Self Help Junkie…..the saga continues
Any comments , critique, or corrections welcomed!
Thank y ou…Gentle Truth
Self Help Junkie…..the saga continues
Any comments , critique, or corrections welcomed!
Thank y ou…Gentle Truth
You Take the High road and I Take the Low Road and We`ll Get Stuck in the Intersection Anyway
7:00 am came screeching into the day, along with it a fully packed express train going from Hanashiki to Osaka station. The train packers waited on the sun sparkled platform with white gloves and smiling faces, looking a bit like Mickey Mouse gone wrong. Why was I here? No answer. The question evaporated into the steam of the approaching train. "Skskalala" which under the circumstances must have meant all aboard , must learn the language! Glancing at the sparkling determination behind the eyes that belied the smiling lips, one had the feeling that it was probably better translated as "I am going to get all you mother fuckers on the train no matter what!"
Somehow the crowd begin to heave like a bulimic after dinner. I wondered why people even bothered to push. It was alive on its own. The crowd, the mass of flesh that all wanted or needed to board that train seemed to be moving mindlessly through the freshly opened doors. The train was bursting with human bodies, only to be forced to take a few more. It seems like the Japanese have a thing about no space.They know how to manage.more out of practically nothing!.It is not only a necessity turned to art...but an art turned into an
addiction. With a burst of new found energy, one train packer postioned his back against the last chosen few. With his back planted strategically against the express- train -alcoyltes , with feet dug willfully into the ground, hands placed firmly on his partners shoulders he began to push in a manner that would have made a La mazeinstructor stand in awe. all this without taking one damn breath.
"Washoi!" I was sure he was saying "son of a bitch!" However, even that was not working,. We all wanted them to just shut the fucking door and let us go...air was scarce, with three more suffocation was insured.. If there were enough air, we would have all began to yell..however, the scarcity of oxygen and the resignation to the fact that we have to wait stopped the scream dead in our minds before it could even think about reaching our throats. . Determined to squeeze in the chosen 3 the train -packer-with-a- mission lowered his head with a red grunt and then like a holy roller lifted it again, with eyeballs rolled back shouting "
washoi!!" They were in!. Mission made possible.
Somehow I was knocked into a seat, not necessarily the luckiest spot either. With little to no air, a nameless crotch pressed towards my face. I turn to the side, with an automatic unease. Although there was truly no place to go or be, the owner of this crotch seemed to enjoy this little inconvenience as he performs a subtle hula hula in front of my cheek.. Again, the crotch, lunges toward my face,without any reason as the train is moving slowly and has not given any ground for such a move. Something hard is growing in the material of this expensive suit, that smelled of last nights stay in the after-work bar.
I have the apprehensive feeling that this thing will reach its way toward my face. I feel an uncontrollable yawn coming up…better not.. Pinching my lips together, my nostrils flair to release the trapped air. My aching arms are pinned somewhere below, between some other non-identifiablebody parts, I dare not even try to move. No telling what harvest my beginning to numb hands may reap. . Claustrophobia begins to creep in…to keep the panic down, I search quickly for a distraction. I see a plain faced dowdy man whose eyes glint with passion and power. Adjacent to him is a small Japanese women, biting her lower lip, not in pain, or excitement, but in shame. A tear falls reluctantly down her cheek, and I wonder…her head begins to move side to side, as if looking for the owner of the hands that have found their way into her probably plain white underwear. Being an American I would have said, get your hands out of my snatch you fucking pervert! But this would not be possible for her, besides I am sure they don`t say snatch in Japan. Omeko..yes that was it. Omekozuruzo! What a cute word, like pussy very cute word...letting the linguistics go I return to the scene of the crime in action. Live. There was no joy and even more shame as the train jolted on towards its destination like the fingers that played in her vagina. Tiny circles that slipped into the cavity with fierce and unkind thrusting…the joy was in the power, the anonimity not in the act. Despite the anger and shame, excitement rushed in to confuse matters and her eyes squinted in determiniation not to let it overtake her shame. Ashamedly, I became excited…wished that I could reach for my own Omeko and join the morning exercise…what in the world am I thinking!!! Hmm, wonder how I would feel if it had been me…better yet, what is to stop me from reaching for a crotchor two…no one would ever know….Hanakamatu….or whatever, the first stop…it would be mine…the human glob pushes for the door carrying me with it like an oceanic undertow…the woman disappears…the man? Probably discreetly smelling the fingers, that with a quick side look right and left would slip into his mouth…to taste the winning of the day. Going to work in Tokyo rush hour is not all that bad.
