What is everyone else in the world up to? I am not well enough to leave the house yet.

After seeing everyone at Le Bain for the Jeremy Scott after party, we cabbed it down to Acme, and then to Le Baron. Djuna and I only lasted until 3:30 in the morning, and decided it was time to retreat back to the W Hotel in Union Square for an order of room service and some very unhealthy snacks from CVS pharmacy. Jake showed up at our hotel room around four, drunk as a skunk with a semi-swollen ankle from a sliding van door. We ordered blueberry pancakes, steak and fries, and calamari.

I played music on my phone. Jake glanced up at me with his beady rodent like eyes, “Is this…music from the animated Hobbit soundtrack?”

It was.

“I have it on vinyl.”

Awkward smiles all around. We talked about some of our favorite RPGs, Chrono Trigger, Final Fantasy, the best of the usual. I told him that he looked like Nicodemus from The Secret of Nimh. He pushed me off the bed after smashing me in the face with a pillow, then very kindly offered me his hand to pull me back up. I countered with a fake hug that dragged him down with me onto the floor, and we kind of rolled around hitting each other for a little while while Djuna took some pictures. We all fell asleep in the rather large bed, curtains heavily drawn until well after the sun had come up. I haven’t slept alone for over a week now and am looking forward to a night by myself, which may not be tonight, but surely soon.

Thanks for all the comments from my new readers. Xxxx

I’m quite tired from the seemingly constant boozieness and taxi cabs, it feels like I have been forever pushing through a crowd and spilling droplets of whiskey on my hand. I’m running out of new outfits to wear and I have a couple of pimples growing thanks to the ill treatment of my daily skincare regimen. But hey, it’s just a couple more nights and then it’ll be back to the old bump and grind. Burritos, sleeping in, and Roebling Tea Room with my lovely quiet friends.

The other night it did snow, it looked like out of a movie. In an hour or two the ground was thick and white and untouched. James and I listened to Erasure- Always for the 30th time and headed to Yoyogi park to take some pictures.

I entered my life stage of rebellion much too late, twenty-five. It feels incredibly apparent like a glaring pimple on my forehead. She is not a grown up. She is still chasing an ideal. 

It’s sometimes hard to share my reality with the rest of the world. But so much of the world is made of ill-truths. We worship false idols, and we prod at them with our long pointy sticks to see if they are human. People look for the bad. People want the shitty honest truth and I want to give it to them.

On the phone with my mom I talk about Alex. No he hasn’t emailed me, no I haven’t emailed him, no he never said goodbye. I sigh a lot, it doesn’t really matter. I remember last  year, and the year before that. The imprint and nostalgia alone is enough to survive on. A fulfilling meal, mashed potatoes and a draft beer. That’s how I remember them. The wind on my face at the beach on a cold day, the touch of icy hands under my sweater. That memory tastes like an avocado roll and hot edamame with sea salt. I’m storing all these memories in the fridge, for the times when I feel empty.

It’s almost a relief, to know that every moment is completely worthless. It’s there, it’s gone, it’s yesterday’s news. I’m sitting on the heated floor under a blanket right now, but now doesn’t really exist. Now was last year, now was three days ago eating indian food, now was last night sitting absolutely still in a tub of hot water. Let’s plan for tomorrow, let’s plan our future past. I just hope there are tacos.

Sweet Baby Mary

Baby Mary of the boutique Faline Tokyo

Do you see Fujisan in the distance?

Harcoza boutique with Maisassygirl

After I spent the morning with Baby Mary and had a lunch date with Mai (Maisassygirl) I went to an opening in Harajuku for the company properly titled Swagger. It was a sausage fest, 40 guys to maybe 4 girls, and so it was inevitable that I ran into party blogger’s Dan Bailey and Joe of Tokyo Dandy.

“Oh yeah, I saw that you were back. Less than a week and you’re already flashin’ your tits on your blog!”

I laughed. I think it made me like him more than I used to.

“I need your help,” I said, “Which of these guys is straight, and which are gay?  They all look gay to me.”

And that they do, Japanese men. There in their sequin jacket glory, their bleached eyebrows, trendy platform shoes and spiked leather. A far cry from Brooklyn and the seemingly natural slobs who roll out of bed and throw on a bloody t-shirt and dirt incrusted pants (while still maintaining an air of mysterious attraction.) I couldn’t be sure if Dan was comfortable with my request. But I pointed out two men that I was interested in anyway.

“The one in the glasses, with the fur vest, and the one beside him in the leather pants.” (Later I realized they were both wearing leather pants.)

“Sadly they are probably all straight Sasha, but you’ll never find out because they’ll be too shy to talk to you!” Said Dan, or something to that extent. And before I knew it he and Joe had Poof’ed away like little magic faeries who were sitting on my shoulder.

The two men turned out to be brothers, Tatsuya and Ryo Okamoto, vintage eyewear collectors with their own store Solakzade. Which one is cuter? Hard to say. The first, in the hat, spoke English. Subsequently he was hilarious, and in broken words he made me laugh for hours at a party where I knew nearly no one. His brother, in the fur vest, was a bit more shy. I bounced back and forth between both of them, knowing that at the end of the day they’d return to Osaka where they’d remain mere fragments of my memory.

And still, my yellow-fever sickness grows stronger every day.

Last night I saw a short-haired cat in Asagaya, an old friend. Her clothes were loose fitting and I could not see the outline of her breasts. I assume they are small perky breasts with average size nipples. I wonder if she adheres to the traditional Japanese style of pubic hair maintenance, which is– none at all, or the popular American trend of various dispositions of hair removal. If I were a lesbian I would think about these things, I guess. But my little sister is a lesbian and that is enough for one family. It is normal to meet someone and think about their pubic hair, is it not?

I feel like I am really going through something right now, something really good. I feel desperately lonely and lost, absolutely unsure of my future. I spent all of this day wondering why I even have a blog and what great purpose will it serve in my life. In New York it is easy to remain stupid, not to think of the rest of the world, not to think about what the essence of what life should be. I am happy to be here in destitute confusion if only for the sudden jolt of reality and the subtle questioning that has been long coming.