Hitting the Books

Although organizing feels incomplete, it's time to crack open the books. Here goes. I'll be smart one day soon.

Good luck, me.

When we stop counting bridges

I have found that the morning rides are a good time to think productively, as opposed to the apartment, where ruminations run in circles, bounce off the walls, and become brittle in the stale, dim air.

I am allowing one of my stories to fold in on itself, and for this to continue, I will need to employ (or at least consult) the golden triangle. The goal being to find the level of reality in the story that is most basic, and so most true, but always there is a more basic element to truth. And so, much of today's ride was spent folding.

I may have mentioned that I ride by the river, and so from time to time must cross a bridge. They are laid out relatively evenly, and so, since I don't mark distance in miles or kilometers, or even time, it has become a very simple thing to mark my progress in bridges. For instance, on Thursday, I rode two bridges. Yesterday, I rode four. Today I rode six. But at the sixth, I decided to veer away from the river and down into the country, scouting for next weeks attempt at a mountain ride. I passed through a little rural community, I wouldn't even call it a village, and then saw another small bridge coming out from beyond a bend. This seemed like a good entryway into the mountains, so I decided to make it seven bridges and go home, but at this point I saw that the bridge was not leading over a tributary river, but a marsh, with giant waterlilies. My mind went to Jules Verne, at least my childhood memories of A Journey the the Centre of the Earth, and my memories of reading this book are very spotty at best, but my recollection is of the characters continually entering new parts of this underground world, slowly entering a cavern and having revealed some brilliant wonder. There were at least a thousand of these giant pink flowers, and the red frame of a shinto shrine on the hill leading away from the marsh. I stopped here for a little while and my mind went completely empty. Perhaps this is where Kappa lives.

Then on the return trip, I made some evaluations of time, the schedule between now and November, and I allowed myself to take out a piece of a beautiful night I spent recently, look at it, so to speak, and let it make me as quiet as the lilies.

I ran out of water before I got home. Sustenance must be dealt with in all of its many forms.

reverse

it made me nervous, walking into houses with my shoes on. and standing in line at a convenience store, and every available employee not running to other registers and apologizing that I had had to wait for three seconds before they noticed me. that when leaving any place, I was not profusely thanked and bowed to, that someone did not stand at the door and bow in an awkwardly prolonged farewell.

but it was nice to be more invisible.

if it is a fiction, it is a pleasant one

next week's game: truth or fiction. i tested it yesterday and it went fabulously. teaching kids to lie in english--they need to know how to do it right.

perhaps we'll get into tells. i don't want them to be too good at it. we'll see.

speaking of which, i was a bald-faced lying little bastard when i was a kid, and it's been only recently that i've realized that i had largely gotten away with it. i just assumed that everyone in my family had known this, because i got caught from time to time, and it turned into a bit of a game for me. my perception being that everyone knew i was always lying, but they just couldn't prove it. but over the past couple of years, i've had individual conversations with certain members of my family who seemed to be wholly unaware of this side of me... last week, my mom accused me of having been "such a good, honest little boy," and i had to set her straight.

in my early twenties, i recognized this as a (flaw?)(obstacle to my chosen aesthetic?) and i had to make a major change. no more lies. on the whole, it worked out, but of course if Courtney happens to read this, she will no doubt feel that this is, itself, a bit of a fiction. she and i had started out in this new world of mine, in which total honesty prevails, but i allowed myself some lapses in some difficult situations, after the honesty had proven just to be a trouble-maker. again, i had to learn my lesson on this. after the split, i recommitted, and with the exception of the occasional omission (which i will usually come back around and correct in time) i've turned into a pretty honest guy. but it's kind of a spiritual thing for me, meditative. truthfulness leads to understanding of path. honesty with self, even when it takes a while to see some of those things about yourself you need to admit, leads to movement along path. owing truth to others is a secondary debt, it is owed primarily to self, at which point it will be freely given to others. (just don't be a dick and say things like "i'm just being honest" because that really means "i'm trying to hurt your feelings and i'm hiding behind self-righteousness"--i think)

stories are better, too, when one's main concern is truth. even fiction. especially fiction.

is what it is was

was feeling incredulous, but then decided i'd rather just not care. there is too little in the way of true life, or else life lived truthfully, to waste time getting worked up.

have been making lists and compiling lists and organizing lists on graph paper and transferring them to word note pad, excel spreadsheets, trying to see which one will make me feel like doing things in the proper sequence, and with the right amount of vigor.

trying to just say the things i'm thinking, which is pretty safe when i'm in a good mood. wonder if i could do it when i'm in some sort of funk. the habit is to not.

took the bike back out again this week. hadn't been on it for a while, and i promise to take my camera along some sunday or so, when i've worked up the stamina to go into the mountains down-river.

the work takes a lot out of a person. if i've taken one thing from living here, it's that you really need a concept of relaxation... not just recreation or drinking-time. work is everything. what do i mean everything? (tell 'em gary oldman)

i need a second.

pounding around on the keyboard, making noise at something, the stories still feel clangy, but they are stories

lots of typing around things, not much to relate...

Another Subdued Manic Phase

I can feel one coming on soon, so I may start posting a lot again. We'll see.

It's been a really rough week since I got back to Nippon. So much so that I can say that and it's only been like three days. Jesus. Lots of upheaval.

My plan is to get focused as immediately as possible on GRE study and produce as many tons of words as possible to place in a portfolio. I have until mid-November to get ready for a return to Texas, something I am excited and lost about at the same time.

Two writing groups, classes, a near-total absence of social life, morning vocab and math, weekend practice tests, classes, looking for monkeys, reading, taking stuff to recycle shops, sending stuff to the states, saving money, lining up work... and I have to fix my tax situation, no idea about overseas filing, but I am way behind schedule on that too. Yikes. Don't want to go to jail.

Thanks to everybody who lugged me around last week. It was an incredible time, both expected and surprising.