I haven't written in a long time. Maybe a month or more. I spent my San Francisco vacation running to and fro, grumpy and sick, exhausted and forlorn, beaten, beat up, exhilarated, etc ( Read more... )

On the fifth day, he finally shook off a blanket mid-afternoon after spending the past 36 hours either dreaming or in a daze. He ate a piece of weed chocolate and left the house for the first time to buy coffee and mochi. He brewed water for genmai tea and ate slices of ginger. He vowed to never do coke again.

There are no universal truths, but there is such a thing as kindness. Goddamnit. I just wrote that sentence and now I feel like I'm writing fortune cookie fortunes or aphorisms on bags of Yogi Tea.

"I like to see you happy," he says, his face pressed up to mine. He's always reaching a hand out to touch me, to find a muscle to knead and soothe. We smoke the tail end of a joint in bed and suddenly I am beyond stoned, cozy, at peace. A siren from the outside world reminds me we are in New York. Earlier at dinner - on his birthday, no less - he ( Read more... )

On our last day in Tokyo, I tagged along with him and his co-workers as they strolled through Nakameguro. It was a Sunday. We'd spent the morning in Daikanyama as a big group, browsing bookstores and high end boutiques after a leisurely American-style brunch. I toyed with the idea of buying an overly expensive cardigan or designer wallet. We sat ( Read more... )

At night the fields are asparkle with fireflies, their tiny lights flickering over darkened grass like a black gem catching the sun. There is a magical wholeness to this experience that I want to understand and appreciate. Maybe once I define it, I will be able to tap into that feeling at will.

This would be a good short story title, but the bitter edge to it is unmistakable. Anyway ( Read more... )

There is so much evil, selfishness, and cruelty in the world. I realize that my primary motive in life has to do with fighting against these things, not in any altruistic or even humanitarian way, but simply through compassion. Compassion drives writing, desires to be born of writing. Compassion is the source from which love manifests. And I just ( Read more... )

Jesus, how quickly time slips by. In the past week I've been focused on a short story revision, finishing my freelance gig, reading Murakami and a bit of Kawabata. It's amazing how much time one can spend on a single task. I don't know whether to be heartened or discouraged ( Read more... )

For posterity, or whatever. Also so I can track my own progress on various fronts.

Day -2During the day, I buy a black and gold cigarette-shaped one hitter with J. at a shop near Washington Square Park. It reminds me of the Nat Shermans we used to smoke in college. At night I cook sausage and mushroom pasta for C.Y. He brings copious snack items: ( Read more... )