Day after the day a white gaijin tourist jumps into the Sumida river from a bridge in Asakusa with no repercussions at all: keep ripping and pulling into the air & you’ll wind up here eventually: Tokyo2 again, at the command of Counter-ESPY. I’m just Xanax, Melatonin, or Coffee now with actual sleep and food so very far away. Jet lag is at its peak now, I feel like 5,724 miles of cloudy skies, but there is no other way to access the overtones without the experimental periodic ESPACE implant which is now priced out of range, just like everything else. This sort of nonsense has been going on for 5+ years now. A Japan destroyed by dreams of empire, certainties of fires and earthquakes, large beings moving underground, and finally the Gerotan invasion and the Goka-na Jyupun Senso. Then there’s my own private panic movie, one in which the composite protagonist tries to live here for months and weeks at a time only to writhe in tiny liquid rooms, bump into walls, and hang laundry like an old woman. Motivated by what? The ending of Be Forever Yamato? The death of Condor Joe? Castover day in Shibuya. Everyone looks like shit, except for increasing numbers of Gyaru mamas with babies in two at the 109, busily weaning the next generation on Terminal Decline. Everything is too expensive and nothing makes any sense. But really, where else is there to go?
U.F.O. looks like they use the same font as the U.F.C (Ulimate Fighting).
They don't dine on insta Mac & Cheese or Dinty Moore Stew?
Posted by: spm | September 29, 2010 at 06:57 PM