In five days we will not live in Shinjuku anymore. Today we began packing up the house and using the word “last” a lot. It makes everything seem extremely significant and precious. The last load of washing, the last shower, the last coffee on the balcony. Such banal things, now so magnified and full of meaning! Now, right now, im writing this as i walk around shinjuku station, trying to find a bank where I can receive a western union money transfer to pay the landlord for the last time.

This is how Shinjuku works: you have goals and destinations but are never able to reach them easily or quickly. There is no “get,” just a long and arduous “getting.” You’re constantly in the process of trying to do something here; trying find a bank, a restaurant, a cheap coffee, an office, an obscure exit, a friend, or perhaps, if you are a bit excited, you could be trying to find a cheap massage from a woman of the night.

I used to hate Shinjuku and do anything to avoid it – taking long and inconvenient routes, riding my bike, staying home. Shinjuku was everything bad about this city. It was overcrowded and proud of that; “the busiest train station in the world.” What a horrible thing to be the best at.

But now I feel connected to Shinjuku. I come here everyday, it meets all my needs and even more, it has shown itself to me, opened up; a kind flasher. Some cities can be known in hours or days. Shinjuku has taken me three years to know. Three years to make a good map in my brain. It feels like the nicest city in the world and I’m very sad to be leaving it.

Photo from the overbridge near the skyscraper district, looking back to Kabukicho.

In Tokyo we live in a concrete apartment. Ground floor. Apartments on the ground floor seem to be cheaper than those further up. There are a number of reasons why a ground floor apartment is cheaper: it’s easier to steal from a ground floor apartment; it’s easier to lose your privacy and have peepers peep into a ground floor apartment; it’s more likely that a collapsing apartment block will crush lower floors. Because of the March 11 earthquake our ground floor apartment has a crack in the concrete wall. But being on the ground floor is also nice because you never really sway that much when the earth shakes. For a while the aftershocks seemed to be missing Tokyo, but then they came back and I became aware of the high rise factor. Now I’m thinking about the storey’s of Tokyo. Occasionally I work on the seventh storey of a building, and during those times of work the earthquakes feel much stronger. One day I was sitting at a desk when a magnitude 4 aftershock hit. The sensation is like being spun rather than being shaken, because the buildings sway so much. Looking outside only makes it worse because all the other tall buildings in Shinjuku are swaying gently too, absorbing and throwing off all that built up geological energy.

In Tokyo many people live and work up in the air because there is not enough space for everyone to live on the ground. A friend works on the twentieth floor, and another works on the forty sixth floor, but I don’t know anyone who works higher than that. Some people choose to live up high because of the view. Example: a woman lives on the fourteenth floor of an office block in Shinagawa, overlooking Tokyo bay. She has a nice view, “the city, the ocean, Mt. Fuji.” After the March 11 earthquake hit she stayed under a table for three hours, and her husband ran to her because he knew she was phobic of earthquakes and would be immobilised with fear. He took three hours to run (but she suspects he walked some of the way because it’s only about 15km). This woman goes to a gym on the twenty seventh floor; an open air gym with an outdoor spa bath. She often soaks in the bath looking out into the grey air, and looking out at the entire city, the bay, and Mt. Fuji (if the weather is clear). When the March 11 earthquake hit, people were getting fit and sweating in the gym. A friend of the woman was soaking in the spa bath at that exact moment. She was looking out at the entire city, the bay, and Mt. Fuji through the entire earthquake. After the building stopped swaying she noticed that all the bathwater was gone.

Photo of a tall building in Shinjuku taken from our rooftop.

Wilting plant in a pot, placed inside a larger pot.

Yesterday it was one month since March 11. This morning we were woken by warning sirens and, half asleep, tried to find our emergency bag and cover ourselves with a pillow beside the bed. It’s confusing when you’re half asleep and full of adrenaline. The epicentre of this earthquake was Chiba, close to Tokyo. Narita airport and the metro system here temporarily closed for the first time since the March 11 earthquake according to one news source, but I don’t know if that’s actually true. After the shaking we got up, bought some milk, came home and made a tea. That was quite normal. Luckily the milk came from Hokkaido; milk with suspicious origins gets left untouched by most people. The term “tainted” flashes in my brain when I see milk. That kind of flashing is probably going to get stronger. In the week after the March 11 earthquake the International Atomic Energy Agency set the danger level at the damaged Daiichi Fukushima Nuclear Reactor to a level 5 (equal with the Three Mile Island disaster), but this morning they have raised that level to seven; level seven has only been applied to one other nuclear disaster — Chernobyl. Over the past few weeks we took a lot of security from experts saying that this situation would never equal that Russian thing. Who knows. I don’t feel so worried about the nuclear situation in Tokyo just yet, but I feel extremely sorry for the expanding radius of disenfranchised fishermen and farmers around Fukushima. Their livelihoods are tainted. They’re angry at TEPCO, the company which manages the nuclear reactors, for unceasing radiation tainting their soils and waters, and for not being clearer with how bad the situation really is. They want clearer information faster; speed is a really important factor because life decisions now depend on clear and accurate information.





