The Joanna Club

  I’ve been talking to this toy poodle for a while. I was never particularly attracted to toy poodles, they look too much like toys to me. I don’t feel their emotions when I encounter them. Maybe it’s the size; they’re just too small for me to imagine what’s on their mind. He is 23 years old, lives in the suburbs, has light brown curly hair, is good at driving, and has horrible taste in music and underwear. “It’s been so long since I had such a fun time. I want to see you.” Of course you do. You don’t know me. “I don’t think I should see you.”   He mistakes my sentiment for self-hatred. “Oh, by the way, I don’t care about looks or age,” he adds.  Why do they always assume I am worried they won’t accept me?   I just don’t share much with them. Their values are, most of the time, of no interest to me. Not particularly because I judge them, but because most people are interested in the same things: pleasure, sharing pleasure, being treated as something of value, ...

   Some things aren't so new about Ginza, (which I like very much)  Last night, I watched Dogville by Lars von Trier. Mostly because I no longer had internet at home, and it happened to be downloaded on my tablet. And just like it spoke to me a few years ago, it spoke to me again, slightly differently, but still. Ordinary people and gangsters, the humble and the rich, the privileged and the poor, good and evil,  all their lines blur in the face of powerlessness. That quiet disdain toward those who have no power. Is it innate? I wonder. I woke up today feeling a little dizzy, since I couldn’t sleep the night before. The young boy still seems curious about me, texting to check in. “What did you do yesterday?” “I went to a museum.” “Nice. I went to a bathhouse with a bunch of my guy friends. And worked out.” “Bathhouse? You like bathhouses? You worked out? Impressive. Well, I want to lose weight too, so I ate ramen noodles last night.” “I go sometimes. You’re contradict...

                                             I ate cutlet, but I didn’t feel it. I’ve used up all the internet access at my house, and I’m no longer connected to it. My brain is thirsty for information, so I download a few movies onto my phone. I realize it’s been a long time since I’ve watched a movie, lately I’ve been so caught up in political videos and random conversations online that I’ve stopped caring about culture. It started to feel like culture was a luxury the world could no longer afford. Everything seems too messy, too divided, as if singing, watching movies, reading novels, or wanting to be an artist were indulgences only the elite could afford. And I didn’t want to be that person. But now, without internet, my mind has stopped clinging to the noise of current events. It’s learning to breathe again. Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale. Look around your life. Pick u...

I am sitting in a curry store in a town I used to love. A lot seems to have changed. It’s like “they” love to kill it, the breath of the town, its smell, and turn it into anything else. Why though? I don’t understand. Why do “they” love anything but what is? Why must “they” muffle everyone’s mouth and force them to say what’s not? And feed us what “they” want instead of what we love? They build generic towns everywhere, to the point that we lose the meaning of going anywhere. Anything is everywhere, so why bother? Despite all this, the curry was alive. Good for it. I’m not as innocent as I might wish, of course. Fast forward, and now I’m sitting in a generic, stylish café found all over the world. I regularly eat at food chains because it’s tiresome to look for a new place. And I like the invisibility, I like that no one cares who I am; I feel free to pretend to be anyone else. Because I am anyone else. So I am part of this ordeal, as is everyone else. We invest in the world we create....

It’s that season again, when everything feels scattered, when I can’t piece things together, feeling animalistic and irrational, lying there without reasoning, without making sense. A beastly animal left inside a small room. If a camera were to observe the way I behave, what would it make of me? A meaningless piece of meat with no value whatsoever, inhaling and exhaling air, consuming food, overwhelmed by a desire for corporal pleasure. But why suddenly? I had been feeling like a nun, or a monk, or whatever, having absolutely no desire. And then the wave hits me, telling me to seek pleasure, haunting me everywhere. Is it like this to be a man? I suddenly feel compassionate. Abstinence was never difficult for me. I had imagination (and also porn), I could deal with it. But what if that’s not enough? What if knowing pleasure is as important as imagining it? Forcing yourself on others is violence, but what if the wave itself is violent? What if resisting it becomes intolerable? And you wa...

I’ve been watching a whole lot of conspiracy theories lately. Not because I’m a believer, but because I’ve always been inquisitive. I like asking questions. As a kid, I wanted to know everything, to ask and say anything. I remember once telling my teacher it was ridiculous to suddenly give us a pop quiz. I thought I’d only muttered it under my breath, but he seemed especially offended. I was told to stand up and scolded for speaking out lout, and was told I should’ve kept it to myself. My next question was, “But teacher, if I don’t speak my mind, how will I ever know where my mistake is?”  For me, the error lies in the thought, not in the word. If I’m going to correct myself, I have to think properly first. Then again, who really knows how to do that? Socrates?  I never thought I’d see the day when I’d willingly listen to Candace Owens or Tucker Carlson, but now, that’s what I pay attention to. I’ve realized that, for me, sharing a question is more important than sharing an an...

Last night, I bought two cans of Lemon Sour from the grocery store and drank them alone in my room, with some bad salami. I started feeling happy for no real reason. I ended up on the phone with a boy, I don’t even remember what we were talking about. By the time I noticed, we were having phone sex. It’s not so fun for me, but somehow that is where I land.   This is a fairly ordinary way for me to spend time. I like talking to people, but I don’t want to know them too well. In fact, I prefer not knowing them. Learning too much about someone spoils the story, and I’m left with a quiet sense of disappointment. Not knowing leaves space for imagination and through that, I can experience something without getting hurt. A glimpse, not the whole picture. Since my friend left, I’ve been exploring Tokyo through the eyes of a traveler. It helps me understand what others come here looking for. But it is the smallest things that surprise me, perhaps the travelers wouldn’t like them at...