November thoughts, Novels old and new

There is a clear-sky anomaly lingering over Edinburgh today; draping itself about the trees with mischievous innocence and a grin, as if to say "what? I've been here all month, haven't you noticed?"
So I'm thinking of a particular poem which haunts my own work today-

"The Region November"

It is hard to hear the north wind again,
And to watch the treetops, as they sway.

They sway, deeply and loudly, in an effort,
So much less than feeling, so much less than speech,

Saying and saying, the way things say
On the level of that which is not yet knowledge:

A revelation not yet intended.
It is like a critic of God, the world

And human nature, pensively seated
On the waste throne of his own wilderness.

Deeplier, deeplier, loudlier, loudlier,
The trees are swaying, swaying, swaying.

--Wallace Stevens


Also, I just finished reading Speaker for the Dead (I read Ender's Game many many years ago) and am wondering why it took me so many years to pick it up! So today tastes of November trees and half-light.

Tam Lin, New Poetry

So I'm working on a new research paper centred around the Scots ballad "Tam Lin"; something which I've been interested in doing for quite a while now. Feminism in old ballads, light the way! I'm working through some articles by Martha Hixon and Charles Butler, but there doesn't seem to have been much work done in regards to the comparison of elements between the different actual versions of the ballad. I'm hoping that I can at least bring some small insights into the piece through looking at all eleven versions side by side.

Otherwise, here is a new poem.

The Texas Dreamer Blues

The harp notes coaxed from my
stringy heart,
my little ukulele heart

have tall tells they
long to tell
to tubas and horns and
great golden bells.

I woolgather all day long
with a spindle that drops
and swirls
glittering golden threads
from the straw-strings that my thoughts
have scratched and shed.

I rustle them up,
like grub, like cornbread,
cover them with honey and pour the wine,
and wait for my home-coming
honey and
listen down the tracks
for my home to come
to come home whistling
to this little tune of mine.

Two Goofy Poems for a Goofy Super-Friend

I told you I would do this, and now you are about to see the fantastically absurd results...

A Poem for Ever-Transcending Emily

Where
are you?
(I ask, from the other side
of the low wall of the kitchen)

I can hear you but
I can’t see you.
(I peer over the low wall,
but see no one standing on the other side,
then—)

comes, a reply—

I’ve transcended my body.

Actually, I left my body
in the bathtub

and am now omnipresent—

I mean, I’m sitting on the kitchen floor.



For all of Those With a Condition With a Strange Name Pertaining to the Inability to Smell

I know!
A flash of inspiration, clear
like the smell of coffee (inappropriate metaphor, sorry)

I will bring you flowers,
fennel and rue,
I will bring you things
that taste like they smell.

A look of confusion
I catch a whiff of the raincloud
that passes over your brow (what does taste like a raincloud?)

And then a grateful smile-
I see how you appreciate this
kind gesture, born of an inspired mind,
and you answer, sweetly—

“You really need to smell my pants-
here, have a bite of this bagel.”

Improvements, Changes, a Few Poems, the Mamas and the Papas

Well, I'm pulling this poor neglected journal out of the cupboard, dusting it off, and imbuing it with new soul and sense of purpose. It is now a creative space. Please, leave comments, share creativeness or quotes or stories in response to these posts (or just randomly). Here is some work that I haven't had much chance to share, because it came about in that weird interim between my portfolio and the work I've done while in this magical Scottish city. I'm leaving out some of my pieces from Japan, because they're too springy and will have to wait for a more appropriate season (such as spring).



Ca ra mel corn coffee

I unfold my legs,
                                                 out
and let the sun toast me,
honey in my coffee
liquid, golden, the sun so
warmly
               stops to say hello.

(Chicago, May '09)

And one for the season we are passing into...

The Shore of December Night

I might think of how barely
I know you-
word after word stumbles
forth from you
as if nothing could
stave off what is to come.

The bed creaks a little
as I shift my weight,
next to you, knees
propping up my chin,
I rock in the slight
swells of blankets and
building sobs, riding them out.

Your eyes never leave the floor-
you are transfixed,
pinned and struggling by the invisible,
helpless in its arms.
I can hear when you are near
the breaking-
the tightness of your voice
stretched almost to snapping,
I wait for the lurch of the mattress
and the cracking and the flash and
salt water torrents
to sweep us into unknown and
turbulent waters.

