Category Archives: Shoebox

all the odds and ends… scraps of scribbles and digressions, unfinished, almost forgotten and without a cycle to belong

O-furo with #io + #poem

I have very rudimentary arithmetic / math skills but I do know:

Ichiro is 41-ish months old so about 1,230 days +/-

So, minus days when he was brand-new baby or i was critically ill / crashed &/or mom/jiji/baba filled-in, we’ve *easily* passed the 1000 bath threshold. 38°C in summer 42°C +/- in winter.

he’s much bigger now, not so appropriate for public snapshots :)

Bonus: bit of poem snippet

Question mark eyebrows
Old man shuffle walk
Baba Jiji Sho-sho
Double ups words to talk

Skipping walking
From crawling to running in a flash
The best hour of every day
When we slow down in bathtime
Reciting introductions to ancestors

Bonus: not just baths, also kitchen

yes, he was using that big knife, safely

Poem / notes: ‘recalling a scene’ #handwritten #draft

I’m always filling up notebooks: sometimes there’s a “system” where I have one that’s like a diary, another a scrapbook of a ephemera stuck in with tape and glue, another for logistical annotations, another for *pure poetry endeavors* or sometimes – well usually – the books of all sizes and shapes all kind of get smashed together.

So here we are, keep your expectations and chat, i certainly have.

Some other writers, documenters or general scribblers keep their notebooks well organized: labeled, chronological, even weighed or at least dated / whereas mine are scattered everywhere, sometimes spanning years/decades… opened to random pages, with undated riffs and what have you.

Especially recently with my delightful barn studio, endeavored to transcribe the often-illegible pages and sometimes i come across snapshots taken of a book which I’m not quite sure where it is or why I took the snaps but i can only surmise the pics are a message to my “future self” (meaning now) to put these pages somewhere where won’t lose the words – as insignificant as they may appear at first blush.

Poem / notes: ‘Suppose the Malaise…’ (handwritten, draft)

When a poem comes, you grab the paper and pen that’s closest & scribble the muses’s desire – and then I think to myself “you better organize this and put it somewhere systematic to later transcribe and you know, edit or whatever” / but since the *system* always changes and things disappear quickly, sometimes i find snapshots of the first wild poem sparks in process so, rather than forgetting about the whole thing and recovering some decades later, i’m stashing here. I may or may not ever be able to read this and who knows when will transcribe, but might do it here in a minute… or maybe next year, or maybe a robot will do it for me.. or the biographers. Who’s to say? My job is to write it and archive in some manner or another.

{a snippet of poem and musings about brain and soul pain} #bruised

Another *notable* one gone (you can tell when the reason/cause/method isn’t listed but conjecture abounds and the same cliches surface).

Compelled to add (into the oblivion):

Gosh, sometimes brain and heart and soul get all tangled up & so bery blue / + all the blabs about “reaching out for help” (as though resources are easy & abundant when in crisis) & then crappy meds touted as cure, or bromides about “tortured artist finding peace” are bruising :(

Compassion, empathy, assistance, acceptance for all the human travelers… especially those struggling at anytime, in any of so many ways.

So many lost along the way each day // could’ve been me – so glad not you.

My heart aches for so many so many so many…

Find a pathway.

And then thought (clearly unwisely as these sorts of trips into translucency rarely end well) to *not be cagey* and share a bit of my story, such as it is.

Thus, dug into the secret locked journals with transcriptions from scribbled notebooks and only giving a tiny slice (too much hurts too much to remember and would hurt others to read) and not like anyone’s lining up to read, except you, right?

