Portland + Thai = Pai ?

We are meant for:

beauty 

in the great outdoors

(see. . . bug spray)

fault lines

(mine and yours')

thunder 

and 

lightning

and 

blue skies

Pai is outstanding 

for 

all 

living beings

mirth

I had the strangest experience today...

On the train from Shimo-kita to Kichijoji— the slow train— a very normal-looking Japanese child of maybe 8 years old at some point came and sat next to me. I didn’t think much of it at first, but he was staring and me without give; at some point, he went and sat across from me to only come back and sit next to me, scooting closely toward me.

Who on earth does he think I am?

I thought to myself

in Tokyo, a white person isn’t an anomaly

— but having no clue— I went back to emailing my agent—and pretending to look at my email

All the time, the tiny person peering over my shoulder

If it had been an adult, I would have certainly been uncomfortable...

but it was a child— looking at me, eyes as big as pure-silver

When we finally disembarked, he stayed behind me for a spell

And then broke into a run

Like the child he was

I couldn’t help but laugh out loud. 

See yourself in a virtual mirror

for who you are 

and what has brought you to where you are now.

It's spring, peeps!!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7CnGsKTHtNw

I saw an exhibition in Nakano Broadway

with my bestie..

and had he not reminded me of it today, it might have slipped my mind.

And that's what friends are for... 

this work is breathtaking

a love from another world

http://www.emptykingdom.com/featured/jun-kumaori/

some days, unexpected. . .

Boss: Kellie-sensei, we haven't taken your official company photo yet. Can I take it now?

Me: Now?!!!

Boss: Yeah, why not?

Me: You have to warn me about these things! I'm not looking my best today---also not adhering to the dress code at the moment.

Boss: That's alright.

Me: I'M NOT EVEN WEARING MAKEUP!

Boss: You don't need makeup.

Me: Can we take it tomorrow?

Boss: Yeah, of course.

nature- of the human kind included-

I've had bizarre dreams for at least a week now...
like a waking half-nightmare, half lucid...

a shock to my system, but no surprise.

A friend of a very good friend, a kindred spirit, Brian Benson wrote about an experience which today affected me:

Two years ago, while taking a riverboat down the Mississippi with two white friends, I got trapped at a party in a house owned by one of the more racist, sexist, violent men I've ever met. How my friends and I arrived at his house is a long story. The details aren't so important. What's important is that this man, who knew only our faces, invited us. This man who, over the course of our few hours together, went on to compare women to dogs and call black people everything besides people and describe in detail his fantasies of killing other men—this man very much wanted us in his house. He gave us fresh towels and soap and shampoo. He told us a story about every one of his guns. He introduced us to his friends, so many friends, all of them drinking heavily, spewing hateful language, assuming we agreed with them because of our faces—and insisting, over and over, that we sit, stay, enjoy the party.
We were scared. Scared, and disgusted with ourselves for being there and being too scared to challenge what was being said. So we just bided our time, and when an opening appeared, we fled to our boat. We stayed up for hours that night, talking and staring and drinking whiskey with shaking hands. And what we kept coming back to was the feeling that our escape had provided nothing like relief. Because far worse than that momentary flicker of fear—worse, even, than our scared silence—was the knowledge that we, by simple virtue of being white men, had been invited.
Today, I'm thinking a lot about that party. About being invited, always. That, for me, feels like both the hardest and most important thing to take from this moment: even (especially) now, as a monster steps into the presidency, I am being invited. I'm an able-bodied straight white cis male with metric tons of class privilege. Trump's policies won't personally threaten me. They are written for me. Or, at least, for who this country so often tells me to be.
And so even though I'm devastated, I can't think about any of this as something that’s happening to me. Can't say “it’s not my fault,” or “this isn’t my country,” or anything else that distances me from what is and has forever been happening in America. Because no matter how much I loathe Trump and all he stands for, the fact remains that his presidency is just another invitation, to me, to have a drink, to take the soap and shampoo, to enjoy the party.
To every POC, LGBTQ, Muslim, immigrant, trans- and female-identified person I do and don't know: I'm hurting for you. I'm angry for you. I'm disappointed in myself for not doing and being more. And I'm pledging, here, to not forget what I'm being invited into, and why, and why I've got a responsibility to keep finding ways to show up and stand at the door and say, “no.

I'm not afraid.