motivation (ii)

at a certain age, or at a certain stage of seasoning, it becomes impossible to apply simple motivational techniques upon oneself.

"i'm an old dog," the soul mutters, "and those old tricks don't work on me." a laziness of sorts begins to creep into old bones. motion and emotion becomes economical, measured. and other things begin to be valued, replacing the old youthful dynasty's monetary system.

"your currency's no longer good here."

everything is now measured in a kind of feeling, a feeling akin to riding waves...

it is impossible to prepare for a tsunami in advance, simply because it is a wave that hasn't happened yet, and hasn't arrived. those who do prepare are the ones who "have it together," who still operate out of that quaint mythology that the world can and should be prepared for. yes, there is a certain elegance and simplicity to that.

but for those who have loved the world and been irrevocably broken by it, it is impossible to prepare for anything. not only that, it is undesirable to prepare. preparation, in a certain sense, kills the world. it lays a blanket of dominion over the future, and prevents the true tomorrow from arriving, the tomorrow that everyone and no one anticipates, the tomorrow of a fresh face and a new horizon.

i will address things as they come. there are too many things to love right now. i may be, will be, killed by something sometime soon, but i never played this game to win. i played this game to play.

***

imagine yourself a character in a book. you have the privilege (or curse) of being self-aware, and in a certain sense, in control of your destiny. do you rail against the pages you have been written into, seeking to find that empty space that has never been written? do you struggle to climb out from beneath the covers that contain your narrative? do you shout in capital lettered quotations to the invisible author who writes you into being, to set you free?

or are you quiet and inwardly laughing, as the story unfolds before you? you have no choice but to live it, no choice but to follow a path that has been set before you, with illusory decisions to make. "no choice but to choose." some call it abdication, but who here has every turned the world on their whim? better for a fish to swim in its sea, than to seek a way to escape all tides and waves in the suffocating air above.

the one who wrote me and writes me still has not a single clue where he will put me. perhaps for periods of time he lays me down and forgets all about me, his cares directed elsewhere. and for those moments, i live my life, oblivious and aging, a secret to myself and to "him." and i flow into the rivers and i stagnate in the pools. i live and i die. sometime, somewhere, events unfold that make waves, and perhaps for a time, those waves stir me and i flash into a narrative again. but the point is, i am not in control of anything. i do not write the story. and, in any case, no one is there who has the capacity or patience to read it, anyway...

keep the teacup warm
the shapes are forming
and settling destinies.
"i'll drink to that."

there is a photo beneath the lamp
of a man sitting at this very place
taken over ten years ago
and beneath it a fortune cookie line:
"you are a very happy man."

who would have imagined
that his eyes staring through the dusty glass
see us sitting here together
fulfilling a fortune,
reading tea leaves for
tomorrows still brewing?

potential karaoke lists

here's a partial list (as of tonight) of some songs that i'd like to sing for karaoke (as we are having an upcoming karaoke outing). what are some of your favorite karaoke tunes? what are some of your ideal karaoke tunes (but sadly are not carried at any existing karaoke joint)?

devotchka's "till the end of time"
morissey's "the more you ignore me"
morissey's "we hate it when our friends become successful"
smith's "ask me"
smith's "headmaster's ritual"
replacements' "i'll be you"
replacements' (?) "dyslexic heart"
u2 "one"
beatles "hey jude"
beatles "twist and shout"
beatles "michelle"
beatles "in my life"
radiohead (of course) "creep", "high and dry", and a whole lot of other songs most karaoke joints don't supply
wheatus "teenage dirtbag"
soul asylum "leave without a trace", "frustrated incorporated", "promises broken"

forgive me for the soda stains
it was a windy day and it blew my mind
i have at other times taken great pains
to be a person who's gentle and kind

forgive me for the shouted words
the rain was loud and it beat me down
normally i speak just loud enough to be heard
or with dry eyes speak without a sound

i don't know what got into me
i don't know what came over me
i don't know who came out of me
it isn't me
it wasn't me
so forgive me
please forgive.