Checked myself into Royal Jubilee
Alas majesty not on duty
So a shivering white v neck 
grab backpack and run

{snipp'd}

To a taxi 
Into the night
Ferry on a quiet room
To a safe house
A mystic tincture
then a hall which smelled like soup 
And a well made bed
Kindness in Royal Albert

No matter though
I was escaped 
I thought
Drift away from your fangs
Your rants and burns
Your distaste for happiness
Your hostage knot

I scarred my heart and 
Served on a charcuterie platter 
Made from madrona wood
Between salami and prosciutto
Ignore my hints
A call left for recompense
Said “oh nothing but…”

Still I feel irrelevant
Now disappeared, 
malcontent and pretend
To be indifferent

{snip}

A shadow reconstituted by
Solitude and time
No address to ??
Just uniforms without authority 
But a few land laughs
and a misdirection 
is all I could ask 

Above prob 2015/6

Well since i’m here, comes a narrative to *someone* about a rough night / week/ month {maybe so *you* know its not just you etc and also the system of care is broken, not you (no, telephone helplines are not the solution albeit well-intentioned, i guess #shrug)

Yes I have, it was a terrible experience… I was shaking and crying for days and begging for help from doctors who didn’t really seem to care.

I self admitted myself to an energency psychiatric ward (with help from a brain injury clinic) and honestly, was treated terribly because I wasn’t either ideating suicide plans, or wasn’t a street drug “junkie“ although I was with withdrawing from prescription meds (benzos, opiates, ssris_. 

They treated me like they werent serious about my needs. Was terribly demeaning and embarrassing. 
I cried and shook and they just told me to “calm down“ and wait… I was there for over six hours in a cold the waiting room, with no headphones/earplugs, bright lights, and a TV playing news. 

I finally demanded to leave at 11:30 PM when they were going to make me sleep in the waiting room… they tried to keep me. They said odd things. 

Then was released in shorts and a sweat soaked v-neck undershirt and sandals into the night, no transport, no safe place, completely manic and wild beast.

I somehow pulled myself together to get on a ferry (I was living on an island) and go to a friends house where I “hid out” for days. 

When I finally went back home, {snip} was the worst month of my life [ed note: up to then] lousy birthday as well #heh

and a bit of a letter from (early 2018), don’t make me regret sharing this:

The wistful look in my eye you mentioned I think it’s just me trying to look happy because honestly I’m terribly depressed. 

Every day I am in terrible pain and I’ve spent tens of thousands of dollars trying to improve and nothing seems to help and I feel like I am stuck with this illness for the rest of my life and every day I will wake up in pain and I will go to bed in pain. 

And all the dreams of everything I wanted to do, been a fun and happy person, making creative projects, it’s all basically not possible anymore for me. 

My life is now just trying to get through each day without completely falling apart. 

I cry all the time, I never sleep well, and I have very little hope for any improvement. 

I’m sorry to tell you this bluntly but since you notice the look in my eyes, I thought I would just say it so you know what I’m dealing with. 

I try to smile and laugh out loud because some psychologists say helps to create new neural pathways to feel joy. 

Yes I hate to let other people see how sad I am because then the burden themselves with my troubles. It’s one of the reasons I am better to live far away so people don’t see me suffer.

oh geez, again with the pain, just so you know its not just you lost confused and in pain, date unknown, maybe 2017?

I don’t want to be medicated but I also realize my moods are all over the fucking map and meditation alone isn’t helping. I struggle with it in general And feel there must be some sort of physical marker or explanation for all of this even though all conventional wisdom says there isn’t. 

Yes I go down the snake hole about this. But what else am I supposed to do? Sit around the house and live like an old man doing three hours of activity a day and spending the rest of the time in bed? Because that seems to be the other option. And frankly I’m sick of all the self-help problem about “the best you can do is the best you can do” and all of this… Shit needs done, I want to live life with some expectation I’m at improvement and happiness. I also realize I’ve been through hell and back the last four years and just need some calm but that seems to be fucking impossible when every night I go to bed in pain, wake up exhausted and drift through the day like a zombie.

this was all may be a terrible idea, I found so much more from the diaries and journals, I read too much of the letters during the really dark times… The dark time still come back, but my life is most every measurable way is wonderful yet the demons are still lingering and ready to pounce. Recently festering.

Somehow *it* (the safety, calm, love) happened. Did I manifest? Would be powerful to think, yet somehow, the goodness all just came together. Peace to all of us. Each Day.

