Ticking.

Time being time and just time, only time, here is an image from the old building (Minka) open-air museum/graveyard I visited over the weekend- a broken clock, one of many I saw, one of many that is a reminder of how time ticks away, for me, for you (yes, even you) and for everything else living and non-living on earth.  What of it?  Nothing.  It's just time.

Snowbath

Over the weekend, with my partners in crime (my family here), we took off to not sunnier but snowier climes, about an hour or two away (time flying by so quickly going there, with such joy, that time meant nothing).  The plan was to spend a day/evening at the hot springs (onsen) hotel, which was a first for me in snowy weather.  Even more amazing is that there were entirely outdoor baths, which could only be accessed by walking outside (along a shoveled path)- being the only one there, naked and alone among the elements, the full moon above, snow descending down, snow from the mountains being blown- that was freedom, freedom, freedom.  

An extraordinary experience, and made even better by having the feeling of being alone but with my most familiars nearby.

night (view from room of the semi-covered bath)

day view

from which it comes

Wants.

Nostalgia is nostalgia, and it's all good, but is it in fact when looking at past time, actual time is in fact slipping away, and time replaces time, and it is our own age which ages and which being future then present is quickly past, and yet the looking backwards continues, or so it does for me, as always.  When what is, or was wanted, is no longer needed.

Mr. Golgo (ミスターゴルゴ13)

Every time I used to visit Japan, some of my time (though not much of it) was spent at the bookstores and the newsstands.  With the pathetic nature of my language, I could not delve deeper into the ocean of literature, so have always stayed at the margins by looking at images and things easier to understand. One of the things which did attract me was a manga called Golgo 13, based on a sniper for hire.  I used to look at it every now and then, but I was (as I am still now) scared by the sheer number of editions available (I believe there are 157 or so at the moment), so my collector's mind shut down that pursuit, though I still look at it every now and then.

When I first came this time around, that was one of the earliest anchors, and I found out there was an animated series based on the comic stories. Of course, I watched all fifty episodes, such is my nature, and all within the span of a week.

My favorite part is that he realizes and is seemingly perfectly fine with being alone all of the time.

as he walks away.

Showa Shonen.

 It is no surprise to say that for the most part I have never been interested in the contemporary world, and  for the longest time (probably, still) I would wonder quite why. Although I have my explanations for it, it is unnecessary to go into here. More importantly is that in my quest for things nostalgic, I happen to become invigorated, informed and enthusiastic, as if the future were not that bad at all (even if the present seems a chaos).

A book that gave me a lot of pleasure was this illustrated one of growing up in the Showa period, where I learned a lot of things that were once popular (now forgotten). Time is time, as always, and the flame always burns fast.

Sunsetting.

Following on the previous post on Natsume Soseki, today sees the appearance of another pioneer of literature, Dazai Osamu, whose flame burned and fluttered and went out at an early age (from a supposed suicide).  His writing was, like F. Scott Fitzgerald's, something that helped me get through my  late teen years, but to read it nowadays (as I did when I reread "The Setting Sun" after twenty plus years), something has surely changed- not the writing but myself.

Nonetheless, I am still very much interested in the former material possessions of people I am interested in, as if they somehow are the key to the magic itself (though they usually are not)

the author.

what he left behind.

where he met his end and the poem for his wife.

Soseki.

The author Natsume Soseki is someone whose name crops up every now and then, often in the most unexpected places.  Even at the height of my reading Japanese literature in translation, dating back over two decades ago, his work was always at the periphery of my interest.  The same holds true now, but what I do find fascinating is the back story of the man himself, from the lonely time he spent in England, his stature as the beginning of the Japanese modern tradition, and the image of him which is often shown (the pensive look).

While at the library the other day, during one of my breaks, I went into the literature section and looked through a book on Soseki, and was pleased to see some images from his life, including the much loved (by me) photographs of the writer in his studio, the specially designed printing board for his writing, and an image of the author laid to rest.  For it is death which is the ultimate reminder of what life is, or can be.

the custom designed stationery board

an example of Soseki's writing on the stationery

gone, not forgotten.

I also include the following image of a figure that I bought of Soseki, which was from a collection of historical figures that included Beethoven, Michelangelo, Christopher Columbus and some others.  Those were not of interest, having seen them on-line.  In the photo are several fellows accumulated over time, such as the green glass octopus (from London), the re-edition of Membros (a birthday gift from Matt), a Lisa Larsen lion keychain (Japan) and a reclining frog given to me by a wonderful bank teller in New York when I asked her where she got it (Puerto Rico).

fun and serious things

Coasting.

Although I haven't really been drinking much these days (in the over half a year since I've been here), I can't really say that I miss it all that much.  Sure, the need to have a drink every once in a while hits me (often just one beer, or one or two of my own pours of whiskey on the rocks), but for the most part, since I do not go out (except rarely, and even then not in the evenings), the need for social drinking never comes into play (whereas, before, drink was the main reason we all gathered, old friends).  With that said, I still like a drink now and then, but was unsure which would be my drink of choice here. Of course, there are the lovely 18, 20, 21, 25, 50 year varieties, but that would tap into my rather limited finances here, given my generosity of pours, so I thought I would try out the Torys brand, having been seduced by the Ryohei Yanagihara designed character Uncle Torys.  I had expected it to taste dreadful, but in fact it is quite drinkable and easily my go-to drink of choice (although not at a bar, which is often far more upscale and would not convey the same atmosphere).

They often have some kind of promotional give-away here, in limited quantities (of course!), and the whiskey was no different, with a set of six (in total) coasters, one per bottle.  I thought I would not collect them, but, alas, there's no going against one's own character, and now the set is mine.  I can't say they're not practical as well as fun, though, and I do love them.

Gifts

The holiday season already or becoming a quick memory, though the winter sees no sign of fading, and my work starting to its own pathetically slow way return back to "normal", I thought I would post this first post of the year, which contain images of the gifts for my relatives here.  The tradition of using a furoshiki (these ones bought at the 'furoshiki fair' in mitsukoshi department store) to wrap gifts is particularly appealing, at first on a visual level and on a recycling (reusability) factor (though I am not sure how many furoshiki, unlike unwanted christmas presents, are actually reused.  Perhaps the ones which are not so delightful are. I can definitely see that happening.