One-hand clap

Tokyo - April 18, 2008

On a train to interview an expert on Hildegar. Some top-notch philosophy guru will talk about his books and ideas. I won't understand anything but i'll get something out of it. Pretty lady sitting across the isle from me. We keep looking at each other. I like her eyes - Asian clarity, like two ripe pears split open. Her legs are slightly crooked and her toes facing each other. Straight black hair like long sewing needles... She just left. Been raining hard last night and this morning. Screen door fell off and did a little wet dance across balcony floor. Trees shook and rippled and rain drops found their way into everything. Udon lomein soup with dried tofu bits for breakfast, delicious! I feel like a vegetable - a Japanese pickle. Bodily fluids renaissance. Soon I'll start growing sprouts from my knees and elbows. Salty. Squeeze me, please. Life in Japan is hard because people are not encouraged to dream and to go after whatever they want. Its not that they can't get what they want, its more about them not knowing how to want it. I wonder if they'd appreciate a good slap across their face. I know i would, if someone slapped me in earnest. The kind of a slap that rings in your ears and allows you to escape, even if for an instant, from a prison of illusions. Hmm, what's that sound of the one-hand clap?... My stop.