But when it crumbles
I am dragged down by the
pull and weight of the undertow—
I am afraid of you;
raw and cold
but I have no control,
I am touching your
face; hot, shaking,
jittering, explosive
I am looking for your tender places.

I see my own face,
wide and white and blank,
reflected against
the blackness in your eyes—
my eyes huge and drinking
up all the dark with the light.
I gather you,
piece by piece,
one coiling seizing
sinew after another,
I gather you,
rattling knees,
fevered skin,
I gather you;
ferocious,
but still I pull you in—
the marrow cage of
a thousand nightmares I
cannot cradle.

Breath in, out,
rasp of steady surf over the
sloped sand;
breathe in the sea,
out the sea.
I breathe while you weep,
a small boy in the
arms of a stranger.

There is so much violence
in you—
part of me recoils,
my stomach clenches and
wants to reject,
but my arms are steely and
will not uncurl and I
can feel your wild heart
and my steady throbbing one
warring with each other,
and I don’t want to let go—
so we ride it out,

and I wish I didn’t love
impossible things so,
and I wish you
weren’t afraid of me,
and eventually the tears
slow and the
seconds between the flash
and the rumbling groan
grow,

and the stillness settles upon us—
you take a deep, wet, swallowing breath
and get up to light
another cigarette,
while I lay
stranded on the shore,
emptied and gently
rocking myself.

(Tokyo, December '08)

Picture update to go with the last post!

Dangerous monkey!
Natasha gets followed by a monkey with a red butt (who are notoriously dangerous).

The unbelievably beautiful family who owned the place I stayed in Rishikesh.

The goat is having an afternoon snack.

One of the old temples at Mahabalipuram.

Me and Miyako at the beach in Pondi.

An old abandoned (I think) castle on the way to Tiruvannamalai.

Arunachula.

The forests around Arunachula. There were even blooming prickly pears, it looked so much like Texas!

Tiruvannamalai temple.

Traditional south Indian lunch!

A terrible photo of these violinists who played the most beautiful carnatic music, in Tiruvannamalai.

Journeys in the South (from Delhi to Tiruvannamalai, and a note to Nat and Andrew)

I will break this into two updates, because it would be rather unwieldy and probably pretty boring all as one. So to catch everyone up, I had an interesting journey south to Chennai after leaving Rishikesh and Delhi. I took AC sleeper class, which has coves off of the main walkway with three tier bunks on each side of the walls. Unfortunately, I had the bottom bunk, which also serves as a seat during the day, which means that when everyone else wants to wake up in the morning, I have to get up too so they can sit on it. Also, it is impossible to sit all the way up during the night, because the middle bunk is folded down and you will smack your head on it. So about 30 minutes into the train ride, I make friends with these navy guys on their way home from a break, and manage to get into a political argument with one of them. Fortunately, this didn't make the whole train ride miserable (although I thought it might for a while), and that same guy ended up being terrifically nice and waiting with me for my friend when I arrived in Chennai. After 36 hours on the train, I arrived at 7am in Chennai Central Station to discover that... Miyako wasn't there to meet me. The nice navy guy, Nitin, lent me his cell to call her- after calling her 80 times and not getting through, I called her dad. At this point he starts yelling for her and I realise that yes, she's actually still asleep. She lept out of bed and came to pick me up- all the time Nitin waited for me to make sure I'd be okay.

I spent about 4 days in Chennai, bumming around with Miyako- we went out to eat, went to beachside restaurants, went to a club at a nice hotel, went shopping for suits, rented movies, and took a day trip to Pondicherry and Auroville. One day I took a day trip by myself (which for some reason, I was totally terrified to do) to Mahabalipuram. The bus trip there was weird; it was two hours and my first time on a bus in India, and this jerk kept trying to put his hand on my leg and pass it off as just being because the seats were cramped. Mahabalipuram was beautiful- I drifted about and took some photos, did some hiking, had lunch, sat on the beach and wrote, and after I got my skirt covered in sand and seawater (I couldn't help playing in the ocean a bit) bought a cute pair of pants that I know mom will want to steal from me.

A note to Andrew: I started writing a letter to you here, because it was on one of your recommendations that I decided to go. I had been getting bored in Chennai and remembered you mentioning this place, so I decided to run off there for the day. I will probably never send you this letter, its a bit wrinkled from sea water and completely rambly. But I was thinking about you all day! And by the way, your assertion about Chennai being the armpit of India- I have a better idea of the meaning now.

