Tosh's Journal - October 18 (Lee Harvey Oswald, Shinbashi, Lotte Lenya)

TOSH’S JOURNAL

October 18

“To exist to change, to change is to mature, to mature is to go on creating oneself endlessly.” I keep that in mind as I wander through an empty parking lot in Shinbashi, looking for a Chinese restaurant that is placed on the third floor. It is a Saturday night and not a person’s insight. Alas, the restaurant is closed.  After 20 minutes of walking overpasses that connect the large boulevard and then down steep stairs to the entrance of the lot, and then to climb two staircases to reach the floor of the restaurant - and it being closed seemed to be a slight miscalculation on my part. I should have known that these types of businesses are closed on a Saturday night. Also, it has been noted to me that this specific restaurant is the oddest eating joint in Tokyo. Shinbashi, a business district in Tokyo, is famous to me, due to the Japanese film series “The Crazy-Cats, which is a combination of Martin & Lewis mixed in with the world of the Salarymen. A lot of the key scenes in the film series were shot in this part of Tokyo.

On my journey here and on the streets of Shinbashi, I kept hearing the voice of Bobby Troup and Anita O’Day singing a duet. Oddly I don’t think they ever made a record together. Yet, in my mind, I can hear both voices singing, perhaps “On Route 66.” I always have that talent of taking something that is out there and somehow making it mine. I look at the world as one big reference library, and I’m just a guy roaming around the stack and aisles of ideas, trying to connect “C” to “Q.” For instance, I could have sworn that there was or is a store that is devoted to Lee Harvey Oswald as an iconic figure. Not that far from Marilyn Monroe or Elvis. His presence becomes more important than who he was. The more literature out on Oswald, the more obscure he gets, and eventually, he becomes a symbol that is empty.   Yet we know he is part of a landscape that caused either pain or awareness that things will never be the same again.

I was drinking a bottle of Chinese sake, which causes me to lose time and memory. Or even oddly enough, causes me to make my memory up. Therefore this Oswald store may not even exist. But why do I clearly remember the key chain being sold at this store that represented the foreign-made rifle as well as his image (the mug shot) after he got arrested for murdering the Dallas cop. There is something of a Huell Howser in me that likes to see Tokyo as a series of objects that somehow people contain these objects as livable space. It seems impossible, yet here I’m, slightly dazed and of course, confused.

Lotte Lenya of Berlin could easily be part of the Tokyo landscape, as well. Never have I ever been in a city where one can watch the daily life of going to work, being at work, and then going to Shinbashi, before going home for dinner.  Having that quick drink of beer or sake, as you gather dutch courage to make it back and knowing you will be facing the exact actions the very next day.  Ms. Lenya (Weill) had the power to convey the struggles of the mice against the machine that is society. “Metropolis” has many forms and disguises, and I see it here in Shinbashi, as I can still smell the tension of the new high-rises fighting against the low-life, and culinary level of the eating places that serve the white-collar worker. I always inspired to be the A. J. Liebling of Tokyo where “I can write better than anybody who can write faster, and I can write faster than anybody who can write better.” To document time as it passes by me, in such a violent manner, is truly being alive at the very moment of realizing that this is it.

My only refined moment is to attach my earphones to my ears and listen to the sarcastic voice of Catherine Ringer, and I wander the streets of Shinbashi. I’ll never go back to that Chinese restaurant in a vacant parking lot, nor be able to find the Lee Harvey Oswald store, that again, could have been part of my imagination - as well as the Chinese restaurant. All I know is that I can express myself in a world that may not exist.

Tosh's Journal: September 21 (Henri Bergson & Sex)

TOSH’S JOURNAL

September 21

“To exist is to change, to change is to mature, to mature is to go on creating oneself endlessly.” When I think of my past, I immediately get an erection. The only thing I care to remember is my series of sexual conquests. Everything else is not essential. I used to know the names of my conquests, but now, all I can remember are their bodies, face, and intelligence. I was never a big fan of names because I have a hard time connecting something verbally to a face. It’s uncommon for a writer to admit this, but the visual image is far more important to me than the vocabulary. I think back to countless women I have touched, both in the literal and spiritual sense, and every one of them offered me great pleasure, that can’t be recorded by words on a page.

