On Panels and Pages

Manga Realities at the Ayala Museum

The Japanese word “karoshi” does not directly translate: it means “death from overwork”. That there had to be a word for it attests to the kind of culture that thrives in Japan: anonymous armies of salarymen, prolific portfolios, and long commutes to and from the office, branching out from previous incarnations of warrior classes, farmers and fishermen, and female subservience. One can only imagine the potential for narrative, as well as recognize the contradictions of Japan’s damning shame society somehow supporting an economy of creative expression that is beyond free.

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I met Vincent Moon tonight/ A Take-Away tribute

I cut class. For this:

I guess it wouldn’t be too farfetched to say this video (and consequently, this song) changed my life?

Or I should be more cautious. I’ve been careful about using these words lately:

  • idol
  • icon
  • love, say “I love…” the same way I’m allowed to love a significant other or my cat.

I’ve also been wanting to write about music as a gateway drug to the business of living, but I’m starting to realize how awful that phrase–“the business of living”–actually is. Why add tedium where it shouldn’t exist? I mean, why be bored, why treat it like work? Heck, why do anything at all.

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Piazza, New York Catcher

People ruin us for other people. Songs ruin us for other people. At the moment, I can think of very few things that aren’t capable of ruining us for something or someone. Yesterday I saw The Descendants with a friend. I began today by yelling at my dad, and just generally being hostile towards everyone in my family for reasons I can no longer explain (anyone who’s seen The Descendants would know how badly the juxtaposition of these two events pans out). I just am. I’m just going through a generally hateful phase, which will hopefully be done by tomorrow, over consultations with a thesis advisee. So that doesn’t make it a phase, just a bad day.

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