#i imagine a sort of ken vibe visually

[littlegoblincreature]

just thought of something: what would genderbent goromi look like?

[hellothoughtsaftermidnight]

Alcohol Chronicles

Words: 1,780 Genre: Original, Romance A/n: Unfortunately, this doesn’t have a title yet, and I don’t know if I’ll continue the story, but here’s something like a chapter 1.  I entitled it Alcohol Chronicles because I wrote something long ago that involved alcohol, and this one involves that as well.  So yeah, hope you enjoy. :)

The first time I saw him, it was in an airplane going to Hong Kong.  He sat just across the aisle from me.  I liked looking at people, and imagining what kind of person they are, or what kind of life stories they hold.  And so I looked (stared) at him for a while (a long time).  He had a prominent bone structure- high cheekbones, and a sharp jawline. He wore glasses, and had small earrings on both his ears.  He liked to rest his chin on his knuckles while watching airplane movies or waiting for food.  He pursed his lips together into a pout when he was thinking of things to say, such as food to get in the airplane or how to operate the airplane TV.  For that whole airplane ride, I weaved back and forth from trying not to look, to giving in to the impulse of staring.  

Usually, it was easy to read people, but this one was sort of different.  I thought, maybe he was a cool guy, because he sort of had a bad boy vibe going on. His eyes were brown and heavy lidded- mysterious and piercing.  I say this because our eyes made contact when he caught me staring at him.  He bowed in greeting, and I bowed back with an embarrassed smile.  He returned the smile with a slightly mischievous smirk. A smirk? That confused me because when he tried talking to the flight attendants, he was shy and he moved quite awkwardly. When he conversed with his friends, his smile was like a boy’s- carefree and shy and innocent and (admittedly) adorable. When he laughed, his eyes would vanish and (happy) lines would form around them.  He looked like trouble, but he felt kind of…warm.

–

The second time we met was in Taiwan, around 6 months after Hong Kong.  Coincidentally, we were staying in the same cheap hostel.  I was already in the elevator, mentally reviewing my schedule for the next day when my thoughts were interrupted to him stopping the elevator door from closing.  Our eyes met again, and he gave another playful smirk.  Ahh, that smirk again.  He bowed in greeting to which I bowed back. I don’t think he recognized me, but I knew it was him right away.  He looked different that day.  He wore a well fitted daytime suit which made him look suave and sharp.  He stood tall with a kind of swag and confidence exuding from his lean body.  Then was also when I found out he was Japanese- as I listened to him talking on the phone.  

At that time, I had already finished studying Japanese, among other languages and one of the reasons I was in Taiwan was because I was studying Chinese.  When I saw him again later that day, he had a very confused look on his face and was scratching his head in frustration while trying to talk to someone in both Japanese and English.  I assumed he was lost and I assumed right so I decided to help him then, acting as a translator.  

“Sumimasen. Nihon-jin, desu ka?” he asked if I was Japanese.

“Iie,” I shook my head.  “I only know a little.”

“Ahh, I see. Thank you,” he bowed and I bowed back and said good-bye.

Later that night, the elevator broke down and I was struggling in climbing the stairs and carrying the remainder of my luggage to the room where I was staying.  Incidentally, he was climbing up his room at that time as well and seeing me in such an embarrassing state, he offered to help.

“What floor are you staying in?” he asked

“Ahh, the third.” I answered.

No words were said until we reached the third floor where I thanked him profusely.  To which he responded with,

“I guess we’re even now, huh?” and said goodbye with a wink.

I didn’t know how to respond, so I just stood there.  What a weird guy.

–

It wasn’t until our third encounter that we officially met. It was maybe around a year or two later, in an open party in Phuket, Thailand.  I was so tipsy (drunk) that night that I didn’t even recognize him until the morning after-dealing with a massive hangover and piecing together things that happened the night before.  His friend approached my friend and our groups kind of merged together. He introduced himself as Ken, and he shook my hand and gave a reserved smile.  A few moments later, we were stuck with disgusted faces watching our friends get wild on the dance floor.  And since we both weren’t particularly in the hip grinding, dirty-dancing, making-out mood, he invited me to step out, to which I eagerly agreed to.

Somehow, we ended up at the beach.  It was quiet; he was quiet and I was too busy concentrating on not falling over my steps to even think of words to say.  We walked to the beach side by side but no words were said. He walked with his hands in his pockets, and he tried his best to look towards the direction farthest away from me. The air around us was thick with anticipation of something (well, maybe anything) from one another, but we were both hesitant to speak, uncertain of what to say or how to act.  We would accidentally make eye contact and then glance away immediately-like clumsy teenagers.  It was laughable.  And so we sat by the beach-watching the waves crash on the shore, burying our bare feet on the sand.

“Uhm, do you mind?” he asked, fumbling over a pack of cigarettes.

I smiled and waved my hands and shook my head.  Mmm, he smoked.  I thought to myself.  

And it fell silent again.  This time, I was determined to break the thick air, and I tried to think of things to say.  Say something.  I watched him exhale smoke. Say something.  I looked away before he could catch me looking (yet again). Say anything.  But my mind was too intoxicated and no words appeared no matter how hard I thought.

“Hey, uhm…” he beat me into breaking the silence again. “Sorry,” he laughed.  “I’m kind of bad around new people and I maybe sort of drunk.” He awkwardly confessed. “So, sorry if you’re not…. I mean if it’s…., uh, maybe not enjoyable for you…being with me.” he tried to laugh off his nerves and took another hit on his cigarette.

“No, umm” I had to bite my lips to hide my smile; I didn’t even know what made me smile but there it was.  “It’s okay…..”  The alcohol was slowly taking over my sobriety, and I had to scramble my brain for something to say quickly.  “I like looking at you anyway.”

