Silence Fiction

Technical Difficulties

2007-05-06T09:19:17Z

Something is broken... I will attempt to fix it (eventually). Fortunately PP rescued it from a early 90's internet design hell. All the usual sidebar stuff is down the bottom. Gomen.

While The Others Are Sleeping

2007-05-06T05:39:17Z

There are times when
this Creation seems so thin:

I fall asleep against the wall
and can hear the refrigerator.

Like Monopoly Money

2007-05-03T00:59:29Z

Dear XXXXXXXX

Words. Words words words words. Words words words words words words words . words words? Words words words words words , words words. Words , words , words words. Words words; words words, words words, words words. Subject verb object. Article noun verb conjunction interrogative. Words. Appeal. Supposition. Modal verb guess. Desire. Noun words metaphor. Sound. Context . Implore. Words. Clarification. Words. Example 1, 2, 3. Words. Passive constructions. Words. Past tense. Words words words words. Exclamation mark. Third person. Words words words. Words. Noumena. Words words words question mark. Caesura. Smilie. Words. Idiom. Words words words. Confirming the audience's understanding. Request for input. Rhetorical flourish. Attempt at wit. Extended attempt at outlining the shape of the signified. Words. Pronoun proper noun verb preposition article adjective noun. Archetype. Ordinal number. Counter for long cylindrical objects. Verb. Adjective. Words words words. Writer verb reader. Words. Adjective of psychological state. Adjective of colour. Inconclusive argument. Typo. Words. Words words words, words words words. Untethered conclusion. Request for assistance, understanding, confirmation, reply. Words. Elipsis.

Adverb
XXXXXXXXXX

Tough Rules In The Inner City Limits

2007-03-20T22:49:25Z

So I can't be an island. Then I will be a fortification.

Sakasegawa (Coda)

2007-03-12T13:51:12Z

Ok, seeing as this is the only piece I've mostly finished so far this year, I thought I'd share most of the agony of it. It is found here. Sorry for being unable to shove it into the blog directly... but hey, why not look at me being a fool on flickr as well?

SitRep, March 07

2007-03-12T03:17:00Z

A friend had words with me on the weekend about being a bit quiet on my blog. She also pointed out how Silence Fiction Press only seems to have older works on it, which is true - the only updates there are tweaks and edits that I've been passing the lazier hours at work with. The year thus far has been... well... I don't know. January was a bit crazy, February was a mess, and I woke up one early March morning to a house strewn with balloons, half filled plastic cups, a large collection of beer cans and an unopened bottle of tequila that has been giving me looks ever since. Along with the associated hangover was the moment of reflection that having turned one number over on the life endurance scoreboard, I still have a habit of not learning from mistakes and, while being a pretty darn nice guy, I also have a nasty habit of being quite an accomplished asshole when I want to or tire of bullshit (as is February's case - wasn't a fun birthday evening). The circumstances which made these reflections so pertinent is also the reason I haven't been posting or accomplishing anything creative. All my pen seems to want to create are monuments to self indulgence. Whilst trying to steer away from negative train wrecks of thought into a brighter, happier spring, my writing is being an outlet for all the bile I'm tiptoeing around. I don't really want to paste that up on my blog, so please excuse my reticence. Similarly with my creative efforts, I just can seem to get my head to A) find moments of beauty outside of my stewing mind and B) I can't seem to finish some things that I have. There's a few pieces that I just can't push past a first verse at all and I can't leave them as the single image that they are. I miss the feeling of knowing where an image is going - seeing and feeling what the poem is and using words like charcoal rubbings to reveal its shape on paper. I just can't seem to find the edges of what I'm doing. I've been trying to take the time just to read the work of others and hope that will inspire me to maybe break out of this. Until I can sufficiently repell my self from my writing, I don't know if I can see my work as being audience friendly. The more unpleasant aspects of life are valid topics of poetry, but first I need to put a bit of artistry into it. For now, here is one verse that I do enjoy, but I can't find the feeling I had when I started it. Soon, perhaps... you are a feat of repression a jumblejangle of humours a long time ago explosion alone against the blackboard night poorly wiped of clouds and a city's gleaming while faraway heliotropes are waving their farewell tiny purple pale handkerchiefs. I can't even finish the verse properly. bah.