And Nat- I ran into a CSer in Pondi who apparently had stayed with you in Belfast right before you came to see me in Tokyo! His name is Dima. Weird, no?! Small freaking world, I love CS!

From Chennai I decided to head off to Tiruvannamalai for a few days. Without any plan I took a bus there, for 5 hours, and then upon arrival realised I had no money. So after an hour of searching for an atm in the heat of the day, I got some money and then for lack of any better plan, asked an auto to take me to Ramana Maharshi's ashram, the only place I knew of in Tiruvannamalai. It was getting late on in the day, so when I got to the ashram I just started stopping people and asking them if they knew of any decent places to stay. Eventually a sweet woman pointed me to a local German bakery and a few guesthouses nearby. So I got a room for 3 dollars a night above a local shop, and went and had some dinner at the bakery. It was at this bakery that the next amazing thing happened- I met a girl from Tokyo named Aya, who lives quite close to me and actually knows where my house is. So I spent the next two days with her- going to puja and bhajans at Ramana's ashram, eating, talking, going to a performance of carnatic music by two incredible violinists, doing the 14 kilometre pilgrimage around Arunachula in the heat of the day, eating wonderful real south Indian food at a local restaurant with two tables and flies everywhere served by these lovely women who thought it was hysterical that foreign girls were eating there, and did a pilgrimage up to Ramana's cave barefoot. It was beautiful, it was the first real spiritual step of my journey in India. The walks around the mountain and up to the cave were powerful- it is a place that is supposed to elicit accountance for previously carried karma; many people have accidents or strong experiences in this area as the mountain removes the built up karma in all at once. This place is not entirely a restful one; every day it evokes new turmoil and uncertainty in you, and through a day of meditation and contemplation you begin to center yourself, only to find that it starts all over again the next morning. However, there are places of profound peace to be found here; places where contemplation can be done and there is a sort of temporary cessation from the weight of the world- the meditation hall in Ramana's ashram, the cave with its little garden where Ramana stayed in the mountain, random moments of music and puja and eating food from a banana leaf in the heat of the day. This place reminds me somehow of two wonderful teachers I used to have- one would always set my mind in turmoil, thinking and studying and struggling to understand, only to understand wholly the shallowness of my understanding. This teacher also brought my emotions to the surface just with their presence, and I always left feeling like my perception had been rocked but also stretched- I grew immensely from this interaction. Then there was my other mentor, who I would go to after periods of confusion and unrest, in whose presence I always became calm and clear-sighted, and who expanded my awareness and ability to grasp concepts but in a slow, level way. This is what Tiruvannamalai was to me; this is why I think I will need to find my way back there at some point or another, because this brief experience I feel is not yet complete.

Yes, I am alive-

and very hungry so this will be a short post. To catch you all up briefly, after the whole leaping off the train thing, I took a 36 hour train ride to get to Chennai, where Miyako forgot to wake up and get me so I had to call her dad, who then woke her up. I hung out in Chennai until today; went out with Miyako some, went to Mahabalipuram by myself (that's a story in itself), went briefly out to Pondicherry and Auroville (very very briefly, just for an afternoon), and explored generally. Today I took a 5 hour bus from Chennai to Tiruvannamalai, with no plans, but managed to find Ramana Maharshi's ashram and a random room not too far away (we'll see how that works out) and a bakery that I am getting ready to go visit because I'm super hungry. Look for a more thorough update with photos in the next day or two, when I am fed and not so exausted. Cheerios my friends!

The full story...

