Silent J

From Tokyo to Osaka in just one day, listening for the silent J.

It's the same old story all over again. Complete of course without the happily ever after end. The woman left the stage and the boy went far away. A trip to another land, to the back of his mind where he couldn't let go even though the bottomless pit reached far into his soul. The doors snapped shut before he could say good-bye as he watched the train take her away. Like saving for a rainy day when you watch your savings float far away. Somehow feeling whole again until that train left him feeling a hole again. Left him to try to connect with the reeling muse to gain some comfort and peace to feel inspired again. But the words rattled inside as he tried his best to speak. A trickle within he couldn't figure out as it starts like a meek leak mistaking feelings for thoughts. Wanting to write to set it right. Then it all comes pouring out much too late. Internal breakdown at the Fukaibashi station that was more emotional than mechanical.

This is the place where I've come to stay, listening for the silent J.

Weeping girl under Osaka city. Empty soul with endless pity. He wanted to reach out to her but he didn't dare. To get too emotional was to show he cared. Revival of the spirit, rising sun in his soul. Scars that don't heal, and won't go away. The boy lost his shadow like a saturated sponge that soaked in too much and let go too slow. Shut him down paralyzed. Maps couldn't help him find what he were looking for as the rain came down with a cleansing purpose. Dysfunctional Haiku with a fractured syllable mess. Nude Marginal Glamour from the toothpaste lady, the only moviegoer who doesn't like popcorn. A terminal temporary nature to all of life's situations. And he didn't want to leave behind what seemed like it only just begun.

The music inside jingles all the way, listening for the silent J.

In his hotel bed he was startled to find that she still clearly crossed his mind. He knew when he came home, she wouldn't be there this time. Narrow roads that turned a knot inside his mind. They twisted and bent until they snapped his spine and left him with no feeling. Soul searching cars blessed by Shinto. Accidents that do sometimes happen. A pen out of ink with more words to write. A trip to his roots restored some sight. Cluttered mind and uncomfortable silence. They talked to him as if he could understand. As if he knew more than he did just like in his own land. Unable to communicate in any language. First impressions last, last impressions lasting like the first. Does he bow down or shake, what does he do when he suddenly awakes? Visions that crawl by when the defenses are down.

You have to press rewind if you want to play, listening for the silent J.

So many doors until he lost track, each one takes him back and a little bit more out of him through the cracks. Old and new intertwined, like soccer fields and baseball diamonds that somehow connect. Left to wonder what would come next. The tortoise and the hare racing through life, one steady and sure the other spins its wheels to nowhere. As it all persists he starts to see patterns. As the patterns appear it all just persists. A non stop inner monologue distracts and disturbs and won't leave him alone. Pencil to pen, dollars to yen, what can he do to stop this from happening again? Happiness within that he didn't recognize until it's too far gone. He couldn't come home to the way it was on the floor. Even the homeless he saw on the streets did not ask for more. The further he moves forward the farther he has to fall.

Your insides shake like the earthquake of Kobe, listening for the silent J.

Elasticity elapsed as he finds he is the same old person no matter how far or where he goes. He still wore her shoes to get him around. He wore them all around town The more he says the deeper the hole. Poetry in motion like noodles slurped from a bowl. Soft spoken and broken as his voice turns into a whisper. Industrial concrete stacks that blow steam rather than smoke, clouded up all the words they once spoke. Steel glass mountains too steep to climb. It takes an earthquake to put you on the map and get you noticed sometime. The rice fields growing in the warehouse district with a saddened and stressed foreign boy in a foreign land who looks to the horizon for answers but it is what's left within that leaves him confused and dazed.

It doesn't matter what you have to say, listening for the silent J.

He said a prayer to her, 'where the sun sets in the sky is where memories remain between you and I.' But he was shutting down more than he could shut out. Leopard skin lady approached with obscenely high heeled shoes. A lonesome photo opportunity. The burden too heavy to carry inside. The words mean nothing when your voice can't be heard. Your voice means nothing when the words can't be understood. It takes a ticket to express that train that rumbles by. And all he can recall is what he should have said before it all disappeared. You have to be limber to eat the food, you have to be nimble not to let it linger. From a crawl to the bullet train, part of him was there before he arrived, part of him he left behind once upon a time.

This is the price you have to pay as she aggressively looks away, while you're left stranded listening for the silent J.