Upside Down Kris

A Conversation with my Brain "Take it flip side 'round," says Brain quite clearly.  She has cut into my monologue, although  I haven't asked her opinion. Nonetheless, I have to admit she's right. There is a flip side, a back of the mirror to everything. You just have to turn it around to focus on something else. "So, if  I don't like something, should I look at it from upside down? Or rather, downside up?" I wonder. "That might help," Brain replied. "But I'd say it's more like facing your boat upright again. It's like you have taken a dip in the river of life and remained capsized. Your boat is covering your head so you are forced to look down into the murkiness of the river bottom and floating seems quite far away.  Do you know how many people face their lives from inside their boat of thoughts, unable to lift it off their head when all they would need is a slight push? The river flows around them and they are missing the ...

    The Me I'm Meant to Be "I'll never be that me again," claims the ground. It makes the statement in tones of white,  its intent clear:  the cigarette butt indicating it to the right.  This despite the stains on the statement and around it, and its dubious, dirty appearance. Who knows how many people have walked over it, not seeing it or taking it for granted. But you notice it. You stop, pointing your shoes at it–pondering it. "Which me is it referring to?" you wonder. "Which me do I want to leave behind?" Your mind is suddenly not responding. Your cells are running into each other, trying to come up with a solution. You try to see past the oil marks and spoiled cement spots. You feel like the message is meant for you, but you're not tuned into it. Your feet patter away: Ka-clump, ka-clump. Your steps are dissonant yet regular, melding into the sounds around it. Ka-clump, ka-clump. If you clink loud enough you can keep your thoughts at bay. ...

Accolades for Japan Cleanliness, order, and respect: that's what I would say Japan's mottos are. No stains on the seats of trains or subways like I've experienced almost everywhere else I've traveled. No need to recoil at your feet sticking to who knows what on the floor. The Japanese would also never dream of dropping litter anywhere, inside as well as outside. This despite the fact that the only garbage cans to be found are next to vending machines. The idea is that your waste is your responsibility. In my opinion, the maximum height of Japanese cleanliness and inventiveness is the toilet. In almost all the bathrooms private or public, the toilets have a built in bidet and seat warmer as well as a sound distorter if you're worried about someone hearing you during number twos. Simply fantastic! They also found ways to save space by building a sink into the top of the toilet in some places. (Obviously, using clean water.) The Japanese pride themselves on efficiency,...

Springing Ahead  The world has been quite loud in its non-sleepiness this morning. A crude, clear shout of a name. Murmuring in response. Car after car slopping through the muck on the road. (Did it rain? Is that what the slushing is all about?) All of this before 7 a.m.: this wanting to be awake or needing to. 7 is my marker of morning decency, particularly on a  Saturday. I get up, expecting it to be 4 or close to it. It's 7:09. More than decent. It's so dark, however, that it seems like it's 6.  Suddenly, I remember we did that...we did that to time by dragging back the clocks. It's funny to think of our tiny, human hands fumbling with the great clock of time. Last night the sky was pinkish and golden rays still highlighted the green of the park. I was entranced and boggled at the same time. Glorious light, how did you find your way into the night? It was almost 8, and the tendrils of dark had yet to be unleashed. I blinked and blinked, confused by the evening's ...

👣 Happy Feet  It was chunky and juicy, the sensation of my barefoot feet on the parquet. I can't describe it any better than a full-bodied walk. It was so delicious that food adjectives seem to narrate the experience the best. It tells a story, the impetus in the arches of our feet 👣 : the filling out and filling in of them. I was pressing my whole foot into the floor, something I rarely do consciously. I felt my whole foot suck in the wood, as if it were craving it (which it probably was, being used to rubber soles.) Yes: it felt like there were suction pads under my heel and under the balls where callouses sometimes grow to protect me...even my toes became little suction cups. How glorious to take the time to truly feel the walk! To feel my weight slowly change, stabilizing in the center of one foot while the other almost dangled in mid-air, only the ball supporting it. And then I pushed through the limits of stability, leaning into the toes of the first foot until the second t...

The Palm in Carnival The palm tree outside my window   is a tall reminder of nature on a street paved with tourists. A motorcycle rumbles and then roars down the road, cars grumbling behind it. The white noise of people chattering provides a background for the sharp slap of a dog's bark. But the tree is silent, or maybe her sound is muted by the bright pink carnival goers below. She is patient, crossing her lower limbs demurely in front of her as she faces me. She is rather slumped from the weight of her many fans drooping or dangling in the slight breeze. Out of her crown, proud palms protect her and bask in the sunlight. In the chunkiest part of the tree strings of peas make a decorative addition to her headress. One side is green as one would expect, but the other streams gold... As the window clicks shut, I exhale in relief. How can the palm stand it out there with all the confusion and commotion? The tree is striped–layers of growth or time spiralling up from the base. Yes, th...

  The After Carnival The lights were still on, but the machinery mimicked the insides of houses at that moment: ground down to a halt, the gears in off position. Shadows in human forms moved the air in front of café's yet to open. The idea of lights–this time bright white–contrasted with the solid shapes of humans yet to enter into that waking space. A person pauses in an entrance with a hood over her head, a shadow looking toward the light. Her hands grab onto the shape of an ivory umbrella which was to be set up outside, Moments before, a bulldog had been bathing his head in a pool of light from another open door. The rest of him had been hunched over in the dark, concentrating on his first poo of the day. I assume his owner was waiting to collect it–although the protagonist of the scene was the dog...the human only a hazy sketch in the background. Even people waiting on the side of the road seemed painted into the morning–already anticipating it in the dimensions of a bus almost...