Completely unrelated to this post, but so much is changing in my life at the moment. I feel like I’ve been going non-stop for the last month, and the speed only keeps picking up. I scarcely have time to catch my breath, let alone blog.
(A pre-emptive excuse, perhaps, for why this post is so perfunctory, and consists almost entirely of photos?)
I can’t wait for spring and the cherry blossoms and warm weather to come and for life to settle down a little bit.
More photos after the jump.
Okay, that’s it for now. More stuff coming soon!
Now listening to: Way Out West – Coming Home
God this brings me back. This reminds me of a particularly angsty post I wrote some 8 years ago (oh my god, I’ve been blogging 8 years!?) where I talked about the sublimeness of listening to Way Out West in my car whilst driving home at night. (It was a particularly angsty, emo-ridden post so I’ll spare you linking to it, I’m sure you can find it if you really want to.
At the time I wrote:
Afterwards, and this is where it all starts to go downhill – chilling in my car, driving home. “Activity” by Way Out West driving a pulsating beat into my head as I head towards the sunset, the lights above the freeway just starting to flicker on – first a hesitant, tired yellow, then, with a near-audible *switch!*, tripping into clear halogenated purity, white circles retroscoping on my windshield, diffractions diffusing into my retina as colours intercalate into one another in alternative leaves, slides and slabs of the world around me flickering past at 65 miles per hour, and the tempo line is carrying my brain, the twinkling spacey tines that live in the treble frequencies dancing behind my ear lobes, teasing my hair and the undulating bass line permeating my chest cavity and synchronizing with my heart beat, shudders tripping up my spine as my whole body strains against the seat belt to move in rhythm with the flow, the airy space of the driver – passenger compartment almost palpably contracting with each movement, the atmosphere thick with what I can almost imagine to be the subtle rustling of wind as the DJ reaches over to adjust a dial or search in his bag for the next record. I’ve never been, but I can almost close my eyes and imagine opening them up on the shores of Ibiza, and my world begins to melt into dissolute hues and oblique angular references of the meandering road and world before me.
And it’s like the gap into the future, or the gap into fear, perhaps, as I can see the uncertainties piling up before me like so many potential profound implications tossed into a box bearing a small weathered yellow label, and the fear begins its slow creep, the alarming feeling of raised hair on your neck when you realise it’s here…! inserted into that tiny gap between the beats at first, then darting, lurching, waiting, then bolder and more brazen as it enters into the tempo itself and that blanket of night sky that seemed so comforting at first, like a warm woolen sheet warding you from the worries of the day suddenly seems so ominous, and its steely coldness penetrates as the night wind through the cracked window and lays bare all the anxieties as clearly as if they were exposed to the harsh glare of the summer sun.
The future which I was so anxious about, I suppose, is here. A lot has happened in the past 8 years since I wrote that. The gap into fear and the future indeed. The irony of course is that I am still as anxious now about the future as I was back then when I was just a young kid in college wondering what Japan held in store for me.
Who could have known I would have ended up staying here so long?