Finding Home #transcription (repeat)

No longer daunted
By subterfuge
Payola schemes or even
Assassinations by a religious stooge

Still enamored by overbites
Pretty lies, feathered caps
and Japanese super cub motorbikes

Confused by burning coals
to alchemize
and quicksilver mines
in a triangular ruse

I don’t need a course
To tell me to be happy
I already know what wealthy means:
Have you a garden, a pen and Wood stove?

The answer to the biggest question is:
“to love, and to be loved”

The pathway to go there is: kindness, tolerance, empathy, intrepidness, weakness is strength

All this is to say:
Cynicism avoided, reality reinvented, consensus subverted, admiration for the usual
Savor the regular days, notice the magnificence in nonchalance & common place.

Get down on your knees!

To look closely
The tactility of grass
The softness of sand
The circles and cycles
The shards of pottery
The ants smaller than the other ants
The lichen, the moss the dirt
The rivulets
The worm holes to everywhere else

Will lead you back to exactly here.

At the library, observations #poem

A spangled Cub Scout in his short pants and neckerchief
check out a book, holding
little sister’s hand

Elder lady clutching armload of books her shirt says

“please please protect the love“

Posters for the J2 futbol club (with a solid blonde import out in front) sponsor laden jerseys on display

(the sign reminds you not to touch, inexplicably
But instead
write celebratory messages of
support on a preformatted card)

a message for Italian pheasants

oh look! kid with a jumper covered with excavators, mixers and cranes (just like mine wears)

Pamphlets to play baseball, or table tennis or some kind of martial art… I know none of these things

Magnets attaching, all right angles, no overlap, tidy

“Literature Okayama 2023” - some kind of event I missed? (Momotaro and his monkey companion gaze nonchalantly holding a banner I can’t read)

I should pay better attention, on second thought…

Or rather festival at a temple which involves a large bonfire

And now my little guy comes running out with a book to check out

later, outside the boy with spectacles, a bright vest straps on his backpack, does 20 Achilles tendon stretches before unlocking his bicycle

we walk past and purchase three pieces of Chilean salmon from a man in a converted kei-truck
¥800

Poetry transcription: “finding home”

{transcription from an “field notes” notebook while in bed… stashed here so I don’t misplace}

[Unrelated photo #SnowyOwl]
Finding home

No longer daunted
By subterfuge
Payola schemes or even
Assassinations by a religious stooge

Still enamored by overbites
Pretty lies feathered caps
and quicksilver mines

Confused by burning coals
to alchemize
cartoon currencies
in a triangular ruse

I don’t need a course
To tell me to be happy
I already know what wealthy means
Have you a garden, a pen and Wood stove?

The answer to the biggest question is:
“to love, and to be loved”

The pathway to go there is: kindness, tolerance, empathy, intrepidness, weakness is strength

All this is to say:
Cynicism avoided, reality reinvented, consensus subverted, admiration for the usual
Savor the regular days, notice the magnificence in nonchalance & common place.

Get down on your knees!

To look closely
The tactility of grass
The softness of sand
The circles and cycles
The shards of pottery
The ants smaller than the other ants
The lichen, the moss the dirt
The rivulets
The worm holes to everywhere else

Will lead you back to exactly here.

Snippets and words, w/o context per se {transcribed from notebooks}

“Hero card” images: unrelated to snippets below, as far as I can tell anyhow
Still enamoured by overbites
On your couch learning French
French as slowly as possible
Prevents encouraging habits
and libations
Depths and perceptions
Pacific driftwood heave
Bog lands
Where the houses
will float away
Though welded to the dock
Can’t hear you over the brightness of the lightsMoved it over a peg to the left
It didn’t seem
So symmetrical
Unnerving
The symmetry, you see
Makes me dizzy
& rather unsure on my feet
Bag of Zippers
Essence of Bergamot
Samovar
Lilywhite leaning
Envision a clear path homeward
Considering
Lubrious
Plaintive
Budding
Eagerly
Wafting sage and lavender
Transcendent to Tibet
High valley with a path
Leading towards mtns unknown