Lit.Org - a community for readers and writers Advanced Search
 




Average Rating
0.00

(0 votes)

You must login to vote

Tokyo 1984:

I landed at Haneda....

I now welcome the glorious Prince and Geisha....

Riverrun:

My past wistful musings within the Nipponese fields....


Mind fields are invisible topographical entities with curves, slopes, valleys and peaks. How does one psychically map one's way through them?

If cultural fields could be mapped.
Would these maps delineate where networks of symbols meet and conflict?


Maps are information about information.
Noise filters supreme.

Good maps would make a difference.
Between successful or unsuccessful
penetration of a culture.

I was now colliding with Japan. This was my first murky road-test.....


Language is a cultural map.

Can you think of any others?

I am looking for a way out of the Semantic Middle Ages.


How would Columbus have navigated it?

California to Japan: transfer between the hairy mind fields.

Got off the airplane and onto the street....

----Shokku.


----Shokku.

The mind shock of the new whispering in my delicate ear....

I noticed a large pile of exotic comics.

NASTY MANGA....

These little sweet picture books are Japan's mute windows to her collective heart of darkness.

Violent forms of sexual release leap from the dancing pages of the manga.

The plots are razor-thin and merely surreal formats for bizarre sex and criminal adventures.

School girls lift their skirts and show-off their private parts to each other.

A fashion beauty is drugged and then forced to participate in a lesbian sex escapade, only to be photographed and black-mailed.

Suicide quickly follows.

Samurais decapitate one another in battle....

A fierce female warrior duels the dreaded Ninja criminal and gets this flying razor disc in the face....

I looked at the large piles of the vile stuff. It was all somehow, highly addictive and strangely releasing....

You can go anywhere at anytime of day in Japan and not get hassled.

Manga or no manga....

In Japan there is an endless number of centers. Tokyo has no downtown. Your bento has no main dish. Conversation
Has no main topic. Every neighborhood is a village. Tokyo is a city of
Villages.

Mura mura mura mura mura mura mura

Hot time in the mura tonight....

In Japan everything is inter-connected and you FOCUS the self with things
because interconnections are a form of POWER. Integration of these connections is the supreme power.

POWER
POWER
POWER
POWER
POWER

All things are information transmitters for focusing your mind and gathering ENERGY from the source mind which holds still for things.

Everything is currents. There are all types of energies in different spaces.

Every room is a tuning box.

There is greater social structure in Japan and a greater number of people
openly conscious of this deep structure.

Greater sensitivity and greater awareness. Trust and feeling are important.

There's a ton of initiation madness in Japan.

Who you know, and how you became known....is important.

There is no sense of a public in Japan.
Your business can often become everybody's business.

Social acupuncture, anyone?


Osaka 1984:


I took the Shinkansen......and catapulted fiercely to Osaka. My guests were waiting for me at the space train station.

I was offered steaming miso soup.

The cramped rooms in the apartment were cozy small and there was a certain soft fragility to everything.

It all felt so achingly familiar.

Getting someone's private opinion in Japan can be an excruciatingly painful exercise for them. Just as getting blasted with silence can be a really tough thing for you, silly the westerner....

But that's honne and tatame for you.

You keep quiet to keep the peace.

People smile a lot. But you're never really quite sure what they're thinking.

This was hard for me.


Kyoto 1984:

It's difficult to purge the monkey mind of all essentials when a thousand screaming tourists are jostling for wicked positions in front of rock garden here in Ryoan-ji....

I found the hidden temple and fell into this unplanned trance. The mysterious priests recited their noisy sutras.

I silently reflected on my insensible life. Unfortunately, meditation was an unknown concept to me.

But the longer I fitfully trudged in Japan. The better I viewed my own impermanent culture. The shocking contrasts forced me to search for a newer focus.

I partially achieved this furious goal, but my bruised mind still felt unhinged.

Mental disorganization.

The mind was furiously shocked by this.

Mental organization.

The mind frantically played on this.

Everyone had a unique tolerance for both kinds of mind play.

It was a serious balancing act.

It was all about this constant kind of recalibration.

Zen fuzziness information zen fuzziness information zen fuzziness information....

Zen fuzziness information zen fuzziness information zen fuzziness information....

Zen fuzziness information zen fuzziness information zen fuzziness information.....

Zen fuzziness information zen fuzziness information zen fuzziness information....

Zen fuzziness information zen fuzziness information zen fuzziness information....

Zen fuzziness information zen fuzziness information zen fuzziness information....

Zen fuzziness information zen fuzziness information zen fuzziness information....

Zen fuzziness information zen fuzziness information zen fuzziness

information Zen....

FUZZINESS

INFORMATION

zen....



Hiroshima 1984:


I was obliterated by what I saw at the gruesome A-bomb museum....

The shadow of a man long vaporized on the cold steps of a bank. Buck Rogers, but in a weird morbid way.

A buddah statue's head smashed open. Quite a satori kind of kick.

A metal lunch pail that belonged to a deceased student soldered tight by the heat of the blast wave.

Bottles fused together.

The neon flash of the evil bomb repeated over and over again on a television screen.

I felt so ashamed to be here.

A deep beauty lay hidden somehere.

A young girl smiled to me as she served me my weary meal. She quietly followed my movements with her erotic gaze.

The dark A-bomb dome lingered in my tired mind's eye.

So deska.

Was that so?



