Day 1-3

Tokyo is INSANE. 

I'm trying to catch my energy up. It's difficult. But I'm excited, and my desire for discipline is greater than my fears. I stopped emotionally eating when I got here, and I don't have the choking feeling when I breath. I wonder what the main trigger is, and why it's left me here. I'm staying focused and clear, and many adventures are unfolding. My first night here i met the music producer Kensuke wanted to introduce me to in the restaurant Ken works at. I asked him about what he looks for in a demo, which is consistency in writing pop albums and good hooks. And like-ability. Ken told me that those things don't matter, it's if he likes you or not. There's balance to be found between the two. I scolded myself in my mind; had I created a demo on schedule, this would have been the moment that I would have fulfilled part of my mission in being here. Yoko asked me, "what the hell are you doing in Tokyo?" I am beginning to remember these things I had forgotten on my way here. At the same time, I finally feel like I'm ready to ishokenmei ganbaru (work really REALLY hard with motivation) the way everyone else here is.

Renn is a yaki-tori restaurant Ken works at. They serve grilled meats, veggies, and a few rice dishes along with beer and other drinks. It is the most delicious yakitori-ya (the ya indicates restaurant) I've been to in years. The kanji (japanese character for a word) for Renn is the lotus flower. The atmosphere is warm, yellow toned lights, a few tables, and a large bar where you can interact with the "master" of the grill. 

That night I met my first Yakuza (the no-left-pinky-man); we joked about him riding segways in Hawaii and he adjusted the bones in my right hand. He said he was a massage master and he was masterful at it. Earlier in the evening I saw him sitting at the corner of the counter; Will told me how the night before they were out drinking and Tomo-san (pinky man) started to joke around and get rough. Will choked him out, took his keys, drove him to his home in his own car and dropped him off to his wife. 

Earlier in the evening Tomo-san sat, smoking a cigarette and drinking a beer, when his wife appeared at the sliding door, toting their infant tot. Lots of customers had gathered by this time, the baby sitting in a holster clamped at the joint of the left and right counter between mama and papa. Silky sheets of smoke billowed around the room, pillows cushioned the delicate bone structure, fleshed out of the legacy of power and control, lost fingertips, love, and loosing one's self in the supple folds of a woman. The color of spent tobacco thick air coated everyone in a wispy spell. I wondered to myself, still delirious from lack of sleep for 36+ hours and quite buzzed, how this child would cope with these layers of circumstances as she becomes aware of what is around her, defined in our language.

~ Her father, freshly 25, and the clouds of obligations of his profession.

~ The poison hovering the the air, entering her lungs that even her Mother paid no mind to. 

~ And the weight of Tokyo, it's deep and troubled pulse, intoxicated in the seductive comforts of the night. 

Breaking my trance, bright baby eyes leaned their gaze over the edge of her chair across the room, locking mine in a thumb war of playful spirit. I lost; she laughed, and returned to the amusements of playing with her father's stub.