Just as the words escaped my mouth, we both shot each other surprised looks.  Ahhh, wrong words, shit.  The alcohol had started to betray me.  “No, wait, I mean…” I tried to explain but he was already laughing and waving his hands.

“It’s okay, don’t worry” he laughed.  And I couldn’t help laughing back.

Looks like my stupidity saved the day, I thought as the air around us lightened.  

We must have said more things, and we must have shared more laughs, and we must have exchanged more glances.  But I could only remember pieces of it- like us playing in the water, me trying to learn how to smoke and him laughing at my horrible attempts to do so; him giving me his coat because I was obviously cold, and us playing with each other’s hands.  I hoped I remembered more, but the alcohol robbed me of common sense and thinking and solid memories of that night.  I also kind of hoped it did the same to him.

“You know what, I love the sea” I said at one point of the night.

“Why’s that?”

“Mmm.  I don’t know.” I smiled. “It’s just, how can anyone not love the sea when it’s that beautiful?”

—

Fast forward to our fourth encounter: today, in Manila, Philippines, my hometown; about 6 months after Thailand.  Right now, I am looking at his smug and self-satisfied smile from across the table.  I tried my best to smile and look professional as my boss explained what was going to happen but I’m sure the confusion, and shock, and disbelief, and discomfort showed on my face.  How did this happen?

That morning, my boss told me about, in his words, a “known Japanese photographer” who was making a photobook on beautiful places in Asia.  He wanted to partner up with our publishing company and feature photographs of places around the country.  And since I was going to “write about some places anyway”, and because I “knew Japanese anyway”, as my boss had put it, he decided that this person should just tag along with me.  

And now, here I was with Mr. Kenzo Suzumiya, known Japanese photographer, smirk-er in the airplane going to Hong Kong, cheap hostel-mate in Taiwan, drinking buddy in Thailand, and now, co-worker and travel buddy in the Philippines.   This may be one of the most embarrassing moments of my life, to say the least.  Note to future self: stop staring at strangers, stop getting drunk with strangers-they may be your future client or in this case, co-worker.  As soon as the meeting was done, I said good-bye and rushed out of that room.  Ahhh, world, how can you let this happen?

“It’s been a while,” he smiled playfully, catching up to me.

“Ahhh, Mr. Suzumiya.” I sighed. “Yes, it’s been a while” I looked for possible excuses, familiar people to help me escape, but there was none. Please, don’t make me remember.  

“Eh?  You don’t have to be so formal, you know.  It’s Ken, remember?”

“Uhh, look, Ken.  I don’t really remember much from that night” I confessed.  “So, if I did something embarrassing, I am so sorry.”

“Is that so?  You don’t want to remember?  I can tell you…”

“No, please, don’t.” I cringed, almost visualizing what kind of stupidity and mess happened that night.  “Let’s… just forget that night ever happened, yeah?” I pleaded.

“Mmm, okay.” He agreed. “Then I look forward to working with you” he smiled and reached out his hand.  

“I’m looking forward it too,” I lied, shook his hands and smiled.  “Well, then, onto some work” I excused myself and walked away.  I felt him watch me walk away.  My knees wobbled in weakness.  If the ground opened, and ate me, I wouldn’t have minded.  

Here’s to the next month, and the (mis)adventure it awaits.

[tinymixtapes]

♫ Listen: Susan Alcorn / Joe McPhee / Ken Vandermark - Invitation to a Dream

Whoa, wait a second there, Astral Spirits. What do you mean it’s been five years and now one hundred releases since you’ve first opened the floodgates and unleashed a torrent of experimental/improvisation/jazz/fusion/far-out unclassifiable vibes on a variety of formats, spanning cassettes, compact discs, MP3s, and vinyl LPs? I simply can’t believe it. Five years doesn’t seem like that long ago, yet the quantity and quality of releases flowing from your Austin headquarters actually sort of suggests I should have expected a much longer time to pass. Let’s just call it a confused wash on my part and celebrate. Now, where’s the champagne? Who needs champagne when you’ve got more far-out vinyl to ingest! And by “ingest,” I obviously mean “listen to,” because you can’t drink vinyl unless you melt it, and then it would be so toxic that you probably wouldn’t even be able to finish your glass of record. No, this is aural ingestion, and it’s the most appropriate way to mark the label’s centenary. Susan Alcorn, Joe McPhee, and Ken Vandermark are in peak form on Invitation to a Dream, working pedal steel guitar (Alcorn), soprano sax and pocket trumpet (McPhee), and tenor sax and clarinet (Vandermark) into a localized frenzy, sometimes solo, sometimes backed by the frenetic pacing or dense plodding of the others. It’s a sick, twisted record from sick, twisted minds, meaning that everyone’s tapping into aspects of their imaginations that most of us normies can’t even comprehend getting to. So by “sick” and “twisted,” I only mean the unusual and exhilarating results. And yeah, Invitation often feels plucked from the logic of our unconscious minds, moving from one episode to the next without explanation of how one got there but feeling fairly natural (if not a bit disoriented) within the situation. (And thanks, Inception, for the layperson’s primer!) But that’s what makes it such an intriguing listen — you have to impose your own creative thoughts over the work and let the interpretations come to you. In the end, that’s sort of the Astral Spirits way, isn’t it? I can see a banner with something along those lines hanging in the label breakroom, right next to the “Hang in there” kitty poster and the notes imploring you to clean up after yourself once you’re finished with your lunch. Astral Spirits is a huge corporation with breakrooms and company policy statements like I’m visualizing here, right? Invitation To A Dream by Alcorn / McPhee / Vandermark http://j.mp/2JO1knf