Sakasegawa (re-run)

2007-03-04T22:50:57Z

It always seems to be the case that after I put a piece out into the world, I realise what an ugly little baby it is. This poem was a bit premature for it's appearance in a local JET zine here and so I took a long hard scribble at it. After much editing agony (I've collected photos of the various pages which I7ll maybe post once I figure out how to), I've come to this 10th or so draft, which I hope is a final one. It can really be torture trying to make something finished and unotuchable... I guess words never are. I've had enough of my pencil squatting in piles of eraserlings and strikethroughs though. The hopefully final edit exists below... Sakasegawa In winter-bleached grass lies a crooked whisper and the moon, having made its kill caws bold and fed against the gathering arid blue. The wind stands at attention gripping a white pennant contrail for the river while morning birds briefly rake the bones then disappear into the famine chill.

Yuki ga futte iru.

2007-02-02T03:34:25Z

Snow is falling like someone is shaking out the static from their etherial television. It doesnt snow so much in the Kansai area and the winter has been warmer than usual this year, so I've been a bit glum about not seeing any, not even during the New Year season in Seoul. Finally, it is snowing; not much really, but enough to make even the grubby grey school building seem vibrant in contrast to the speckled air. I've just come inside from marvelling at it. There was more snow last year, but my wonder hasn't subsided. The teachers and students laugh at the silly foreigner's fascination, but everyone has some hue of a smile on their face. Work has stopped for a moment and everyone is transfixed by the chaotic white tumble. I can't help but feel like a child with gibbering glee... The type click paper shuffle printer whir telephone ring work mutterings start up again. Snow has stopped falling.

WANTED: 1 Epiphany, Urgent

2007-01-29T03:12:55Z

There's a little slip of paper in my desk drawer that is asking me if I'm going to sit here for another year or leave it all behind. I was given a similar piece of paper about two months ago, but that one had a "Maybe" option on it. This one is a lot more passive-aggressive about its question. My deadline is about two days away and while, if I was asked two months ago, my heart was set on coming home, I found that over the last two weeks, I've been torn up by the question. I've spoken with the family and have been weighing every option and reason that I can think of only to discover that poking myself in the eye is a lot more fun than making a decision. I guess that life decision aren't something I have an aptitude for. January has been a turn around from 2006b. After the time I spent with Alex, Juliette and Jackson in Seoul, I've felt like living again. Sure, there are the things which have happened that I can't forget nor forgive myself for, memories that have branded me from optical nerve to the deeper cortices of my skull, but I've stopped being near obsessively anxious about what certain people thought and expected of me. The lashing myself with the past has eased a bit in favour of the present, but before I can get even a decent grip on that, I've got to consider the future. Damn. One thing that is making the decision stupidly hard is how seriously, to even my own surprise, my Japanese study has become. I know that when I return I'll have to consider a more profitable and sustainable career than speaking another language or making coffee again, but while I'm here I'm swimming in the everyday learning opportunities, which is obviously something that isn't as available anywhere else. I'm making progress and making mistakes, but I am improving. Regardless of that though, I do miss my family badly and my friends of course, all of who may not be back home if I stay even longer. That is, of course, to be expected. The scariest part is how old I will be if I do stay. It's all crazy I tells ya! I've been waking up in the morning thinking that I going to go home and then ending each day wanting to stay. I swear my neurological functions are scattier than a gas particle's vectors. So I've finished my one class for today, and I'm thinking and smoking and weighing pros and cons and pacing and poking myself in the eye. Two days and I need an epipany real quick. And a strong drink. And to stop ranting.

an empire of drafts

2007-01-02T17:01:52Z

lets start where i seem to notice i always start.

when a band is about to break up, there's always a mention, a rumour, a farewell tour. shit, i would've seen Arab Strap on their way through Nihon if weren't saving my cash for seeing Alex and Jackson in Korea and really didn't need any more of a bummer ride than the one i'm already on. i guess actors are kind of the same - you see them fade, taking shittier roles, dissolving into typecasts or exploding into media derision, shortly followed by ignorant death.

but what of writers (ok, i'm skipping artists and directors)? i have a surprising Pynchon hardcover waiting for me to gather the confidence and backpack space to read. Danielewski has finally released another book not related to HoL. Murakami is still at least releasing short stories even though his last novel was wanting. Shit, there's even been another Marquez novella to pick up.

