死んだ時計はあまり死んでいません

 

築地tsukiji

 

not without my 自転車

They kidnapped my bike today. Just like that, no warning note hanging from the handle. I was hoping I was wrong and looked through all the bikes, praying I was somehow missing mine. Maybe someone put it somewhere else? Someone really funny -bless them-?

I went 'round the block: nothing. So I went and talk to my friends at the police station and they told me many bikes were taken away that day. The ransom was 4,000 yen. And to think that when they were taking her to that dark and moist place where I found her I was composing a new song walking the streets of Shinagawa! How embarrassing! I hope she will forgive me one day...

As you see I paid straight away, I couldn't wait until those criminals would start sending me bits of her, the back light now, maybe the parking sticker tomorrow, and who knows, they could grow impatient and even send me... no, I can't say it... okay, be strong Gorka... a wheel! No! I couldn't allow that to happen so I went to the jitensha-jail (1) or whatever they call it and rescued her -I call her Shirka, 'cos it belongs to my friend Shirko-. 

As I was paying one of the 3 jailers commented on how expensive the ransom was and all 3 burst into laughs when I said that this week and next one I would only be eating onigiri (2). I cracked them, honestly. There's something about seeing a gaijin (3) suffer that some Japanese really enjoy. 

I suffered two racist attacks on monday -see last entry before this one-. Yesterday I went to the immigration office at Shinagawa and it was closed. Then I went to a karaoke with a friend and felt ripped off but that's only 'cos I didn't understand the system. The feeling was real though. Today somebody raped my ear twice and I went to the immigration office again and realized I had forgotten my passport which I had with me only yesterday. And then my bike it's gone. Also, TLOMLILWAG. Don't wanna be sissy so I'll just let you figure out what that means.

Yes, this is only the last present of a series of not so very nice ones life is trying to pamper me with lately. Might not be the best of times in Tokyo for me right now, but I know it won't last forever and I'm suspecting it all will be coming to terms from April on. Until then...

(1) bycicle

(2) click it, baby

(3) foreigner   

oi, there's something sticking out of my armpit!

 

 

It's some minutes before 9 am. I stop to take a picture of something I find interesting so I lean my bike against the wall. It is obvious I'm just stopping to take a picture, I have the camera in my hands, arms sticking out, looking through the LCD screen. It's a backstreet, not busy at all. 

A Japanese granny comes from behind and says something I don't understand. She repeats it 2 or 3 times more and starts pointing at my bike so I intelligently start to understand what she means -I'm level 4, I'm getting there-: you can't leave your bike here. 

The last time she says it she takes of her anti-allergy mask so that I can see her face, a face full of anger. She can't realize that I'm not leaving my bike there, obvious as it is she can't see that I'm only taking a picture, that it's only a matter of seconds until I'm finished. And she can't see all that because I'm a gaijin, a foreigner, and she doesn't like me. 

I'm all polite all the way until I see her face full of contempt, then she turns into an old rug from the respectful old lady she was. And I lose my nerve. I burst 'ちょっと待てね！' as in 'Can't you fucking wait?'. Not that I know how to swear in Japanese, but that's what I mean and she got it and walked away.

After a loooong day at school I set off on my bike again: I wanna get home, chill out. School is some 10k's from home, 45 minutes of an up and down mamachari ride. 

When I'm almost there the police pull me over. It's around 8 pm and I think 'Great, as I didn't cover my share of racism this morning!'. I get ready for 20 minutes of racist none sense, I know this, It's happened 4 times before. This time it's 3 policemen, it might take forever. But then one of them opens his snout and barks it is dangerous for me to go with the cars, that I should use the pavement. I think it's funny and slightly silly, as everybody goes with the cars, but it's nice of him, isn't it? And maybe suspicious too. 

I slowly eat my miss-conceptions and prejudices as he speaks and he slowly looks down to the registration number of the bike. Snap! I wasn't wrong at all. He starts talking about the bike, is the bike mine? I'm tired, I wanna get home and I remember the incident with the Wicked Witch of West Shinjuku this morning, so I lose it again. 'Aaaaah, is that it? It's always the same, isn't it? It is because I'm a gaijin? Do you wanna see the papers?'. I'm amazed at my Japanese that moment. He goes 'Oh, have you got the papers?', as in 'Wow, we found an intelligent one!'. 

