135

Walking the back route down narrow streets to Ōji Station, I pass the house with the orange tree where I once heard somebody playing guitar. I stop and listen for the sounds of any strumming or the sounds of someone thinking about strumming, but there is nothing except silence and the smell of January cold. Then, a vending machine next to me suddenly glows and whirs to life, providing me with a ghostly consolation prize in the possibility of hot beverages. A quick nod of acknowledgment to the machine for its attempt to communicate across the gulf that separates inanimate and animate matter, and I am off towards the park with the miniature fence with a touch keypad lock.

Waiting for me at the entrance to the park, just past the tangle of telephone wires, is a small convention of people with compact dogs wearing winter clothing. One of the dogs—appearing like four uneasy sticks attached to a small sweater—looks about 18% gray and beautifully matches the sky. If I picked up the dog and hurled it into the air, it would abruptly vanish, only to remind us of its presence by the snapping sound of its landing. Across the park heading east, I consider leaping over the fence as I near it, but I speculate about what I will feel once I am on the other side. I might not want to return to where I jumped from or be unable to. It seems that it would be reasonably easy to hop over, but this might be an illusion, some diabolical method of falsely inflating intruder confidence, then snaring them mid-vault. The fact of its impossible smallness only serves to heighten the unknown threat of how it operates. What this fence lacks in height, it more than makes up through fiendishly confusing psychology. I pause for a moment and consider that the rate at which my body ages and shrinks is not so fast to keep me from a potential crossing on my way home from the café. I acknowledge the holding pattern, and I am off.

First, I run over to see that the golfers are busy golfing—and they are—but I am disappointed that the skateboarders are not skateboarding. Wouldn't it be nice if I could hear the bark of their skateboard trucks across concrete curbs and pedestrian handrails in the parking lot? Nevertheless, it is empty, and even if they had only recently departed, it is now impossible to see even the faintest trace of their breath in the air. I hear the sharp claps of clubs hitting balls and the dull thuds of balls hitting nets, but no wheels intermittently crackling and gliding across the tarmac. I circle the parking lot in a holding pattern of my exhalation until an unexpected squawk from a crow atop a garbage can, followed by a quick ding-ding from the nearby Toden Arakawa Line, punctuates the late afternoon and signals that it is time for a warm coffee.

Once inside the nearby café, I am struck, as usual, by the complete lack of separation between the smoking and non-smoking sections. The curls of smoke drift above the masked customers and the waning plants in the center of the circular smoking table, forming sheets of gray cloud cover. I slowly lift my 18% gray card into the haze above our heads, and it promptly vanishes. However, when I lower my arm again, it materializes, and I make a snapping sound accompanied by a whine that catches the attention of the schoolgirl 72% napping at the table next to mine

133

The first image of the year unexpectedly appears, hiding in the crook of the tree.

131

Heading west on the south side of the Shakujii-gawa tonight, I was vaguely annoyed by the realization that nothing in particular caught my attention. I often turned my head like Seijun Suzuki's slow tracking shot around a rice cooker to stay attentive to various objects as I ran past them. Yet, my observations had no particular focus and constantly meandered from the indecisive angle of tree branches to the indeterminate feelings associated with the time between 16:00 JST and 17:00 JST. Nevertheless, while returning east on the north side, I was practically stopped in my tracks by a quick sequence of appearances. First, a spotless, yellow, eight-prong Lego brick was resting on its side in a patch of dark soil. It seemed as if the ground had been evenly raked, then the brick placed on top with such care that it left no impression and floated slightly above the ground. This sighting was followed immediately by a young boy bounding towards me in a green down vest, his left bloody nostril plugged with tissue paper. Evidently, his nose had been packed for some time, as the tissue had drawn blood out from deep inside his skull, almost to the remaining white tip. The last triangular iceberg of tissue would no doubt soon succumb to the flow in his mobile paper chromatography experiment.

Three paces later, three identical dogs emerged in rapid succession from a bush. They were impossibly small dogs in matching and impossibly small dog sweaters, their nails nervously tapping out an erratic Morse code like a bushel of crabs dumped on the pavement. The dog in triplicate instantly made me conscious that tonight, along the Shakujii-gawa, there were no cats. Simultaneous with thinking "no cats" from the end of the thought, "Tonight along the Shakujii-gawa, there are no cats," a cat promptly appeared on my left. The cat's head momentarily raised, ceased the meticulous cleaning of its ass, swiveled, and slowly tracked my passing; all the while, its left leg was sticking up in the air at a precise ninety-degree angle to the ground upon which it was sitting.