Okay okay, I will now elaborate on the "jumping off a moving train" story a bit, for all those who were curious/worried/disbelieving/thinking I really am an idiot. So Paula and I decided to take the night train back from Rishikesh to Delhi, because I had to catch another evening train the next day, and wanted to be sure I would have time to run some errands in Delhi before I had to take my two day train to Chennai in south India. So we went to the station a bit early, by fluke of the bus that took us to Haridwar was empty and moved a lot quicker than we had anticipated. We went to the platforms and found the one that had our train number flashing on the screen over it, and hunkered down amongst the crowd to wait a half an hour for our train to arrive. After about 10 minutes, a train pulls up and we check the screen to see if it is ours, and it seems to be, and Paula said that sometimes they do arrive early and in that case, also depart early. So of course, we start frantically searching for our car number (both of them- we were in different sleeper cars), and fail to find mine but we find Paula's- and at this moment, the train starts to move. We scramble to climb onto the rolling train, bags in tow, and manage to tumble into the car in a jumble of limbs and luggage. After dusting ourselves off, we begin to search for Paula's bunk, with the plan that I'll just sit with her until the conductor comes to check our tickets, and can inquire to him about my bunk. After a few minutes of walking the gauntlet of stairs, rows of people on either side wrapped in blankets peering over bunks and hanging on railings, we find her bunk number. There is a man asleep in it. Okay, we think, he probably just passed out there and we'll have to use a different bunk. So we politely turn to some of the curious onlookers and double check that we have the right bunk number. The right car number. The...wrong train. Well, at this point, both of us are beginning to feel the slightest inklings of panic trickle to our stomachs. Does this train go towards Delhi at all? No, it goes the opposite direction, further north. Oh. Frantically trying to force our brains into action, we move to the end of the car, and then out into the area between the cars. Staring out the open door. Paula looks back at me and says "Do you think we should jump?" I say I suppose so; we have to get off the train and I don't want to be stuck in a random town all night waiting for the next one, and possibly miss my rather expensive train to Chennai the next day. We look at the ground, which doesn't seem to be passing by at great speed yet, and is still concrete at this point; not yet gravel or grass. Some of the people from the train have followed us out to the door, and are looking back and forth at us and the increasingly rapidly passing scenery; they start shaking their heads and repeating one word, not very anxiously- no no no no. Paula glances at me, hesitates for one instant, then leans out the door and as she disappears I hear "I'm going to juuuuuuuump..." thunk! I still have her heavy rolly suitcase in my hand, as well as my own backpack, so I put the suitcase in front of me, look at the ground, and then thrust the bag out in front of me into the passing air, my body following, refusing to let go of that damned bag, with an "I'm coming toooooooooooooooo...!" thunk. Skidrollscrapcrash. I tried to hit the ground running, but we were actually moving so fast that my feet were gone before I knew what had happened, and my head was what was connecting me to the ground, then my shoulder, then my nose and then the rest of my leg and hip. When I'm able to actually comprehend what is going on, I look over at Paula, who is in pretty much the same state as me; a battered crumpled heap. We look over to see a few people towards the station staring at us, and then to our other side, where we see we had missed the end of the platform (a bunch of poles and a wicked looking fence-aka, death) by a few metres. We look back at each other, barely able to understand what has happened, knocked silly by our fall, and begin guffawing so hard that we are completely helpless in our laughter for a good five minutes. Still giggling, we begin to pick ourselves up and assess the damage. Wheely suitcase slightly battered and broken. Bag of bananas liquified. Laptop still in one piece, amazingly. Bleeding nose, huge lump on head, Paula has a bruised and swollen wrist that looks like it might be fractured (but turned out just to be badly banged up), my leg is scraped and bleeding, and I can't move my right arm. Not too bad for leaping from a rapidly moving train, all in all.
In the end, we did catch our train to Delhi, spent an extremely uncomfortable cold stiff dirty night in sleeper class, with a bunch of hilarious guys who taught us silly card games and Paula dubbed "the master of cheating" and "the master of laziness", etc. I had wonderful spicy Indian breakfast with Paula, her friend, and her friend's family, then bummed around with my friend Kamal in Delhi and finally ran off to catch my train to Chennai. After a two day, rather uneventful and surprisingly comfortable train ride, I am now in Chennai with Miyako, in her beautiful house (which has an extra room nudge nudge wink wink might be coming back to live in India for a bit) going to the beach to help decorate her mum's beach house today, and Pondicherry together later this week. Everything else is still up in the air, coruscating delightfully there.

Not much to say except-

yesterday, in India, I jumped from a moving train.

trains autos and sadhus oh my!