But where do they go when they dont publish? DeLillo is silent. Where did he go? What has Wallace been doing? what happens to them? how do we know that they've thrown the towel in? where is the the crazy media outburst at the death or retirement of a talent?

i sit here with my milky pink sakura liquor diluted with calpis very late (or early) wondering this for theumteenth time in an empire of drafts thinking if i were ever something with what i do, the same thing would happen and i remember a perth poet talking of a wake held by other perth writers for the passing of Bukowski, and even though in some far away corner of this earth someone notices, but oh how quietly the writer lapses.

Sakasegawa

2007-01-02T13:13:04Z

in the winter bleached grass
lies a crooked whisper
and night, having made its kill
caws bold and fed

the wind stands at attention
holding against the gathering
arid blue
                a white pennant jet stream

for where the river was
the morning birds wont return.

Dear 2006,

2007-01-02T01:00:20Z

I"m glad to have you behind me.
Sincerely,
Richard

The Little Post That Wasn't

2006-12-25T04:18:38Z

I had thought about this post, then dismissed it for being overly sentimental. It's a new trend I'm trying out, you see, not making syrupy blog posts. Still, I found a sweet spot in the mobile-phone-reception-black-hole that is my school today and spoke to my family quickly before they became too focused on their Christmas luncheon. Between the crackling signal strength and the background noises of mastication, I managed to drag myself into a far-away-from-home self pity which I'm trying not to think about too much. Christmas over here is mostly just another Valentines-eque couples day, though there is a fair bit of Christmas present shopping all round. It's a matter of luck if you can get a Nintendo Wii or DS at the moment (literally luck - being in the right place when a shipment comes in or by entering a store's lottery for the available stock) and the department stores have been insanely full. The convenience store where I buy my cigarettes nearly every day even gave me a box of Christmas doughnuts (those lovely ladies). The family rituals are fairly absent though. I managed to be invited to a family dinner last night and ate a fantastic spread (turkey and stuffing oh my!) and managed to greet Christmas day with a decent hangover. Still, I've been thinking about family and all the extra-curricular families I've managed to be a part of. I miss them alot, even though theyve been time limited due to leases and shit working conditions. But I'd like to let some of these people know I've never forgotten. It's funny how some bonds are formed and last, even though the structure dissolves. Isn't it sublimation where a solid skips the liquid state and goes straight to gas? Sorry, I'm prevaricating... The Suans - Mr & Mrs, Katy & Tony & the little one - you've always taken me in, made me a part of the special moments and put up with me in general for the most part of my growing up. Which leads me to Big Marty, my brother who is always so far away but always ready to spring into action. Miss you brother, you've always been my strength. The Merchies - Now, can I remember everyone? Liz (Lizbo), Deb (the Debstar), Miiiiichael, Jane, Netty, Kirsen (Poppet), Christine, Rona (Ronza!), damn, I forget everyone. too many years there, too many people passing through, but it was always a mess and always stupidly entertaining. Inflatable clown suits, Gassosa geysers, Xmas drinks, the arsehole popluation of Perth. It was the bestest work crew I've had. The Moir Street Tenants Cat, Little Marty, Clancy, Claire and Reuben. God I lived on that couch didn't I? Rooftops and hangovers and Marty's amusing answering machine message about not trusting transvestites, Mr Cat (Smells Like Magic) and madness. There was always accomodation for me there and I never gave much in return - thanks for the patience! The Porch Peeps Again, Little Marty, Alex, Patrick, Linda, Sarah, Nick and Cat, Dan, Vic, and the slew of guest appearnces. Another place to always find someone on the porch, reading or dinking or dinner partying or anything at all. Hopefully you're still sitting out there, and probably playing cricket or maiming innocent people with frisees in the park. The West 55 MCs Jay and Guy plus Sarah. I miss living with you guys so much. There was always one of you about and sheer random conversation, random shopping tactics, a supply of pilfered wine or a cask of Cab Merlot if there wasn't, advice, thoughts, hysteria and wheelchair accidents. It still makes me chuckle. Twas the bestest. Thanks for the peanuts last time Jay - I hope cleaning up wasnt Sarah's job. Well, I think thats it. There are other people, but I'm just thinking about the families. Hey - it's a family time of year. Still, to all the individual people, there's too much to be expressed. You put up with me most of the time, you've forgiven me (especially this year) and you suffer my radio silence. Love to everyone. Sorry about the sentimentality. Take care, drive safe, play some botchy for me. x]]>