118

The "Mr. Fusion Home Energy Reactor" appears suddenly on in-flight television as my plane hits turbulence approaching Japan and forms a perfect blend of the possibility of a mechanical disaster in the present with the environmentally progressive technology from the 1985 comedy Back to the Future. It looks so bright and warm on that suburban front lawn – a round, soft afternoon light – whereas it is 18% gun metal gray and getting cold along the Shakujii gawa. The foliage, of course, is also very different. What then might be the role of the blue down vest worn by the film's protagonist in altering the course of the upcoming past, or previous future? Protective insulation would no doubt be of use in navigating through time without contaminating one's own existence with flak from a deviant tangent. As well, that Mr. Fusion was based on a Krupp coffee grinder raises some interesting connections with the past – with the German company's study of barbed wire in the war between Russia and Japan. Would the stainless steel of the DeLorean DMC-12 sports car upon which Mr. Fusion is mounted shine in the trenches of Manchuria as it does in the Californian light? Would it have been more appropriate to call the Mr. Fusion Home Energy Reactor Mr. Mikasa after the Krupp armor and guns on the Japanese battleship of the same name? The pivot point of the gun barrel certainly does have a striking relationship to Mr. Fusion's logo. But above all, what is the relationship on my TV screen between the cutaway of the down vest's missing right arm and the tinted arc of the home energy reactor facing it? The tinting must be significant, though I am uncertain why.

Top image: Film still of the "Mr. Fusion Home Energy Reactor" from Robert Zemeckis’ 1985 film Back to the Future. Bottom image: Krupp gun on the Imperial Japanese Navy’s Mikasa battleship

110

Making images of scenic rivers, blue skies, and autumnal foliage while crossing red bridges is prohibited. Running alongside the river, or traveling up the river by boat might be permissible.

106

The Excelsior Café on Inokashira Dōri across from CoCo Ichiban Curry House in Udagawachō is positioned so that anybody outside rounding the corner will accidentally activate the sensor of the automatic sliding door. When sitting at the front counter next to the door one is treated to the right edge of the glass door continually moving back and forth in front of you. The change in perception that this creates is delicate, only the vertical line of the glass’ edge erratically moving horizontally across your field of vision, but it is enough to disrupt the normal flow of mental meanderings so common when one sips espresso and stares aimlessly out a window into a place crowded with people. The moving glass edge reads as a scratch on a projected modern Japanese version of James Agee and Helen Levitt's 1945 film In the Street, with its concentration on frenetic activity and impromptu human dramas. It could also be an enormous twitching whisker from a cat sitting atop the café. As well, it reminds me of the shimmering light in Ain Soukhna in Egypt last August, which reminds me of the shimmering light in Onomichi last week. This succession of remembrances is all the consequence of the edge of something that is principally invisible.

100

I am interested in the multipurpose Japanese “I’m going fishing for the afternoon / I'm going painting in a garden / I'm going to school / I'm going to make one of the best films ever” hat seen on adults, grandparents, school children and famous filmmakers alike. Sometimes the back brim of the hat is turned upwards for a stylish flair, other times it is pulled down fairly tight. I wonder if this gentleman knows that the rock he is painting in front of him is actually the Rikugien skull rock when viewed from the right of where he is sitting?

99

Five days ago in the rain at 12:06 JST I photographed signage of a penguin on the back of a delivery truck, knots of silhouetted telephone pole wires, red, blue, and yellow laundry the same color as the penguin's tuxedo, hat, and cane – so many of my favorite things – all viewed through the blue gradient of a Honda's wet front window. These elements serve to remind me of another simpler photograph made through the Honda's cool tint, then further back in time to old surfing shirts with silhouetted palm trees in front of radiant sunsets. It must be the gradient that smoothly transitions between present and past and triggers reflection and nostalgia

89

Heading east along the Shakujii gawa at night the inverted pyramidal street lights repeatedly appear and disappear perfectly in the crooks of the trees forming glowing, sudden, upside down tree crotches. That implies that the heads are buried underground, or removed entirely.

64

Two nights ago I passed by the tree that bit my hand, stopped, returned to it, and was tempted to snap its neck, but I didn’t and thought it best to hurry home for fear of encountering hordes of bloodthirsty Japanese zombies in the night. But perhaps if I did meet zombies I might feel a sense of kinship with them, as we are both “destined to wander the earth in search of brains.” Listening to an unabridged audio reading of Pride and Prejudice and Zombies is affecting me, but not nearly as much as listening to The Toyota Way, read by the same man who read Umberto Eco’s Foucault’s Pendulum. After that the two texts merged and I was imagining Foucault’s Pendulum's nefarious "diabolicals" roving about everywhere, safely and economically in Japanese compact vehicles.

58

While running along a particularly dark area of the Shakujii gawa tonight I reached up to grab a tree branch, unaware that there was a large thorn precisely where I was grasping. There was a momentary resilience of skin followed by rapid puncture and slice. I was sweating heavily from the run, so continually wiping my face and not realizing that I was smearing blood all over my cheeks and forehead. In retrospect, the perplexed and nervous expressions on the faces waiting at the Takinogawa traffic signal now make sense.