So, two days ago I arrived in a lovely place called Rishikesh, where the Beatles hung out and were groovy and where the dust and smoke of the air is mingled sweet with spice. I met some terrifically interesting people; a crazy Indian writer better known as "the black goddess of Laxmanjula", a Dutch guy who plays Persian instruments beautifully, my friend Paula, of course, and various other characters in passing. This town in the mountains is quite touristy, with a lot of false spiritualism and lost people, but there is no denying the sense of peace tinging the very air. The moon is full tonight, and there will probably be some kind of celebration. Last night I walked in the light of the nearly full moon, down windy dirt roads in the mountains and listened to the chuckling of the tiny streams feeding our mother Ganga. The Ganges runs strong and green (and more than a little dirty, upon closer inspection) through this place, and I feel very close to the heart of things because of her presence. This trip is already proving to be vivid, stimulating, and confusing all at once. I am very happy. I also was sick with a fever all day yesterday, and my tummy is complaing very badly today, but I am till happy, and it will pass. It is just my body unloading and shivering out of many old unnecessary chemicals and energy and adjusting to what India surrounds it with. And the owner of my guesthouse looks like the Indian George Clooney, and is the most hearbreakingly kind person, and I am in love with him.

My first shower in India. That bucket, I mean.

My first view of mother Ganga from Laxmanjula, Rishikesh.

Ramjula at sunset

Natasha and crazy Mira with her guitar, at Mira's house.

Streets of Rishikesh

Paula shopping

New Delhi!

Well, after a relatively smooth, empty plane ride where I was able to stretch out over two seats to myself, and even get some sleep, I have arrived in this tremendous, smoggy city! Kamal from CS came to the airport to get me, and we took an hour and a half cab ride through the craziest streets I've ever experienced, to this apartment in the north part of the city that his friend and him have for couchsurfers. Its a beatiful, dirty old apartment with stone floors and only occasional running water and a toilet the won't flush so you have to dump water from a bucket into it. Another couchsurfer was there when we arrived, a Aussie Sri Lankan girl named Natasha, who i hit it off with right away. Within ten minutes we had decided to go to Rishikesh together the next day. So after an evening of chatting and drinking indian beer with Kamal and his friend Santa (yeah yeah, I know) me and Natasha crashed on blankets on the floor. So here we are, our first real day in india- we made it to an internet cafe and we are about to go get tickets and try to get to Rishikesh today with my friend Paula. So now you guys know, i have arrived, i am alive, and i'm about to go have some hella adventures!

India Shupatsu~

Okay, well, here goes- I leave for my five weeks of adventure in India tomorrow! I'm flying in to Delhi, where I'll be couchsurfing the night and then heading to Rishikesh to meet Paula the next day. I'm not sure how long I'll be there or what the exact plan is after that, but here is a run down of the places I'd like to make it to, spirit of India permitting:
Chennai (to see Miyako)
Kanchipuram
Kodaikanal
Tiruvannamalai (Ramana Maharshi's ashram!)
Coimbatore (Madhubai and Arsha Vidya Gurukulam)
Mumbai (Shivani!!)
And if time permits at all, I'd like to go to Varanasi.

I'm shining up those travelin' shoes (and getting on my wanderin' blues)!

Rest of Hitchhiking

Okay, I'm going to be bad and condense the rest of the trip into one entry, so I can get ready for (bah bah buuuuum) my India trip! For a more detailed version of hitchhiking events, please check out the blog of my partner in crime http://drunkensparrow.blogspot.com/

So, the day after Christmas, the second day in Hiroshima, we took the ferry out to Miyajima, where we were nibbled (or full on bitten) by deer who were perfectly comfortable wandering the little streets of the town. We ate yakidango (which the deer also tried to nibble), walked out to the huge tori since the tide was out, left our mark on the beach,and then decided to wander up to the big temple on the mountain, Daishoin. Yuriko rang the bell upon arrival (I rang it to note our departure) and we went in, only to find out that Daishoin is Kukai's temple! After studying Kukai's texts so intently last semester, I felt a sort of fate about coming to this particular temple. I bought and lit a candle for a blessing, and then we decided to try and hike to the top of the mountain, where the flame that was used to light the flame of peace in the atomic bomb memorial has been burning since Kukai's death (over 1000 years). We failed to make it though, as it was getting too dark and we didn't have any lights with us; primordial forests are not a good place to be stuck in the dark. We learned a similar lesson the first time I climbed Mt. Fuji. There was a magical moment where we ran breathless and laughing through the streets of the old fashioned town, toward the shore, right at dusk as all the little street lanterns began to light up, and felt like we were in Sen to Chihiro no Kamikakushi (and being Spirited Away). The tide came back in and we were able to see the giant tori all lit up in the ocean, and play on the beach until we almost got stuck because of the tide. We then meandered back to Hiroshima, where we filled in the missing two of the three "M's" that you have to experience in Hiroshima. The first was the pub where we played on Christmas, Molly Malones, the second is "Micchan" the freaking most wonderful okonomiyaki restaurant ever, with Hiroshima style okonomiyaki (I can never go back to what I thought was okonomiyaki before, Tokyo just can't measure up). The third is a absolutely groovy bar called "Mac" where we graffitied our mark (the mark of the Sparrows) in the bathroom and took a photo with some of the staff who were friends with Paul, and drank whiskey while listening to Buffalo Springfield.

