It’s true; after you read, you need to write. I just finished Men Without Women by Haruki Murakami. It’s a collection of short stories revolving around men with abstract situations in which they find themselves alone. What I love about this author, is that his plots unravel through the odd quirks people’s lives, and makes you question whether it is surrealism or not. Sometimes it’s more obvious than other times when I am reading his stories… They are so detailed, that I find it hard to decipher what is real or not, or if he’s deliberately describing details from his own life or not. I’ve taken a lot of things from these short stories. Occasionally, I’ll send book captions to my friend. I thought of her when I read this because she has multiple Beatles tapestries in her home.

“As far as I know, the only person ever to put Japanese lyrics to a Beatles song ‘Yesterday’ was a guy named Kitaru. He used to belt out his own version whenever he was taking a bath

‘Yesterday

Is two days before tomorrow

The day after two days ago’

This is how it began, as I recall, but I haven’t heard it for a long time and I’m not positive that’s how it went. From start to finish, though, Kitaru’s lyrics were almost meaningless nonsense that had nothing to do with the original words.”

from Men Without Women by Haruki Murakami.

I found this passage to be really funny. I am one to look at the lyrics from this and go “wow, that really meant something”. Then, having the author himself go “These lyrics are meaningless”, made me laugh so hard at that.

Here’s another passage from the same book I’d like to share to you. “What I remember most about M is how much she loved elevator music. Percy Faith, Montovani, Raymond Lefevre, Frank Chacksfield…” from Men Without Women by Haruki Murakami.

I love this paragraph because Murakami goes on to describe what it is like losing this girl who listened to elevator music. How he thought, almost expected at times for her to suddenly appear in his car and play an elevator music cassette tape. I feel like this point goes on to illustrate the theme of the entire book.

We always find ourselves entangled in other people’s abstract situations. I can argue that it is unavoidable, as we are naturally social creatures. We would die alone in solitude or end up losing our minds without human interaction. I’m sure some have more of a tolerance to solitude than others, we all enjoy it up to a certain extent. I can remember a situation where I found myself glimpsing into a window of a stranger’s abstract, significant experience. I was young, riding in the backseat of my mom’s car down some busy street with stop lights. When we pulled up to the light, this woman, had to be in her 20’s, opened the door to our car and hoped in. She told us to drive. I remember gripping my stuffed animal tight. We dropped her off at a restaurant. In this moment I realized a number of things. #1: Even if you are driving, if your car is unlocked then somebody can still break in. #2: Everyone on this planet goes through these moments of devastation, when you’re so desperate that you can entrust your life to a stranger driving down the street. That’s a shared human experience, to have those points in your life. I totally forgot about this story until now.

I always end up writing the weekly Friday newsletter directly after I send them out. I have always had a passion for blogging and sharing things I love. I like to read a lot, I always have. I’ve always had a book or a journal in my bag since middle school. I have been writing for a while as well, just sort of a thing I do in between tasks. It’s something I forget about, but then have the pleasure of remembering. I’d like to share a passage I wrote from a short story:

“It was snowing on the lake, as mountains of ice stood in their awkward positions on the frosted  waters. The arctic-like wind  made my lungs feel brittle, as I sharply inhaled the dry air around me. The muted yellow of the wild grass swayed in the breeze; my hair fluttered with it. Surrounding me was the ambient hiss of the incoming storm, threatening to turn mist into ice. I noticed my hand intertwined with another. Half expecting to see Flint, I turned to my side, but his face was blurry. I could make out his ebony black hair and soft porcelain complexion. “I’m so glad you can finally get out of the house.” I said to him for some reason. Maybe it was because his skin looked so delicate that it could burn in direct sunlight, so he must hide in the house on a normal day. This wasn’t a normal day, and we weren’t on the west side of Lake Superior, but rather the East. His hand was colder than the sand and snow below our feet. “My house”. He turned to me and suddenly I wasn’t at the beach anymore, I wasn’t anywhere. I could see nothing but the stars, the glow in the dark stars above my bed, I was in my room… but was this a dream? There he stood in the corner of the room, a dark silhouette.”

I am excited to finish this story. It’s about falling in love with the boy who lives between your walls. I got this idea from a dream. Maybe I can find the dream… I’d to publish this  story  it online, possibly sell it. I am also working on a lyric book of 10 Proxoxie songs. This is a long-term project, that probably won’t be finished until the new year. I have been writing a lot recently. Just in general. It’s the best medium to express myself other than music. It compensates for a lot of lost time that I could have been using to think. Throughout my day, I feel like there are things I push aside to deal with later in my head. If you’re someone who does this, so it’s good to have an outlet, maybe you can relate.

So, I’ve been writing down my dreams since 2017 on this one app. I was searching through all my dreams to find the one where the boy lived in the wall, but instead I found this dream which I dreamt exactly a year ago from the date I write this. Keep in mind, I am half asleep when I write these dreams… half of the time, I just give up on the titles.

Communists Vs. Theater Kids

“I lived in a house with a bunch of other people, and they all had jobs inside the house… I’m not sure what type of jobs, but the society we had was obviously capitalist. The people outside our house which we could see through the window, they were communist… sort of… they only sold arts and crafts in markets and had no job. The reason we stayed inside of the house was so we could all work and have real jobs. The communists threatened us but flinging rubber bands at our windows. I was fr scared. So, I left… and I went out this exit which turned into a community theater. I saw Dwayne “the rock” Johnson and asked if he could come back to the house with me because I had forgotten my DDJ SB3 and camera. He said sure and I was like thank you. By the time we came back, the capitalists and communists were both fighting, and I said to the rock “I’m glad youre here” and he said yeah, he was too. So, the fight ended, and I got my controller and camera from the stage at the theater.”

I always laugh at this dream. It is so odd and out of context. Dreams do reveal things about us and our perception of the world. Do I think that the arts and crafts people are communists? No… hahaha Do I consider “Arts and Crafts” as a real job? Of course, I do, you can make money off anything, that’s the point of being in a capitalist economy. Arts and crafts can be entrepreneurial, just make an Etsy or something. I don’t know where the Rock Dwayne Johnson came from in this. I really don’t know what this dream reveals about me other than my sense of humor. After all, it is a lighthearted dream… sort of?

The themes that have repeated throughout my dreams have been zombies, the apocalypse, hotels, the upper peninsula of Michigan… there are more themes. I have repeating settings that occur in dreams. There’s this once beach that I always see. It’s a beach town which borders lake Michigan. There’s a sand dune mountain that extends to the sky. I always want to climb this mountain in my dream, but it always gets too dark before I am able to. The sun seems to always be setting in my dreams as well.  Sometimes this beach takes the form of my childhood backyard and woods. It’s hard to describe.

November is my most creative month usually. It’s something about it being a waiting period between Halloween and Christmas. Also, I love how all the leaves have died and it’s beginning to snow, but the snow is not all slushy and gross yet. It’s always good to get out of the house in November and go outside. I try to walk every day or get fresh air.