52.5

Across from the three-story Buddha on the north side of the Shakujii gawa there is a scaffolding system installed on the side of a house to support an old and still growing two-story cactus. Zooming in on the current, but outdated image from Google Maps “street view” shows only construction materials where the Buddha now sits, but it seems that the cactus has always been there in 1-3-16 Kita Ward. The cactus' house is cater-corner to the Buddha, so the cactus has the opportunity to contemplate Buddha contemplating the electric cables and telephone pole wires directly in front of his face. The apartment building nearby has the opportunity to contemplate the back of Buddha's head, while the electric cables have clear sight lines of both Buddha and the cactus and can consequently contemplate a wide range of topics.

50

An old man with a flashlight and a sharp looking stick is slowly looking for something stuck in a shrub along the Shakujii gawa. Shuffle, shuffle, shuffle, poke, poke, poke. As always, there is a cat watching. The situation seems innocuous enough at first; still, I get a momentary image in my head of numerous heads on sticks lining the path – both human and feline – with flashlights taped below their chins to create a childish horror effect. A moment later it is once again just a man with a stick looking for something while a cat stands by as witness.

43

Take an advertisement from a country that is not your own, reverse the tones in the image, and then mull over the details. My conclusion is as follows: meanwhile, there is an uneasy entente cordiale between penguins and robots in the netherworld where SUICA and PASMO exist. PASMO the robot roller skates over and presents an olive branch in the form of an 18% gray card to SUICA the penguin who is standing with its right flipper raised as if holding a 0% gray card in the night. The half purple, half 0% gray card in the penguin's left flipper is possibly for measuring things beyond the comprehension of those outside these infernal regions. This vignette could alternately be taking place in the depths of the undersea world, which would account for the penguin's luminescence. If this is the situation, then perhaps Utis, or Nobody would be more appropriate names for both of our characters rather than SUICA and PASMO. Are we, the spectators, presumably in a bathysphere?

Bottom image: Captain Nemo observing a giant octopus from the viewing port of the submarine Nautilus, in Jules Verne's 20,000 Leagues under the Sea. (Courtesy of NOAA Photo Library.)

41

After an exceptionally violent mid-air catastrophe the paper airplane completes its sudden plunge towards the earth on the top of a dark green bush, the cockpit buried in the foliage. The bodies of the pilot and flight crew are indistinguishable from one another, just unimaginable human configurations and red mist hanging in the air. Nearby a dog’s ears – the same shape as the former nose cone – are attentively listening for the sounds of any passengers that survived the rapid decompression and subsequent impact. There is nothing. Only stillness, save the dog's own panting and its concerns for the victim’s families whirling around in its dog brain. The gurgling of the Shakujii gawa slowly fades back in as soundtrack for the torsos still safely strapped to seats. Beheadings are always such tragedies. Woof.

32

Earlier while heading west I saw a man wearing a backpack and technical vest photographing a willing cat on the north side of the Shakujii gawa with an expensive digital single-lens reflex camera. Shortly afterward on the south side of the river I saw a different man (I think) in knee length shorts holding a small plastic grocery bag in his left hand while leaning precariously over a bush to photograph an awkwardly located flower stem with the mobile phone in his right hand. Now I hear the sharp sounds careening off the river embankments of someone clipping their fingernails indicating that unfortunately, personal grooming is publicly taking place somewhere off in the distance beyond the river bend. Perhaps later in the day I will come across a small pile of waning crescent moons further west.

17

Regarding the upcoming typhoon: there was a sudden, impromptu meeting on the terrace with the superintendent of the apartment complex who climbed over the railing to the terrace while I was taking a shower. He wanted to secure the plants and make sure the drains were unclogged and OK. I heard a voice, so I went down the hallway to the front door, then outside, but nobody was there. Then I heard a voice from the terrace, so I went inside – nobody there, but a voice from the front door, so I went back out – nobody there yet again. This repeated not unlike your average cartoon skit until I looked over onto the terrace from near the front door, saw him, and we finally spoke (we slightly spoke would be a more accurate description). I rushed out in shorts, in the rain, without contact lenses and started "hai, hai, hai-ing" to everything he said, scooping leaves and mud from the drains as I interpreted, and moving things to where he pointed. It was quite comical – my arigatous, my blindness, his arigatous, much mutual bowing and confusion, etc. I moved all the small plants towards the building and surrounded them with a ring of larger, protective plants according to my deduction of what might potentially have been his suggestions. Now watch, there probably won't even be rain later in the day. Regardless, we are ready for whatever is coming.

8

Sometimes cats in Takinogawa will use a plant as an umbrella. Sometimes cats in Takinogawa will use a plant as a stylish accessory for their evening out on the town. Typhoons, torrential downpours, misty drizzles, or even weather forecasts indicating the slightest possibility of humidity should not be considered a factor in your assessment of the situation. Feline usage of foliage is a complicated matter and goes far beyond weather predictions. Inclement weather systems can be merely coincidental with the cat's headwear decision.