i think i drank too much caffeine tonight. two cans of coke. that, combined with the strange things illness can do to your adrenal glands.

it's 2 am, and i am still up. there is energy within me, but it has nowhere to go (or at least nowhere particularly appetizing).

the wind has started up again. it has a voice and a rhythmless rhythm. it surprises me sometimes with its ferocity, and then withdraws just as quickly. sometimes it speaks in multiple voices, or at least, it seems to, when the window to my right "hears" one aspect of it, while the window to my back seems to catch a discordant chorus.

on nights like this, i imagine creatures (like the wild pig that on occasion slips into my backyard) creeping about disguised by the storm. perhaps it skulks in the shadows and shelter of the snowbush on the left side of the house.

***

irresponsibility.

***

there are places and times and people in our lives, and then there are the hopes and fears and dreams we have about them. the two on occasion appear to coincide, but never entirely. the latter superimposes upon or submerges the former, burying it with shifting, swallowing waves beneath a restless sea.

what is real?

***

i remember the california grass field where the current mililani town post office now lies. my brother and i, and then later, my sister and i, we used to cross that field every day to go to and from japanese school on the far side of the mililani high school campus. i like to think (somewhat arrogantly) that it was solely the tread of our tires that maintained the pathway through all of that undergrowth. i can remember the landscape of that hidden field primarily as a series of hills and slopes, and particularly the last one, the one before the entrance to the track field, the one where you would run out of momentum just before cresting, and had to put it one last umph with the pedals to get your front tire catching the top and pulling you up.

***

the past seems so rich with details, evasive and irrelevant. the past seems so huge and long. and yet, as i watch my children (as if looking at them askance), i realize how swiftly it is all running away. the memories that i hold sacred, the memories that i (whether rightly or not) feel determined everything that i am today, the memories that i always return to, those memories are happening right now for my children. in the babble that i half-heartedly listen to, there are secrets that one day i will try to reach for but will always elude me.

this moment only happens once. everything after is just us. just me.

perhaps there is sentimentality in this, but i make a conscious effort to see my children, to really see them, not as what i would like them to become (although, of course, it is impossible for a parent to ignore this), but as who they are in their present wonderful moment of childhood. oddly enough, through the lens of the present, i can almost see the whole trajectory of their life's path. i see in willow the cheerful optimism that will push her through adversity; i see also the competitive edge and simple trust in fairness (and other myths) that could potentially break her heart. i see in aiden a gentle spirit, unafraid (and even eager) to play the fool, always looking for a way to be seen or heard, and always afraid to be left behind. in many ways, he is so like myself. i hope that his need for love and respect does not turn him away from the lonely path of independence that he must eventually forge for himself...

i hear one of them stirring... mumbling in sleep.

***

i watched a korean movie called "the host." it begins like a horror movie, but ends up being about so much more. i would strongly recommend it. it is full of surprises, not just in the sense of "horror" films (which i definitely would NOT characterize this movie as), but in the way it keeps stepping outside categorizations so that one can't clearly say what the movie is "about." watch it! it is viewable in its entirety on youtube.

well, i think i've killed some time and energy for tonight. i should sign off. wish i had something more interesting to write about...

this morning, i worked on two of my sped assignments (due today). that occupied a majority of my attention, while (sadly) my kids played with themselves. after that, the three of us headed over to walmart to purchase a gift for nicholas (the 2 year old son of a friend, who, by the way, shares my birthday), and to have breakfast over at mcdonald's. we picked mommy from her working place (she had to train an assistant manager from another store) and then dashed off to nicholas's party. we were late (as usual), but no more than 35 minutes (which, sadly, is kind of a record). thankfully, most of the other guests were late. i spent a blurry half hour or so at the party, which took place over at one of the teahouses at my friend min's apartment complex. it was a nice party (at least the scant time i saw of it), with a few of min's close friends. nicholas himself is truly a little man. there is a calmness and certainty about him that i admire.