In Case of Emergency, Good Luck

2006-12-21T14:41:53Z

Any casual traveler has to suffer illiteracy in the face of a non-native culture. All our little guidebooks can serve us the basic phrases to come across as charmingly stupid and still find out where the toilet is. Fortunately, the linguistic empire of English means that in some font and/or mistranslation, lots of basic information loiters about for consumption by the Western traveler making use of their first world affluence. While the most amusing export of Japan is its giddy misapplication of English grammar in advertising, notices, captions, product branding and t-shirt designs, you can still accomplish basic shopping, navigate the trains and read high-voltage cautions in a timely fashion. Another blessing is the katakana writing system for foreign words, through which you might be able to convey a few English nouns to a local by sticking a vowel on the end of each word (observe: "a dog and a cat" becomes "a dogu ando a cato"). Still, fumbling with what scraps of English are about only takes one so far and usually with a sharp decline in dignity.

I've been slowly progressing with the language studies enough that I might be able to have a (very polite) conversation with a 3 year old if they weren't so terrified of my yellow hair. My students still get a giggle out of me trying to talk to them on the after school bus, but at least I can order them about in class in their own language. Bank and post office trips are a little less embarrassing and I cause fewer queues, which means I have fewer angry locals ready to injure me. Still, there are more than enough times when I am defeated. The most current example was last week, having contracted my own personal dose of this year's flavor of winter virus. It seems that this not so pleasant critter is on the brink of epidemia here, but I'll save my review of it for a medical journal or something.

Having spent all of the first day of my misery on the couch, I thought seeing a doctor might be a practical idea. The choices were to figure out a local G.P. or just head into the hospital, the latter seeming like the easiest idea through a fever. One taxi ride later and I swaying in front of the mini metropolis of the city hospital. I had assumed that being an institution that seems kind of essential for human health, it might be linguistically accessible, but oh no. I stumbled around for a bit, having no clue where I was meant to go. Frustration and swirling cognitive processes were unable to untangle the jumbles of kanji, and most people seemed happy enough to let me stumble about lost. In the end i just taxied back home, curled up once more and grabbed a teacher the next day to take me to a G.P. near the school. But really, if my appendix were on the brink of combusting, I might have been slightly frakked. I'll happily trade the endearingly non-sensical smoking manners ads for a few translations of where I'm meant to go to see about punctured arteries in a hospital. I've heard of good English speaking doctors in Kobe and people working their way around other medical institutions, but I7m not sure if I can contain any live threatening situations to a more major city. Even just a few hints that the reception is this way would be nice.

Anyways, I should cease my griping. I suffered, I recovered and for some reason the doctor I eventually saw decided to pump something (no idea what) into my arm intravenously and I got to explore some groggy Enlightenment while I was at it (story for another time). I think the most frustrating thing about the language experience is the times when you really do need to beg time and favours from the locals to get you though otherwise simple and mostly private moments. Frustrating, embarrassing and karmic debt enlargening. Anyways, rant over.

recollection #248

2006-12-08T05:44:12Z

there is a memory i still have no place to leave of her, with an authority made from: a door with her name on it, a desk and embossed papers with her name on them and a jury of books who's function was to look worn and be silent. gesturing to the waterfalls the sparkling detonations still on her shelves, "my husband, he collects waterfalls" she suggested and i first thought of a stranger who took twinkling and made of it white rivets to fasten something otherwise uninterrupted in photo frames but i nodded to respect her name and papers and books and a stranger who's relief was suspending a collapse while i was beneath a waterfall trying to push the river back uphill - she smiled while i imagined sisyphus calling me an amateur.