When I close my eyes, it is like being in H. G. Wells’ Time Machine, where I set the dials to a specific time and place, and go there. I can visit ancient civilization or the pre-war Paris years, by just imagining what it would be just like. I don’t need to be there, but just knowing a few names, for instance, Boris Vian, Juliette Gréco and of that sort, I already have a place and time in mind. So my time machine is me closing my eyes and transporting myself to that world. My sexual time-travelling sort of works the same. Some are real memories of actual fuck sessions, and others are “imagined” get-togethers where I focus on a beauty of my choice.

There is a secret club, only for men of a certain age, that I belong to called “Gas, Grass, & Ass,” where we discuss our sexual conquests among ourselves. It’s rude to discuss these things in an open forum or even in public, but within this club, we can freely discuss in detail our sexual adventures. The one rule is the fact that we never mention the name of the woman, or give any personal background on her, except what she is like in bed, and after all, we are gentlemen of a certain age and time.

One of the things we like to talk about is if we were in, or had the use of a Time Machine, who would we revisit for sexual pleasure. The irony is that this club only focuses on the past.  So in a sense, I’m in a room full of men who live in or for the past. Some say one cannot live in the past, but I think we all know that is not exactly true. The present only exists because there is a past.   How we perceive that “past” is how we see our present. The future we never know.

“Think like a man of action, act like a man of thought.” The one thing we all agree with is that each woman has her particular scent. I commented that I had a fantasy of sitting in a room blindfolded and the women that I share intimacy with comes in. I identify each one by their natural sexual scent. To be wrong, would be fatal! Nevertheless, it is interesting that all of us men at the club have a highly sense of smell, and that it’s a big part of our sexuality or desire. When I get home from our weekly meetings, I feel exhausted — drained even. The only thing that makes any sense to me is that “the pure present is an ungraspable advance of the past devouring the future. In truth, all sensation is already a memory.”

October 18, 2014

October 18, 2014

“To exist to change, to change is to mature, to mature is to go on creating oneself endlessly.” I keep that in mind as I wander through an empty parking lot in Shinbashi, looking for a Chinese restaurant that is placed on the third floor.  It is a Saturday night, and not a person in sight. Alas, the restaurant is closed, and after 20 minutes of walking overpasses that connect the large boulevard and then down a steep staircase to the entrance of the lot, and then  to climb two staircases to reach the floor of the restaurant - and it being closed seemed to be a slight miscalculation on my part.  I should have known that these types of businesses are closed on a Saturday night.  Also it has been noted to me that this specific restaurant is the oddest eating joint in Tokyo.  Shinbashi, a business district in Tokyo is famous to me, due to the Japanese film series “The Crazy-Cats, which is a combination of Martin & Lewis mixed in with the world of the Salerymen.  A lot of the key scenes in the film series were shot in this part of Tokyo.

On my journey here and on the streets of Shinbashi, I kept hearing the voice of Bobby Troup and Anita O’Day singing a duet, but oddly I don’t think they ever made a record together.  Yet, in my mind, I can clearly hear both voices singing perhaps “On Route 66.” I always have that talent of taking something that is out there, and somehow making it mine.  I look at the world as one big reference library, and I’m just a guy roaming around the stack and aisles of ideas, trying to connect “C” to “Q.”  For instance I could have sworn that there was or is a store that is devoted to Lee Harvey Oswald as an iconic figure - not that far from Marilyn Monroe or Elvis.  His presence becomes more important than who he really was.  The more literature out on Oswald the more obscure he gets, and eventually he just becomes a symbol that is empty, yet we know he is part of a landscape that caused either pain, or an awareness that things will never be the same again.

To be honest, I was drinking a bottle of Chinese sake, which causes me to lose time and memory.  Or even oddly enough, causes me to make my own memory up.  Therefore this Oswald store may not even exist.  But why do I clearly remember the key chain being sold at this store that represented the foreign made rifle as well as his image (the mug shot) after he got arrested for murdering the Dallas cop.  There is something of a Huell Howser in me, that likes to see Tokyo as a series of objects that somehow people contain these objects as livable space.  It seems impossible, yet here I’m, slightly dazed and of course confused.