So they check the papers, everything's in order and they set me free letting go a thousand 'Sumimasen', 'Gomendasai' and 'Ki wo tsukete's. They can apologize as long as they want: they stopped me because I'm white, I know it, they know it, but they don't give a flying shit. I have never ever seen a Japanese and his/her bike being stopped before. I've been stopped FIVE times.

Anyway, not matter how hard some (just a few of them) try, I still love this city. So they're gonna fail all the way.  

風undressesビル, but who started it all?

what if now...

                    leg touch           feel much
          face poke           hair stroke
fingertips           kiss bye     
           eyes                say no lie


if i'm a secret     big deep sea-cret    deaf blind see-cret

     am i a for-life-re-gret?


the wind undresses a skyscraper        but who started it all?

gaztetako mitoak

時間と死んだ時計

10 year battery just died today. Let's see, I bought this Casio 1 year and 11 months ago. That means that it had been hanging at Softmap, Akihabara for more than 8 years and nobody bought it. That means that it was waiting for me. And that means that time, my friend, is something relative. Needless to say I didn't keep the receipt, so dead you're gonna remain but I won't toss you.

anbizioa porrotaren azken gordelekua da

Nork esan zuen ez dut gogoratzen. Gogoan daukadana honakoa. Nire bizitzako lehenengo momentuetatik, inguruan izan ditudan helduek nigandik asko espero izan dute. Euren itxaropen, frustrazio eta ametsak nigan egi bihur zitezkela uste izan dute. Gurasoetatik, batez ere ama, hasiaz, gurasoen lagunetatik pasatuz eta irakasleekin jarraituz, haziz nihoan heinean bidea erakutsi, markatu didaten helduek nigandik dena eta gehiago itxaron izan dute. Ez naiz honetan berezia. 

Agian gurasoengan normala da, agian guraso guztiengan euren seme-alabak hoberenak direnaren ustea naturala da. Eta agian, euren haurra, denborarekin ezagutzean, euren itxaropen, frustrazio eta ametsen proiekzioa ahulduz joaten da, haurraren itxaropen eta amets propioen onarpena ekarriaz eta bidea emanez, nahiz eta hasierako nahi hori inoiz ez hil. 

Nire kasuan ez zen gertatu behintzat, lehenengo pertsonan bizi izan dudalako handitu izan dut seguru, irakasle eta beste helduek sua pizturik mantendu izan zuteneko ustea/egia. Ministro izan amestu zuen nonbait ikastolan izan nuen irakasleetako batek eta nigan proiektatu zuen obsesio hura. Nigan baino, gurasoengan. Haiekin bildu eta haur hau ministro izango da, zer gehio behar dute euren haurrarekin maitemindutako gurasoek haur honengan presioa areagotzeko? Baina umea nintzen ni, ez ministroa. Burmuin pribilegiatua omen nuelako gertatzen zen hau guztia, ume berezia omen nintzelako. Baina nire burmuina ez zen, ez da burmuin pribilegiatua. Ez eta ministro batena ere. Erdi-bidean egon naitekela uste dut, ez hainbeste, ez horren gutxi. 

Anbizio artifiziala sortu zuen nire bizitza gobernatzen zuten heldu multzo honen itxaropenak. Oso ume gosea nintzela gogoratzen dut, sortzailea, askea. Asko jaten nuen baita ere, eritetxean amaitzeko lain batzuetan. Enpresa, banku munduak erakarri egiten ninduen eta hauen inguruan sortzen nituen nire jolasak. Edo apika ez mundu hau, telebistak erakusten zuen mundua baizik, arrakasta, dirua. Blake Carrington izan nahi nuen. Ostalaritzak be erakarri egiten ninduen, jatetxe, taberna, diskoteka, hotel kateak sortu nituen nire buruan, enporio izugarri handi eta boteretsua. Zineak ere, takillazo guztien protagonista ikusten nuen nire burua. Eta musikak, batez ere musikak. Agian lortu ahal izan nuen, benetako anbizioa izan banu. Nire anbizioa inguruan nituen helduen anbizioa zen baina. A zer grazia duen ume honek! Aktore famatua izango da! Eta umearengan ordura arte inoiz ez izandako anbizioa sortu zen. A zer ahots polita duen ume honek! Abeslari famatua izango ez bada! Eta jolasa zena plan estrategikoa bihurtu zen. 

