狸のボール

Remember the Tanuki suit from Super Mario Bros. 3? Of course you do.
Were you confused about it? Of course you were.
Will reading the following only serve to confuse you a lot more than you anticipated? Well…

Statues of tanuki can be found outside many Japanese temples and restaurants, especially noodle shops. These statues often wear big, cone-shaped hats and carry bottles of sake in one hand, and a promissory note or empty purse in the other hand. Tanuki statues always have large bellies. The statues also usually show humorously large testicles, typically hanging down to the floor or ground, although this feature is sometimes omitted in contemporary sculpture.Wikipedia


Now consider:


Tan-tan-tanuki’s testicles, there isn’t even any wind but still go swing-swing-swing.Japanese Schoolyard Rhyme, translated

狸のボール

Remember the Tanuki suit from Super Mario Bros. 3? Of course you do.
Were you confused about it? Of course you were.
Will reading the following only serve to confuse you a lot more than you anticipated? Well…

Statues of tanuki can be found outside many Japanese temples and restaurants, especially noodle shops. These statues often wear big, cone-shaped hats and carry bottles of sake in one hand, and a promissory note or empty purse in the other hand. Tanuki statues always have large bellies. The statues also usually show humorously large testicles, typically hanging down to the floor or ground, although this feature is sometimes omitted in contemporary sculpture.
Wikipedia

Now consider:

Tan-tan-tanuki’s testicles, there isn’t even any wind but still go swing-swing-swing.Japanese Schoolyard Rhyme, translated
3 months ago on November 30th, 2009 at 9:58 pm | Permalink
Thanksgiving with the Colonel…as Santa…running for public office in Japan.

Thanksgiving with the Colonel…as Santa…running for public office in Japan.

3 months ago on November 26th, 2009 at 11:12 pm | Permalink
Found this gem tucked away in the Cerego bookshelves, between a Java 1.1 book and “High Schools in Japan” circa 1983.

Found this gem tucked away in the Cerego bookshelves, between a Java 1.1 book and “High Schools in Japan” circa 1983.

3 months ago on November 26th, 2009 at 6:12 pm | Permalink
On another note, this is a picture of a toilet with a face.

On another note, this is a picture of a toilet with a face.

4 months ago on November 9th, 2009 at 10:16 pm | Permalink
I think I substantively realized the appeal of stasis today.

Everything I build only serves to loom over me until it ceases to stand. The larger and grander, the more brilliant the shadow it casts. Putting distance between us works to some extent, but I can still see all the rest of them, most still standing, just too far away to reach me.

A life based in performance sounds good, by comparison. All you have to haunt you are the ghosts of your own shadow. The distant echoes of the dying applause, coming around again, now a whimper. How sad, though, in the end of it all.

At the close of a life of creation, by comparison…at least one still has those buildings. By then, the sun has set, and the shadows have nestled in with the brimming dusk. All there is to do then is walk back and watch them soar one last time.

I think I substantively realized the appeal of stasis today.

Everything I build only serves to loom over me until it ceases to stand. The larger and grander, the more brilliant the shadow it casts. Putting distance between us works to some extent, but I can still see all the rest of them, most still standing, just too far away to reach me.

A life based in performance sounds good, by comparison. All you have to haunt you are the ghosts of your own shadow. The distant echoes of the dying applause, coming around again, now a whimper. How sad, though, in the end of it all.

At the close of a life of creation, by comparison…at least one still has those buildings. By then, the sun has set, and the shadows have nestled in with the brimming dusk. All there is to do then is walk back and watch them soar one last time.

4 months ago on November 9th, 2009 at 10:12 pm | Permalink
FucktheGangbangFuckHack

Indeed.

Fuck
the
Gangbang
Fuck
Hack

Indeed.

4 months ago on November 3rd, 2009 at 10:10 pm | Permalink
On being awake for the first time ever / On the mysteriousness of personal archeology


2832h: The curtain lifts and Ramen slides towards me, steaming. We’re at one of those ramen places that takes itself too seriously. You’re seated on a stool along a bar, with partitions clearly demarcating your territory—somewhere between a stable feeding trough and a public library. Face forward and eat your ramen, contemplatively. Overheard across the way: “Alright, who’s ready to head out to Muse?”, a club in Roppongi that I last visited on the night MJ died.
2801h: Surprisingly few Michael Jackson costumes tonight. As if everyone collectively learned their lessons last year with The Joker. A gang of Power Rangers spot me, and ask me where my face is. A Nigerian spanks me; going in for a second, a fight nearly erupts.
2427h: All lights on me as I maintain my balance on a table in the back corner—the highest point of the club. I am Christ the Redeemer standing with arms outstretched across my loving metropolis. I hold my obligatory court, raving for a few minutes. They give me a bottle of champagne for my troubles.
2350h: A tap on my back from above, just past the pounding tweeters by the DJ booth. “Stick around. We want to make you the winner of the costume contest.” Aristotle writes about this in his Politics. Or maybe it was Poetics.
2258h: 三千円-stakes Hold ‘Em. For the second time of the night, I announce going all-in without looking at my cards. The former incident was the only hand I won. My insistence on cracking jokes about being white surprises my sensibilities in retrospect. I flip 8♥ 8♦. The pot splits between two straight-flushes.
2030h: Cheers to my good friend, whose horse-head’s dead eyes lazily stare at me.

On being awake for the first time ever / On the mysteriousness of personal archeology

  • 2832h: The curtain lifts and Ramen slides towards me, steaming. We’re at one of those ramen places that takes itself too seriously. You’re seated on a stool along a bar, with partitions clearly demarcating your territory—somewhere between a stable feeding trough and a public library. Face forward and eat your ramen, contemplatively. Overheard across the way: “Alright, who’s ready to head out to Muse?”, a club in Roppongi that I last visited on the night MJ died.

  • 2801h: Surprisingly few Michael Jackson costumes tonight. As if everyone collectively learned their lessons last year with The Joker. A gang of Power Rangers spot me, and ask me where my face is. A Nigerian spanks me; going in for a second, a fight nearly erupts.

  • 2427h: All lights on me as I maintain my balance on a table in the back corner—the highest point of the club. I am Christ the Redeemer standing with arms outstretched across my loving metropolis. I hold my obligatory court, raving for a few minutes. They give me a bottle of champagne for my troubles.

  • 2350h: A tap on my back from above, just past the pounding tweeters by the DJ booth. “Stick around. We want to make you the winner of the costume contest.” Aristotle writes about this in his Politics. Or maybe it was Poetics.

  • 2258h: 三千円-stakes Hold ‘Em. For the second time of the night, I announce going all-in without looking at my cards. The former incident was the only hand I won. My insistence on cracking jokes about being white surprises my sensibilities in retrospect. I flip 8♥ 8♦. The pot splits between two straight-flushes.

  • 2030h: Cheers to my good friend, whose horse-head’s dead eyes lazily stare at me.

4 months ago on November 1st, 2009 at 7:46 pm | Permalink