playing games with the faces…

yesterday in Kichijoji.

the photos however are from Scotland.

For balance

Ondeko za 27 years ago

I had asked for “underground theatre”.
This was the best they could offer.

various and unconnected nonsense

Some doors are better left unopened.

Storm rising over Bamboozle

“I am already dead”-Apparently it’s what bullfighters tell themselves
before entering the ring.
It’s probably useful in other situations too.

India left me shaken and stirred…
but thank you anyway.

It’s all

Greek to me

By the side…

of the road.

if your life…

is a leaf
that the seasons tear off and condemn…
A lovely line.
Unfortunately it’s not mine.

Just a couple of temples visited more than 20 years ago.
The words have nothing to do with them.
They are just a distraction…
but then words often are.

full size

bonsai.

last chance…

to see.

Recycling

“Such is life,” although rarely is it described in this manner.

Life goes on…

or not.

I wonder how many people, yesterday and today,  spared a moment’s thought for this.

Did that well educated, dull bastard comfortable in his everyday life without any financial worries…

the one who takes what democracy has to offer but has never lifted a finger for change….

Probably not too many of them….not here at least.

The West loves to complain. I wonder how many of their own they would be willing to destroy to preserve their system.

So it goes.

This dog is going to have his day.

Koki is about to make his major debut and feature on….well not him but his collar……on the cover of Nana Mari’s new CD.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_XuVVm9ypO8

http://www.nanamari.com/

So Koki will join Mozart, James Dean and Jesus, among others, in being more well known after he’s gone than when he was here.

Woof!!

You and your big, heavy feet

The first thing you did when you brought him back from the dog pound and let him out of the car was step on him. You turned, a shopping bag in both hands, and trod squarely and heavily on Koki. As thoughtless and as careless as usual. Your big, heavy, clumsy feet on that tiny puppy.
“Welcome to your new home dog. It’s a good thing that you have already learned what I feel. It looks like we are going to partners in suffering”.
His coat was white but scruffy hence his name. His name was his description.
We still lived in that dirty, beaten up old house in Hara Mura. The one with the pond. The one where the mice had eaten all the insulation. Not very considerate of them when we were at 1200 metres.
The next few days were ones of some concern as he started to bleed internally and I’m not surprised as M. does not tread lightly. Luckily he was OK. No serious damage was done. At least physically. Who knows what harm it did to him psychologically. Maybe that’s why he turned into such a sweet natured if batty dog…he was always scared she was going to step on him again. The oppressed are often so humble and meek. It’s those with imagined oppressions who seem to become fascists…..I wonder why that is.

It’s now a year to the day since he died. He was not very bright. He never came when called and escaped and chased cars every chance he got. He barked at people walking by. But he was sweet natured, wagged his tail when addressed, protected Bibi’s honour and looked good with make-up. What more can you ask of a dog.
He grew old, his hearing got worse and, at the end, his eyesight worsened quite rapidly to the point where he would find himself in a corner and not able to back out. Like a battery operated toy that had no reverse. On his last night he worked his way into a corner under a chest of drawers unable to get back out. He had a wound that was oozing pus badly.
In the morning I got up early and, seeing that M. was not in her room, went downstairs. She was lying asleep on the cold, hard stone of the bathroom floor together with Koki with just a blanket covering the both of them. He was smelly and dirty…and stiff….and dead.
Lucky dog. To go like that…with a gentle kindness.
I’ll not expect the same when it’s my turn. I’ll not hold you to it.

You and your big, heavy feet.

let sleeping dogs…

A year to the day.

Sweet natured, wagged his tail when addressed, protected Bibi’s honour and looked good with eye make-up.

What more can you ask of a dog.

They say that when you go to heaven all the dogs you ever knew run up to greet you and

I hope it’s true.

It’s a small world

After Klimpt in Venice and before Giotto in Padua.

Bavaria….or Austria. Either way some place that was rather too welcoming of the Nazis.
What an unfortunate claim to fame. Fortunately that is not all.

Austria. Not to be confused with Australia though some have.
Another place with an “embarrassing” history.

small places

Smoking kills…

from a previous life…

When M. and I visited Shigaraki to see the pottery.

Every day at midday, as regular as clockwork, there was a violent thunderstorm.

We sheltered from the downpour in a potter’s workshop but I needed a smoke so I ran out through the storm to

buy some cigarettes and couldn’t but fail to see the humour of the situation if I was struck by lightning while doing it.

M. would have been inconvenienced by the disruption to her schedule.

berry

I couldn’t help it…

I was listening to Barbara Allen.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=adxXdhKYob4&feature=related

Mini Britain #2

Tiny little people and their tiny little lives and their tiny little concerns and priorities.

No matter how small you are you can still change the world….or at least bring down a government:

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/uk_news/politics/8064868.stm