taiko practice was at 1, and it was important that i attend, since we hadn't gone to practice in two weeks. so i quietly excused myself from the party and headed over to pearl harbor kai elementary, where the practices are held. we worked briefly on two of the songs (kaizen and kansha); the second song, i really have little idea how to play, since i haven't had any direct instruction on how to do it, and i haven't taken the time to examine/memorize it. after that, we worked on the nameless song we've been focusing on for the majority of our time with the group. this song has a solo portion, and our leader has been wanting us to develop this aspect in particular. so three drums were set up on the stage facing the rest of the players. we played through the song a few times, with three players showing off their solo "stage presence" at a time. i had my chance, and i think i did alright, although i'm still shaky on my solo at parts, and i tend to be, as andrea puts it, "stiff", not looking up, focusing on what i'm doing.

the group has a great energy. it, like my previous taiko group (yoki daiko) seems to have a fresh, open energy. yoki daiko was an inexperienced group; the advantage of being an amateur is that there is little pressure to "do things right," and there is a lot of room for creativity and innovation and expression. anyway, this group, ryusei taiko, has that same energy, that same fun spirit.

certainly, there's a lot to be said for "expertise" and "professionalism" and "tradition." but these can be terribly stifling and stultifying things. to me, for art to stay alive, it has to "carry" tradition, but it must leave a constant opening, a way forward, in much the same way that a plant must remember its roots, but at the same time, have a way to grow up towards the light.

after picking the kids and wife up from the party, we headed home, and took a nap. then, i drove lynn off to a meeting at work, and went to a dinner with thomas and irene and rita, and debby, soukan, ian, and nia (lynn's sister's family, who had just come in from minnesota for great grandpa hashimoto's funeral). it was nice to see debby and her family again, particularly ian (because he'd grown so much) and nia (the new cherubic addition to her family).

and then, it was off to home, to put the kids to bed (it's school tomorrow!!!).

altogether, an okay day. sorry to bore you all.

the wind is howling violently outside, rattling the windows in their panes.

this evening, as i walked along river street back to my car, i took note of the dirty street pigeons huddling on the ground, amidst their splattered white birdshit graffiti... (usually, i walk cautiously beneath them as they perch on the branches of the tired trees) i saw a small group of homeless people huddled at the foot of some chinese clan's hangout, with a couple of wild-eyed lookouts, and about four prone forms huddled under dirty sheets...

i thought about living on the street, without walls. i can almost feel myself leaking away without a room of my own. all of my colors and thoughts fade out in the sun, and lose themselves in the shadows. and the wind... i imagine trying to anchor myself with dirty fingernails on the cold concrete in the face of that wind, the wind that would make me another piece of garbage, to be tossed hither and yon, unwanted.

i thought about how people (how i) solve problems simply by bracketing them. there are things too big for anyone to deal with. if we opened ourselves up to the endless uncertainties and anxieties, then we would be paralyzed and sleepless, forever. it is so much more convenient to think only of today, and of that small group of friends and family that i circumscribe as my own, my self, my love. the world may end tomorrow, for all that i care. for the little that i care...

***

the world is hungry for kindness and for love. just give it a little of these, and see what comes to life. you'd think the faces were all dead and jaded; but if given the opportunity, if given the chance and attention, then they will change and move and speak to you. everyone has something to say, a story to tell. the cold and dead statues in the background, every single one, has a whisper of an echo to share with you, about life before everyone forgot their names...

***

"goodbye," whispered the walls. "tomorrow, you will leave me."
"i will never leave you," came the voice from within. "you have always been so faithful. you have held me safe, held me fast, for all this time. how could i ever leave you?"
"tomorrow, you will leave me," repeated the walls, as if in echo. "tomorrow, you must."
just as insistently, the voice within repeated over and over again, "i will never leave you."
but as the sun crested the skies and descended into the western shadows, and as the moon took its turn leaping across the vast firmament, something grew and something receded. and there was a blind moment of fullness to bursting, and when it past, there were no walls and no voice within.
there was just me.