What makes this situation so uncomfortable is how slow everything progresses, not only information, but also the actual drama unfolding IRL. Disasters should be dramatic and violent and finally, over. But the danger up north has been continuing at a very gradual pace since the massive earthquake on March 11. Radioactive isotypes are not exploding out of containment vessels, but amassing — very slowly — in the Pacific ocean, in the soil and in the air. Men in white suits are searching for evidence of those isotypes, and when they find them more softly spoken farmers will be forced into a new line of work. I’m unhappy for those men and women. I’m angry when I really begin to think about it. They’re angry too, with TEPCO and Tokyo in general. The leaking Nuclear reactors in Fukushima never even provided power for the people in Fukushima. Now the elderly tenderers of the hinterland are suffering because Tokyo got too greedy with power.





Sometime between 384 BC-322 BC Aristotle said “Anyone can become angry – that is easy, but to be angry with the right person at the right time, and for the right purpose and in the right way – that is not within everyone’s power and that is not easy.” But what is justified anger without justified action? Surely they’re part of the same axis. But it’s difficult to say what action can really be taken, I don’t know anyone with the expertise to mend the failed nuclear reactors. I don’t know anyone with the expertise to properly manage a regional power company. All I know is that a more transparent and competent body than TEPCO needs to be overseeing this situation. All I know is what Ralph Waldo Emerson told me; “when you strike at a king, you must kill him.”





Yes, Ralph Waldo Emerson, indeed, the kings of power must be killed with one strike. I hope that strike is delivered by a humble farmer, but they’re all probably far too familiar with the realities of natures cruelties to really care much for any of this right now. Perhaps, for some, this disaster is categorically similar to a harsh winter, a too dry summer, a bad case of pestilence or diseased crops. But this time the vicissitude won’t pass so easily. This will carry on for years, even decades. And we might carry something too; a justified anger at the present with our justified fears about the future.

Something about discharge and measuring time; that we can only measure time as things become more complex and break down. Something about Stephen Hawking and a good documentary about him by Errol Morris (HERE); the arrow of time. Something about time-perception and destruction; that if we only know time through the degradation of order into disorder perhaps we can change our sense of time by altering our proximity to large scale destruction. Some quote from Hawking from a New Scientist article in 1987, “we measure time in the the direction in which disorder increases.” Something about disasters and the slowing of time; your life flashing before your eyes. Finally, no thing can be known without something being destroyed.

Photo of the sun discharging light through clouds (top) and small crabs discharging sand from holes (bottom).

Shizutani School. One of the first public schools in the world. Imagined by Lord Mitsumasa in 1666, it was finally completed by his successor, Lord Tsunamasa. Two Chinese Pistachio trees are planted in the school grounds. The seeds were brought from China specifically because Confucious regarded them as “academic trees.” When we visited Shizutani School two weeks ago the trees were still bare. In Autumn the leaves will become red and yellow and many people come to see those colours. There was no mention on any of the tourist brochures about the emerald colour of the water in the nearby moat but I felt its colour could easily rival that of the trees. When we visited the water must have had a special kind of algae blooming, or the sun must have been shining on a specific angle, because the moat glowed with a preternatural rich green hue. I wanted to drink from it.





In the 1990′s Russia began giving five gram tablets of an algae called spirulina to children affected by the radiation from Chernobyl. After taking an optimum dosage for an optimum length of time the level of radiation in their bodies was roughly 50% lower. A Chinese research team first studied the power of spirulina on radiation in 1989. They found that a radioactive mouse which is given spirulina will become less radioactive (HERE).

For a while everything in Japan slowed down. The sensation of time passing over the last three weeks felt much longer, more like three months. It seems the earthquake was so large it affected our sense of time. But now everything is gaining speed, becoming normal, we are getting busy again, time is shortening and harder to find. I read an article today that claimed Japan will bounce back from this disaster with renewed vigour, “even stronger than before.” An even more productive and prosperous Japan! Finally a viable way out of the ’90s/’00s axis of economic ennui! Perhaps. Reconstruction is essential, but there are consequences from extending that reconstruction into renewed prosperity. The time-poor workers of Tokyo will be the first to suffer. Their time was already unnaturally scarce before the quake. In the future it may disappear completely. We will not know exact days or hours anymore, only fuzzy states: sleeping, working, eating, talking. As spare time for reflecting on the future vanishes Tokyo will be inhabited solely by workers with a “present perspective of time.” Psycho-Pharmeceudical companies will make a lot of money from “sense of time” medication which will be used to help rebuild the atrophy of timekeeping functions in the basal ganglia and the right parietal cortex. Photo of the Toei Shinjuku Line train gaining speed as it leaves Akebonobashi station bound for East Tokyo (which is where our new house is).