Tuesday, September 26, 2006
Monday, September 18, 2006
I fought the lawn








Misakubo is up in the mountains. It's a four hour train ride. Or a three hour cycle ride. But I trained up with Pin on Friday night, crashed at my friend Gillian's place and headed over to the festival on Saturday morning. Woken up early by an unknown man taking a very loud trimmer to the garden for an hour.
Festival hapis; check
drunken folk; check
being plied with alcohol on account of having blonde hair/blue eyes; check
This particular matsuri was a disguise festival. Cue dragons, demons, sumo-dudes, bureaucrats, workmen, and cross-dressing.
Wednesday, September 13, 2006
Tuesday, September 12, 2006
Some people are always good company

Last time I saw Dave he dropped me off with a ukulele at Boston Airport for a delayed flight home. That was after my first extended sojourn in Vancouver.
Dave was the first guy I bumped into at Halls but don't think I made much of an impression as I didn't talk to him again for some time. But when I did he taught me to crochet, to breakdance (er....), and was a thoroughly peaceful and easy dude. On the move with beard/nalgene/bike and camera. I dug his style.
I saw him two years later in Boston when I was doing the exchangey stuff. Frisbee, thai, burritos and sushi, museums and a samba festival. We even tried to smuggle me into an Irish bar as the banjo player of his friends folk band (I would still be under 21 for another month).
I was meeting him in front of Shibuya Station. I was excited to see him, the kind where you can't help but break into a smile in the mirror.




It'd been two years. Seeing Dave was good.
I miss art students. I miss ideas students. I miss people excited with ideas. I need some exciting.
After leaving Dave I went to see Pin. It'd been two months. Seeing Pin was good. Some people are always good company.
Monday, September 04, 2006
a series of pictures & words seemingly unconnected




Just some of the advantages of getting up at 4am to cycle a hundred miles;
telegraph wires shimmering like cobwebs with summer dew
ocean surf, cool and waking in which bobbing heads wait for 'the wave'
suns too bright to look at, too bright not to - dozens fill the sky, etched in retina
concerned glances of the unnacustomed
the ancient old-schooler with his '87 century ride bag
leaving carbon dream machines panting behind me













