Hmmm...Insight...

CLARITY for me comes in rare yet riveting fits. Actually, they are not that rare, I probably have some sort of an epiphany about my life at least once a week. The more obtuse portion of my brain matter comes to the assumption that everyone struggles with constantly trying to reinvent themselves to only fall back into the, more often than not, self set standard.

I've been in Japan (in Iwakuni for that matter) for eighteen months now. You could say that I have really tested the waters of the world here so to speak. You could also say that goldfish are the distant and discarded cousin of the Great White, although doing so doesn't make either statement any more true. I suppose when it comes down to it, yes I have been in Japan for eighteen months, yes I have made a lot of memories, yes I believe my subconscious critic in the assumption that no one really gives a sh#% and wants to read this. Being surrounded by the military, I kind of have divided the "mainland" Americans (we are a diverse military now aren't we- play nice and share), that is those who's primary existence has been lived out in the states into two groups: the ones who get it, and the ones who don't. Oh well doesn't that sound arrogant? Maybe, but who cares right?

I don't even know what category I fall into, but in the Michael Douglas-Joel Schumacher sense of the word we are all falling right, so again it doesn't matter much. There are those that come here and walk out that gate realizing that this so enriched with culture place we reside in is truly a great opportunity to open your eyes to the possibilities of human creativity and the vast forms we can pose ourselves into, and then there are those that well... don't.

TENSION

The ambulance call comes in...response...react...revive. The adrenaline starts to pump, and much to my demise, does not cease- flowing into everyday matters like a renegade river, ripping at the orderly birthing disorder. A simple conversation, observed from my perch down the hallway, made my head (in vain) boil.

"Who is this guy?" my head asks, well, my head. "He is just like all the rest", my head responds.

I am a product of the moment. I am, at times, a creature better off left in the wild. I am alive. I am happy about most of these facts.

Feelings...

He was given something I was only teased and tormented with, like the idea of warmth on a frost ridden day. To think at one moment your life will never be the same, and then the next minute as well as never being the same, will be some makeshift replica of the life you were living before.
Sunny days and rain on monday mornings. Live it up.

So...

So here I am again, writing from Japan. The only purpose we have here is that in which we have created for ourselves. Transparent as wet paper, we serve those who we put here by our own hand. We do nothing more than idly await a fate to never come. To issue out medications like Amoxicillin and Benadryl to affront the constant flow of pointless battles that shall never cease. There is no enemy here. These people, the Japanese, are far better off without our plague like presence in this, their sacred country. My love, she is by far singular, she is the only good thing to come from my presence here.

A Sunday...

Who knew? Not I. This life is not something easily defined. We think with confidence that we can look up existence in the dictionary and be rightly satisfied. This is false. We are not who we think we are, no matter how much we smugly contemplate it. Love is the only answer, as wavering of a thing that it is. My hand is your hand, and God is all around us. So breath deep next time; matter matters. The king of the Earth is blind with an empty hole in his meaty chest where his heart used to be, and his voice is the deafening thunder that splits the sky. And we will continue to love him for it.

So here I go writing again...

THE WIDOW

Ellen: The widow. Loses her husband at the worst of times. Pregnant, she is induced into an abortion when her husband is murdered. Slipping into both a world of desperate erasure and an unknown becoming of truth with a stranger, Ellen struggles on the fine line of clarity and insanity.

The killer, spawns a killer. For, See no evil, do no evil.

Jake: An honest man, is transformed into that which he fears most. One night after a long shift serving beer and cocktails Jake goes to simply empty the garbage, unbeknown to him is what awaits in that alley. That behind that very door resides the coming to of his destiny. To lose his mind.

Old writing found again...

It must have been during summer, the day in which I was taught the meaning of birth, because I can recollect the refreshing chill received upon entering the cool hallways of my elementary school, a much appreciated sensation after a lunch spent piloting a swing. My second grade teacher, Mrs. Hiratchi, had our class gather in a circle around a box with holes no bigger than a pen would inflict. Inside, with glossy eyes equal in both wide expression as well as curiosity, slouched three golden puppies. Following their introduction, Mrs. Hiratchi explained that in comparison the puppies were in their years equal to that of the second grade class, and like humans, puppies are born. The rest of that days teachings, though like many memories of mine from such an age, have faded over the years. Yet one of three fundamentals I would later claim those of life, in my opinion, was brought into understanding. Though the complexities of existence are not easily placed in a mere three categories, and that which the origin of such classification escapes me amongst the flood of input that has yet to cease (nor would I wish for it to do so), I am left with the embedded phrase, “Life, love, and death: the human experience”.