Nagasaki 1984:


I met Mr.Honda at the forlorn peace center. He told me most Japanese just want to forget about the whole damn thing. " The new generation doesn't feel Nagasaki so strongly. It's all part of history now, " he said.

So just what is Nagasaki?

As you scratch beneath the fragile surface, these cultural time-bags of pure meaning abound. Layers and layers of it.

Bits of information....

Some of this is finally redundant.

Some of this is still struggling to be so.

The impatient restructuring and remolding of that noisy psycho-sphere continues....

Does too much fast restructuring lead to a Nagasaki?

Smashed to Eytoms, pooka-san....

Lot's of tough entropy here.

Redundancy is now WIPED OUT!

Smashed to eytoms..

Pooka-san?

" Do you takeresponsibility for your statement? "

smashed to....

" Doyoutakeresponsibilityforyourstatement? "

smash....

" Dotakeresfoeyousta..."

gasp....

Eiewruyewteudnvkbv....

Uh....

(Until you're back in that cosmic soup.)



Shikoku 1984:


Jofuki-ji was a major, major disappointment...the temple was quite nice, but the hostel was closed shut....the priest spoke bad English and told me to leave...he was a real asshole and it was a pity....
But zen allows assholes to be assholes....

The next morning, a most dazzling vista awaited me. After breakfast, I walked up the mountain. Turquoise streams bubbled and flowed towards the flat-lands of the island....

Ejaculations of orange, yellow, and brown leaves erupted in these tall
forests that clinged fiercely to the ghost mountains surrounding them....

I knew, I was in the right place.

I walked up to a nearby temple and was impressed by its composed grandeur. Guardian spirits greeted me with this laughing wrath at the temple entrance....how appropriate!

....little buddahs were sprinkled in a corner of the temple courtyard....a huge temple bell stood dorment nearby....I was dreaming....thinking about the school-girl in her uniform sneaking a smoke on the train last night.

Drumroll....

The Naruto German house intrigued me. German prisoners of war were held here during world war I. All of them had been captured in China.

Abe-san's poli-sci professor at UCLA had been a Jew and his father had been one of these Naruto prisoners.

These German prisoners were treated royally and Abe-san had a pretty deep appreciation of German culture in general.

Not too surprising, really.... Japan and Germany had much in common.
Both cultures fell victim to the same kind of uneven socioeconomic development.

A high literacy rate existed in these countries before the usual modern urbanization cycle could create a Marxist style working class.

This new proletariat was still small-town and rurally minded psychologically.

The need for security in the city caused unconscious fatherly seeking. The shocked, yet literate peasant mind then began to tilt towards unsavory kinds of politics.

I asked Abe-san why the Japanese went totally crazy in Nanjing. " Oh, the soldiers had to let-off some steam, you know. Every Japanese was forced into a straight-jacket here at home...."

I shuddered.

Could this be the same culture that created the sublime art of haiku?


Awaji-shima 1984:


Awaji shima.

Just between Shikoku and Honshu.

I saw the military museum and was haunted by this grainy photo of a team of Japanese girls waving flowers and wearing getas. The traditional Japanese female wooden sandals. As Kamikaze planes took off to wreak mean havoc on American ships.

I felt shaken, sad.

The Puppet play I saw was quite hallucinatory. Thin paper walls with rich designs were shoved back and forth across a makeshift stage to the beat of hypnotic clappers. I saw curious dream bunnies hammering away while colorful whirlpools collided with them.


It was a flaming acid trip. Eternity in clashing colors and tumbling sounds.

I was unexpectedly invited to dinner by a dad who was with his son. His shy kid had just finished his piano lessons....

I was dizzy. Here in Japan like in many other parts of this world. The global middle class wanted its leisurely place in the sun.

Arigato!



Tokyo 1984:


She met me in a well-lighted cafe. She had sweet porcelain skin. Jet black hair the color of death. A tallish figure she cut.

Her English was quite fluent and she was not that happy living in Japan. She had caught the freedom bug over in the states and felt shoe-horned back home here.

I strategically paused in my chatty monologue as she poured me a another beer. What was I going to do with this beautiful girl, really?

Her father was a company president. A war vet. He had been posted in China. I met him over dinner at their expensive home. I still remember the subway line I used.

Take the Keio route to Setagaya-ku with the final stop at Ikenoue. I walked with her dad around the cozy neighborhood as he pointed out the nigiri rolls in the quaint shops. The dad walked with fierce strides. The kind only successful men use.

But she was a sackcloth prisoner in her own country. Too educated and too traveled for such a proud beehive society.

The rumble of the subway haunted me as I left her by the noisy curbside and boarded the Yamanote for China and my hidden destiny.

Her handshake had been firm as she walked away and nodded her strong head up and down.

She waved goodbye....





Related Items

Comments

The following comments are for "Exploring the Global Mind in East Asia: Pt. 1"
by gamblerman





Add Your Comment

You Must be a member to post comments and ratings. If you are NOT already a member, signup now it only takes a few seconds!

All Fields are required

Commenting Guidelines:
  • All comments must be about the writing. Non-related comments will be deleted.
  • Flaming, derogatory or messages attacking other members well be deleted.
  • Adult/Sexual comments or messages will be deleted.
  • All subjects MUST be PG. No cursing in subjects.
  • All comments must follow the sites posting guidelines.
The purpose of commenting on Lit.Org is to help writers improve their writing. Please post constructive feedback to help the author improve their work.


Username:
Password:
Subject:
Comment:





Login:
Password: