The Hexacoto

Listening to the sound of one hand clapping

Month: August, 2016

August 25, 2016

Balance Your Chicken

Sometimes, you just gotta lighten up and take a break and create pointless, stupid stuff. I had been on the train, on my phone, extracting bridges from songs for future use on short video clips like these when suddenly the caption “Fried chicken can be part of a balanced diet too!” popped into my head. And as a fan of Cibo Matto, the idea of for this video clip came to fruition.

And I realise I’m no stranger to creating stupid things to make sense of life.

I probably made this back in 2008 or 2009. There were a bunch of other clips from that same filming session that I am not releasing because they’re very cringeworthy.

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August 16, 2016

Meandering road

I surround myself with beauty
to distract myself from grief
and throw myself to the reckless wind
to let myself feel alive
yet I myself know that to be a lie
for floating myself amidst these currents
that I myself have no control was
to delude myself
that somehow I have gotten over

you

        left us behind
you left us with all this hurt
you took off without a warning
you didn’t say goodbye.
But there is no more you anymore, is there?
We’re left behind
We’re left with all this hurt
We’re sitting around here
We didn’t get to say goodbye

Dérive, you told me, was a concept originated in Paris
where people criss crossed, crossed people and streets,
where there is opportunity, crisis
unplanned journeys across the cityscape,
getting over delusions that somehow
we have control amidst these currents
when we are really just floating lies to each other
to feel alive recklessly,
throwing grief at beauty
to come to the solemn reckoning that
in the end there is only just

me.

 

[1 month]

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August 11, 2016

To be blessed with faith

I often wonder what you would say to me
when I finally get to meet you
in the afterlife
but then I remember that
I don’t believe
in the afterlife
and that makes me wish that
sometimes
I were blessed with faith
so that I can get to see you again.

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August 5, 2016

I compile

It’s been a wild ride. I have felt a lot, thought a lot, and subsequent written a lot. But I have also not felt enough, not thought enough, and not written enough. It’s been tiring, I am tired, and I think I will be ok.

Day 0: The Death
(Thought)
Day 1: The Dishes
Day 2: The Deadline
Day 3: The Darkness
Day 4: The Detectives
Day 5: The Determination
Day 6: The Drafts
Day 7: The Seventh Day
(Thought)

—

The Funeral
The Poem
The Interment

—

After the fact:
Music hurts
as I remember
but friends remind me
Music heals

—

It had been a month, and I thought about

Afterlife and Anger

Two, and I travelled in search of truth.

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August 5, 2016

ささやかだけれど、役にたつこと (A Small, Good Thing)

I’ve always been fond of Shibuya-kei, and have even written about it on this site. While I can’t fully grasp all local references, I’ve been listening to this Shibuya-kei song by Kaji Hideki (ヒデキカジ). It’s been helping me close the chapter and impelling me along.

君が旅に出た それも突然
You went on a journey, it was sudden
こうして僕が旅から戻ってきたのに
Because of that, I came back from my journey.

ドアの向こうには もう誰もいない
On the other side of the door, there was no one
恋してたのは僕だけじゃなかったはず
I’m not supposed to be the only one in love.

ささやかで役に立つ インスタントでできた
A small, good thing, INSTANT things can be
夢もコーヒーもすぐにさめなければ
Be they dreams, be they coffee, even if they turn cold
いいなと僕は思う
I think they’re still great.

そしてまた僕は次の旅に出る
And so I begin my next journey
例えば この空から雨が降るように
Like, for example, rain that falls from this sky.

ささやかで役に立つ レイモンドは語る
A small, good thing, RAYMOND says
青い空に白いシャツが合わないって事だってあるのさ
A white shirt that does not match the blue skies.

キミドリの庭を上 犬たちが飛び回る
Above the yellow-green garden, dogs are circling overhead
こんなによく晴れた日々君からの手紙が届く
A letter from you arrives in these sunny days.

きっとまたどこがで会おう
Let’s definitely meet somewhere again.

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August 1, 2016

The Memorial

Great writers are immortal:
the names of Shakespeare, Wordsworth, Frost
still live on today through their works,
through their words;
they live on in posterity.

Josh was a great writer, as we all know.
Anyone who has had the chance to know him knows that.

But we are here today not to celebrate his posterity.
We’re here to celebrate his memory, yes, but let us not forget:
we are here to celebrate all of you and this moment.

Great writers are immortal:
but what do we know about what made Shakespeare smile?
What do we know what jokes Wordsworth told his friends
— verily, who were his friends?
What made Frost weep?
What did Oscar Wilde whisper to Bosie when they lying in bed?

But we do know how Josh made us feel, made us laugh,
feel inspired, challenged, frustrated and how he loved us.
No one but us will have this moment where we can say we have
lived a life of Josh.
Even were his works to live on, no one but us could claim to have
danced with giddy abandon amidst fireworks,
no one but us could claim to have told him
our humblest, crippling fears.

In this room, we have those who knew Josh
not merely through his intellect but knew him
as a big-headed baby growing up, knew him
as an adventurous soul to the point of foolishness.
Knew him to have fought demons, so many demons.

Josh had many demons. Maybe that’s why he liked angels so much.
His mother’s thesis was about angels. And while he didn’t believe in angels in the Christian sense,
he believed a divine other that represented healing and all that is good.
He would tell me about what he did and what fun he had hanging out with his friends because
up until the recent end of his life,
happiness had always seemed out of his reach.
Every one of you represented an angel to him,
just as he was an angel to all of us.

[Speech: 30th July, 2016]

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