信過剰とラテン系。優秀だけど、それほど優秀でなく不細工な人を見下ろす傾向。気が強く、しゃべり好き 批判系








Wednesday, 29 February 2012


人生において、このような命題が人の心を捉える時期は3つある、とも言われる。思春期、中年期および老年期である。思春期を経た者の多くは、その段階なりの解答を持つ。中年期にもこのような問いが心を捉えることがある。これは「中年期の危機Mid-life crisis)」などとも呼ばれる。深層心理学者のユングがこのような中年期の危機の問題に早くから関心を抱いた。 傍から見ると特に何の問題もない人で、むしろ財産・地位・家族などについては恵まれた状態の人に、このような問いで悩む人が多くいる。若いころに、「財産・地位・家族などを手に入れれば幸福になれるに違いない」と思い込み、ひたすら頑張ってきたのに、いざそれらを手に入れてみると、まったく幸福という実感が無く、自分の人生に「大切な何か」が欠けている、という気がして仕方なくなり、「人生のむなしさ」を痛感する人が多いのである。 この段階で、あらためて「残された人生で、私は何をすることを求められているのだろう?」「自分の人生を意味あるものにするためには、今後どう生きてゆけばいいのだろう?」という問いに真正面から向き合うことになるのであり、そして老年期にも、このような問いが心をとらえることがある、と諸富は述べる。 神谷美恵子は以下のことを指摘する。 「自分の存在は何かのため、またはだれかのために必要であるか」という問いに肯定的に答えられれば、それだけでも充分生きがいをみとめる、という人は多い。老年期の悲哀の大きな部分はこの問いに充分確信をもって答えられなくなることにあろう。よって老人に生きがい感を与えるには、老人にできる何らかの役割を分担してもらうほうがよい。また、愛情の関係としても老人の存在がこちらにとって必要なのだ、と感じてもらうことが大切である。


功利主義の起源はエピクロスまで遡れるものの、学派としてのこの思想の創始者はジェレミー・ベンサムであるとされており、彼は快と不快という二つの支配者の下にあることが人間の自然であると主張し、そして道徳的洞察から功利性の支配(Rule of Utility)という説を展開し、「善は何であれ最大多数の最大幸福である」とした。彼は生きる意味を「最大幸福の原理」として定義した。なお、ジェレミー・ベンサムの第一の支持者は彼の時代の著名な哲学者であるジョン・ステュアート・ミルの父であるジェイムズ・ミルである。ジョン・ステュアート・ミルは父の仕事の多くからの転写と要約を含むベンサムの原理によって教育された。








論理実証主義者は「人生の意味とは何か?」そして「問うことに意味はあるのか?」と問いかけたことがある。 もし客観的な価値が存在しないとすれば、人生は無意味なのだろうか?これに対してルートヴィヒ・ウィトゲンシュタインと論理実証主義者たちは「言語によって表現されるならば、その問いは無意味である」と言う。というのも人生において「xの意味」という言明は、通常xの結果か、xの意味(significance)か、あるいはxにおける顕著なもの等々を示すのであり、したがって、人生の意味の概念が「x」と等しい時、「xの意味」という言明において、その言明は再帰的であり、したがって無意味であるか、もしくはそのことは、生物学的生は人生において意味を持つことが本質的であるという事実を示しているかである、とする。