The next day (day 5) we had a bit of a disaster starting off, taking the wrong train out to where we were supposed to meet Paul, who was going to drive us to the nearest service area to start hitching. Anyway, long story short, Paul couldn't take us and his really lovely friend Chris dropped us off at the entrance ramp to the highway instead. We caught a ride within 5 minutes, with the creepiest dude to day. He shall henceforth be known as "toothless trucker guy". Thankfully, we only had to bear 30 minutes with him before we were dropped off at a service area, and poor Yuriko bore the brunt of his ickyness, being that I couldn't understand his thick Kyushuu accent at all.

Anyway, after a few rides,

(the only white person who picked us up)

we made it back to Kyoto, where we had deliriously delicious soba and then went to a local onsen, where we tried baths with electric currents (yikes) and violently purple blueberry water. After this entertaining experience we headed to the manga kisa Yuriko's friend recommended and yes, we slept there. Well, there was very little sleeping and much more reading manga and playing on the computers and chatting.

Sleeping not as peacefully as we maybe look.

The next day (day 6), groggy and a little stiff we headed to the nearest service area to begin our difficult freezing and rainy trek to Gifu.

I just loved this dog.

The benefits of weird rainy misty weather.

The weirdest part of this day (besides ending up in a car with a couple on their first date, and then some vehement human rights activists who drew a charicature of me) was when we were driving in cold rainy weather one moment, and then suddenly everything was covered in a few feet of snow. Seriously, it was about a 20 second gap. We drove through the most beautiful dark snow covered mountain range, and then emerged on the other side into warm sunlight. Bizarre. Eventually we got to a place where we could catch some local trains to the place we were supposed to stay the night. We played music on the platform and were generally goofy and ridiculous. It was beautiful.

Small birds cast strange shadows

Well, this all started out fine, until we realised that the guy we were supposed to be couchsurfing with in tiny little Osaka Gifu actually lived in Osaka CITY, and we had no money and no place to stay and the sun was almost down and it was snowing in the middle of the mountains. Small panic. So we frantically start making phone calls, and my roomie sends out an emergency message on courchsurfing to see if there is anyone in the area, and then decide to get of the train in a little onsen town called Gero, where we asked the information office if there were any vacancies in any cheap places. Eventually we found one that was out of our budget but we didn't have much choice, so we went to the atm to withdraw money. In this process we found out we COULDN'T withdraw money, because my card didn't work there (small bank) and Yuriko's wouldn't let her withdraw on Sundays. Shit. About this moment, I notice I have a missed call from a number not in my phone. Thinking it was my other roomie, whose new number I hadn't saved yet, I called it back and was VERY surprised when an unfamiliar voice picked up. It was a couchsurfer who happened to have just checked her mail, live in Gero, and was offering to put us up for the night. And the universe comes through once again. So we spent the night with this lovely girl named Dominique, who made us yakisoba and taught us how to braid black hair and how to whip cream. We doodles on her motorbike helmet, watched (randomly) Kill Bill, and then passed out.

In the morning (Day 7), Dominique dropped us off at a really nice onsen in a very classy hotel (which we sat looking like hobos in the lobby of and very conspicuously made hitchhiking signs to tape to my backpack), and after that we began the looooooong journey of leaving Gero. Please note: Hitchhiking not on the highway in Japan can be rather difficult. Eventually we made it to our last ride, a man with two super cute little daughters whom we provided entertainment to until we got to Kofu, where my wonderful saint of a student was waiting (after spending the day hanging out at Mt. Fuji) to pick us up and take us back to Tokyo. Arrive at my house. Pass out. End of one hell of an adventure.

Collage of all of our benifactors, excluding the beloved pinneaple man.