I wonder, has the short form of Instagram and its very public nature affect how people think? This is rhetorical. I think that the short form of Instagram and all these other things have affected how people think. I think its made them more diffuse and hive-minded. I also think if you're used to it, its no worse than how we used to operate.
My ex-girlfriend, who I wrote extensively on blogs, passed away at 33. I wrote so much about her. I don't know how it happened and I found out about it on facebook and for a day or a few days, I was tangibly affected. Now though, I don't know. I think its swimming underneath the surface. I remember the tiger in Koreatown and holding her there and that gritty pizza place. I remember funland arcade and playing bust-a-move for naughty favors. I bought her a rose. We drank tequila and the bill was about a hundred bucks and how we made out afterward drunk on the street and we were caught by Kay, this girl i knew through a friend.
Its now mythology to me, marinated so deeply in emotion that its not honest to be factual about it. It all seems so romantic and young and dreamy and innocent. I was absolutely nuts about her. I cried when I knew I had fallen in love with her. Times with her brothers, that time on new year's even when I listened to baby blue on the way to her apartment, the feeling of life opening up. I will never look down on the worlds of young people. I was 19 at the time. That was 15 years ago. I'm losing hair but I look similar. But it was another time, one that is precious and deep within me. So awkward but passionate. What else? The food she made. Curry udon and korokke. The colours of her house, the poutine we got by her place, I think the owners were Filipino. Empty time. CVS2 and Third Strike. I wish she didn't die. I'm not quite sure how to feel about all of it. All I can do is pray. I felt more at home there than I did in my own home. Her brothers were like my brothers. Let go by m flo. Mini discs. newness and an open open future. Ichigo ichie wabisabi mononoaware. Miso soup for my dad. Pictures on my clunky flip phone that I cherished. Cavalclade of lights. This is how I feel about you. Long nights playing games, long happy nights. Lotion and blankets. The end. That is also precious now. Us in the stars. L'arc and 90s Japan, forever love, beach boys and love generation. The door to her house. Pictures I took and disposable film cameras. Waiting at booster juice. Physics at the same time. The loneliness aftward. More about me, less about her now, but I want to foc us on her. The collection of bags and her kanji poster. Penguins and chili willi. March of the Penguins. Being with me forever. Dragonquest and slimes. Trying to get closer and closer. My tasteless kimchi fried rice. Farting. She was funny. Connie. Mou hitori de aruikenai, toki no kaze ga tsuyosugite.
We shared our love and longing to be Japanese and be there where we should be and together we were a bit closer. Being with you made me more Japanese and Japan became you. But you are you and that is more important always. I want to write more about her because the blurry memories in my mind get blurrier with time. And they are of so little consequence to others but to me they are precious. To her, at least at the time, were precious too. She had her own life in the 19 years before I met her and the 13 years afterward and most of that is forever unknown to me. Darren's room when she texted me. Andy. The arcade. Oranges at night. All night and turtle. Filling out the painful voids within myself. Happiness.
I don't know. It took so long to fill that hole within myself. Maybe I took the breakup so hard because of my childhood. I don't know, it probably mattered. Later, maybe many years later, I will talk to her little brother, the youngest one. And I'd like to buy him a good beer or shochu and food, and talk to him. When the pain lessens and we can both talk. The pain must be unbearable. The profundity of it is as deep as the ocean.
I did love her and I knew I would always love her. Once you love someone, it sort of stays around inside of you.
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I'm reading Gurdjieff. Its good and I think its at least better than playing Starcraft 2. So is blogging. This is also better than playing Starcraft 2. Despite Instagram and the chaos of the world and social media connections, we all still die and as of now, the facts of life seem the same as they have always been for the most part. At least the core seems rather unchanged. And maybe this is why it feels good to read old books like they were new friends.
I'm going to finish my wine. Probably no chips for tonight. Smoke a j then hope to pass out.
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Where are you chipea? Where are those champion socks that I saw a decade ago? The comments were a small part of my life but deep enough and comforting and had warmth and hope and newness and freshsness. I hope you are well too.
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