lunch thoughts

the indifference of the mind is the mutiny of the soul
simmering and festering in the depths of depravity
entangled in phastasms
dripping lethargy and lounging around in pursuit of a lazy logos
a terminal sufferer of brain sloth

brainrhythms and unconscious octaves of the mind welling and steaming in their own volatile juices
adding various ingredients of life's existential cuisine
careful and thorough like an entrance exam to a university that most never pass
stir the pot slowly lest the mixture spoil or explode or worse

but if it all goes right, it might congeal into something more substantial
focussed points of thought flick out like a serpent's tongue
incessant but not rambling
carefully chosen with the most precise ballistics

seek ye out something that surpasses superfluousness

saccharine superlative

unbelievably unbelievable

Today, I discovered that Stephen Spielberg's classic E.T.-The Extra Terrestrial is an integral part of standard Japanese junior high school curriculum...naturally, it's important for the kids to learn about spaceships and aliens and stuff (not to mention Hollywood blockbuster movies), and I had the privilege of helping them understand the basic storyline, albeit without knowing what it was really about. E.T. was described as a cute little alien, who we all know in reality as a squat, dumpy sharpei-esque little squashy guy, but this sort of description is well beyond the current capabilities of the students. Besides, if it's not cute, it won't sell in Japan.
Of course, this did not stop them from reminding me that E.T. in fact stands for English Teacher, not extra terrestrial (the two are interchangeable here in the Land of the Rising Sun)

the students also doodle and write all kinds of random English all over the covers of their English notebooks...today I discovered entire choruses from such educational heroes as Dr. Dre and N.W.A., along with big block letters "Compton" (spelled incorrectly), and all sorts of other similar things...my students are badass man...

but the winner goes to a student who shall remain nameless who thought it quite prudent to write in big bold letters surrounded by yellow highliter, "Do you like KKK?"
He explained to me that it meant "ku kurucksu kuranu" (Ku Klux Klan), but couldn't elaborate on how he knew this or why he was apparently researching such things in his free time

never a dull moment...

educational exploits

The English that my students use rivals even the verbal wreckage and linguistic pot pourri of George W. Bush:

Exhibit A

"I like to draw a picture because draw a picture is interestified."

Ah, good work.


Exhibit B:

Sensei: "How are you?"
Student: "uuuuhh...I'm hype-a soup-a gu-ray-toe"
(hyper super great)

hehehehhe, A+. AT LEAST.


Exhibit C:

Sensei: "Do you like English?"
Student: "uhhh, yes."
Sensei: "Why?"
Student: "...because..........English....is English."

Simply stunning.

puke.

Lunch today consisted of large chunks of squid complimented by a bowl of slime. Typical Japanese lunch fare. Vile.

Wheeeeee!

Regrettably, I am currently without camera (on account of a certain Korean-based blonde-haired floozie who shall remain nameless, Jessica).
Heh, actually I just left the power cord in Korea because because I'm retarded.

But it is thus that the madness of Tokyo Fetish parties cannot as of yet be documented pictorially (read: sufficiently). Needless to say, it was quite the spectacle, although besides the blood-spitting, cutting, unclothed women strung to the ceiling with ropes, and general underworld feeling of being surrounded by monstrous, violent perverts, it was a pretty tame evening.
Fabulously evil music emanated from strategically-placed speakers while strategically-placed beautiful, diabolical women armed with whips wailed away with strategic violence on fat, hooded Japanese slaves.
The event decayed into even more sordid states of affair as the night wore on...

Event: another Saturday night in bowels of Tokyo
Description: feral
Analysis: repeatable
Rating (Out of 10): 9
Emerged around 6.
Alive.
Good.
Made it home by 11.
Still alive.
Still good.

My carcass gave up as it passed through my door, yielding a horrendously vile length of sleep and an even more horrendously vile lack of memory, as upon waking, a painful round of cleaning the apartment ensued...to be quite precise, something happened, presumably as I slept, that had the effect of causing my once glorious palace to resemble Len's sadly dissheveled hobbit-hole cum refuse disposal unit. Filled with shame and remorse I went out and spent my few remaining yen bowling. As I smashed pin after pin with athletic vigour (and while being accosted by horrendous Japanese pop music at a horrendous volume), I vowed never again to let my Japanese home degrade into a pit of doom resembling Len's horrible hovel in Korea......................Thus spake Zarathustra.