Lotte Lenya of Berlin could easily be part of the Tokyo landscape as well.   Never have I ever been in a city where one can watch the daily life of going to work, being at work, and then going to Shinbashi, before going home for dinner - having that quick drink of beer or sake, as you gather dutch courage to make it home and knowing you will be facing the exact actions the very next day.  Ms. Lenya (Weill) had the power to convey the struggles of the mice against the machine that is society.  “Metropolis” has many forms and disguises, and I see it here in Shinbashi, as I can still smell the tension of the new high-rises fighting against the low-life, and culinary level of the eating places that serve the white collar worker.  I always inspired to be the A. J. Liebling of Tokyo where "I can write better than anybody who can write faster, and I can write faster than anybody who can write better."  To document a time as it passes by me, in such a violent manner, is truly being alive at the very moment of realizing that this is it.

My only refined moment is to attach my earphones to my ears and listen to the sarcastic voice of Catherine Ringer, and I wander the streets of Shinbashi.  I’ll never go back to that Chinese restaurant in a vacant parking lot, nor be able to find the Lee Harvey Oswald store, that again, could have been part of my imagination - as well as the Chinese restaurant. All I know, is that I can express myself in a world that may not exist. So I made a straight line, and walked that line till…

September 21, 2014

September 21, 2014

“To exist is to change, to change is to mature, to mature is to go on creating oneself endlessly.” When I think of my past, I immediately get an erection.  The only thing I care to remember is my series of sexual conquests.  Everything else is not important.   I used to know the names of my conquests, but now, all I can remember are their bodies, face, and intelligence.  I was never a big fan of names, because I have a hard time connecting something verbally to a face.  It’s uncommon for a writer to admit this, but the visual image is far more important to me than the vocabulary.  I think back to countless women I have touched, both in the literal and spiritual sense, and every one of them offered me great pleasure, that can’t be really recorded by words on a page.

When I close my eyes it is like being in H. G. Wells’ Time Machine, where I set the dials to a specific time and place, and go there.  I can visit ancient civilization or the pre-war Paris years, by just imagining what it would be just like.  I don’t need to be actually there, but just knowing a few names, for instance Boris Vian, Juliette Gréco and of that sort, I already have a place and time in mind.  So my time machine is really me closing my eyes and transporting myself to that world.  My sexual time-traveling sort of works the same.  Some are real memories of actual fuck sessions, and others are “imagined” get-togethers where I focus on a beauty of my choice.

There is a secret club, only for men of a certain age, that I belong to called “Gas, Grass, & Ass, ” where we discuss our sexual conquests among ourselves.  It’s rude to discuss these things in an open forum or even in public, but within this club we can freely discuss in detail our sexual adventures.  The one rule is the fact that we never mention the name of the woman, or give any personal background on her, except what she is like in bed, and after all, we are gentlemen of a certain age and time.

One of the things we really like to talk about is if we were in, or had the use of a Time Machine, who would we revisit again for carnal pleasure.  The irony is that this club only focuses on the past, so in a sense I’m in a room full of men who live in or for the past.  Some say one cannot live in the past, but I think we all know that is not exactly true.  The present only exists, because there is a past, and how we perceive that “past” is how we see our present.  The future we never knows.

“Think like a man of action, act like a man of thought.” The one thing we all agree with is that each woman has her own particular scent.  I commented that I had a fantasy of sitting in a room blindfolded and the women that I share intimacy with comes in.  I identify each one by their natural sexual scent.  To be wrong, would be fatal!  Nevertheless, it is interesting that all of us men at the club have a highly sense of smell, and that it’s a big part of our sexuality or desire.   When I get home from our weekly meetings, I feel exhausted.  Drained even.  The only thing that makes any sense to me is that “the pure present is an ungraspable advance of the past devouring the future.  In truth, all sensation is already memory.”