Gizon gaztea naiz orain. Presioa ez da horren nabaria baina oraindik hor dago. Ez dakit izan denaren oroimena edo benetako presio garaikidea den. Batzuetan senti dezakedala badakit behintzat. Eta haurra nintzenean beste haurrengan lilura pizten nuen bezala, zeina nerabetasunean bat batean eta era mingarrian desagertu zen, hainbat heldu-kideengan pizten dut orain. Ez guztiengan, jakina, daukatena baloratzen ez dutenengan soilik, hots, gehienengoan. Ep, niri ere gertatu ohi zait. Batzuetan aprobetxatu egiten naiz, etekina ateratzen diot. Jokoa jarraitzen dut, itxura faltsua eraiki dezaten uzten diet. Bestetan baina, nire benetako ni horrek egoeraz jabetu, damutu eta atzera egiten du, ezkutatu egiten da. 

Egunen batean norbaitek ikusi egingo nau, ni, ez nigan ikusi nahi duen hori baizik eta ni, gauza on eta txar guztiekin. Eta pertsona hori benetan ezagutuko nau, ez atsegin edo atsegina suertatzea beste istorio bat da, baina ikusiko nau. Gero gerokoak, ikusi ta gero erabaki ahal izango du. Eta pertsona hori edo horiek nire iguruan dabiltzenetakoak izan zitezkeen. Eta agian denbora kontua da soilik, agian prozesu bat da. Agian, hil baino lehen, norbaitek ikusiko nau eta ez du nigan irudi faltsua eraikiko, ikusiko duena benetan atsegin izango duelako. Eta agian niri gauza bera gertatuko zait, ez dut bestearengan nire desio propioen proiekzioa egingo. 

Momentu hori ailegatu arte, eta itxaropen arrotzak betetzen ez ditudan bitartean, ezegona eta dezepzioa soilik sor ditzaket. Lagunekin tragoren bat edo bi hartzea, libururen bat edo bi irakurtzea, famiarekin ahal denean egotea, abestiren bat edo bi abestea da daukadana bien bitartean.

even you, london, enter center

time of 'firsts'

first day in tokyo after 6 months and subsequently:

• first visit to the city office
• first insurance card
• first onigiri
• first coffee from a vending machine
• first すみません and ありがとう 
• first amusing japanglish (see pic)
• tonight first アルプス and first japanese beer and many more firsts to come 

united colors of torture

I found this picture from long ago today. Putting it on here or not, I gave it much a thought. Basqueland's street walls appeared covered with images of Unai Romano's face one morning back then, and so they remained for many months, but I had the feeling nothing happened on anyone's minds, that people weren't moved by it, as if we Basques were immune to such things because they happen all the time, as if it were just another commercial campaign pretending to be shocking. So I pasted the logo of a company very well known for that kind of campaigns on the picture.

 

"Unai Romano was arrested in September 1999, and alleged that while he was held in the Civil Guard headquarters he was subjected to electric shocks to his ear-lobes and his testicles.

According to the conclusions in the forensic report, the injuries sustained by Romano "are multiple low-intensity blows to various parts of the head and cannot be justified by a single traumatism, which would have had to be extremely intense". Therefore, a Legal and Forensic Medicine expert ratifies Unai's version of events, whereby he told how he had suffered repeated blows to his head, with varying intensity and from behind.

This medical explanation and the latter statement to the court in order to ratify the contents of his report says: "it is highly unlikely that a voluntary frontal traumatism against a smooth wall, with no soft materials in between may produce a generalised oedema of the whole neurocraneum". The report concludes that "the blows sustained by Unai Romano were dealt from behind, on the sides and upper part of the skull and not on the frontal region".

Copy&pasted from amesty.org (before and after pictures too)