A car beeps and jolts me back into the reality of the 4:30 traffic which is jammed every way but right…why in the world would I run out to Barnes and Nobles at this hour? The churning in my chest reassures me that I had no choice, in need of a fix, I sweat out the ride. Dreams of Tokyo rush hours and Nara temples have appeared again after months of vacation…where is this all leading me,or better said, if I were in the correct emotionlogical condition…where am I taking myself with all of this? NO time for deep questioning fool…you have deep books to buy. Again, the search in the organizer…WILL buy a new bag…right after the book…ends with the unexpected pleasure of the shortness of time it took to locate my wallet, flip it open to find that pleasant plastic smiling out that says…your day is saved…shop till you drop. One never knows how ambidextreously talented one is , ( just a random thought without any philosophical ramifications or need for expansion)…until one is turning a sharp curve of a downward, never ending spiral claustrophobic parking lot that seems like it is a fast plunge into hell. while one searches for a small article in one`s bag…that of course conveniently falls on the floor of the passenger `s side. And to add insult to injury...there is no empty park place. Okay there, in the definitely no parking area...let me just turn the wheel one more time..hope it is here when I come back...there, there...
Car is parked…dizziness subsides…my new companion claustrophobia once again strolls arrogantly in taking its sweet good time, as I look frantically for the exit sign that is the closest to the desired store. Oh, do not forget where you are parked!!!and YOU ARE PUTTING THE TICKET IN YOUR RIGHT COAT POCKET:::YOU ARE PUTTING THE TICKET IN YOUR RIGHT COAT POCKET:::YOU ARE..
I guess I get the point. Barnes and Noble, the sign rises like a warning…I do not heed and follow it anyway. Through the door, with mechanical remote control memory I head for the ever moving escalator . I step on and begin to rise. If only it were this easy…just step on and let it do its thing…I rise, I rise. The ride was over before Ic o uld finish that long thought and I stumble into the self help section. Rows and rows of ways to do it…if I only knew how. I head with controlled frenzy down any aisle…by now I have no clue as to author or title…actually I have been through them all.
They stand in quiet authority bound in different color, shapes and forms, bursting with information,ideas,tips, things to think about, affirmations to affirm. I run my hands down their backs, slowly with unconcentrated effort hoping that one will speak out to me. The textures vary giving me simple pleasure. I pause, did I hear one speak out to me. No I move on. Something stops me…I return, the goes into its tilt over the right shoulder position, the eyes squint to capture the title that has pulled me back….there it is the new one. The title screams out for my attention, which I give whole heartedly…it reads
WHAT YOU DON`T KNOW CAN AND DOES HURT YOU.
This is definitely a must have read item…without looking at the price sticking arrogantly on its back, I head for the counter. Like the alchi who buys the minature whiskey at the check out counter…I fumble for my wallet..plastic will do today…I pay, it drops itself snuggling in the elegant multi colored paperbag, I leave the store head down, eyes sunglassed and feeling like I have a brown paper bag despite the green , pink and yellow that scream otherwise. I feel like EVERYONE KNOWS what is in it. Adjusting my shades, I decide to put my head up and do a Breakfast at Tiffany`s walk, to pretend confidence. The 30lbs more than Audrey would ever consider sway with an elegance all it`s own. I almost find myself humming moon river...but the anxiety of it all cuts the tune short.
Can not wait for my first fix. ..it has been weeks.
