Me and me

Give us your profile,

tell us who you are,

your good points, your bad points,

they say

A game: putting the pigeon in the humanhole;

the pigeon chuckles and coos

A description, an outline, about;

psychometric blank filling,

to know, and to know better,

and better to know something

I know where to start, but

I don’t know where to end

me, me, mE, me, Me, me, mE, me,

Me, me, Me, me, me, me, me, me

I can give you a me, but not the me;

this me is already different from

every me in the list.

The me that stands now was

lying down a while ago;

the bad of that me does not

exist in the good me of now, and now gone.

Pic 52: 駒込 - Komagome, Tokyo

Pic 51: 駒込 - Komagome, Tokyo

Pic 50: 大塚 - Otsuka, Tokyo

The OR Shines

       As per most days, the OR (office robot) boarded the 8:51 on the Odeo Line. It had been a bit of a hurry this morning; its metal body was not wearing the familiar glistening sheen. The OR looked worried. Better do something about it before reaching the office. What would the others say? More of the same old gossip about appearance; but one has to remember how beautifully the other ORs sparkle, how well they maintain their metal complexions. Yes, there’s a lot of pressure to compete with the others, and to look good at all times.

       The OR put its hand into its tool box and rummaged deeply and blindly through the comprehensive collection of tools and materials, now considered de rigueur by respectable  ORs. The fingers squeezed through the contents, through the reassuringly familiar feel of the miniature planishing hammer, the small screwdrivers, wrenches, assorted abrasive compounds, buffing powder phials, and polishing pads. The finger sensors recognized the sensuous texture of the quick-shine durable super-pad, and out it came to implement its task. Rub, gentle rub, slow rub, quick swish, delicate circulating motion, tap, dab, tap, dab.

       The others in the carriage sat perfectly still, except for their eyes, which betrayed a hint of disapproval, but at the same time were careful not to express their irritation too explicitly. They were all thinking the same:

No sense of shame, never heard of politeness, decorum, thinking of others. These kinds of cosmetic ablutions should be carried out at home.

Eventually, an elderly passenger dared to rebuke the inconsiderate miscreant: You don’t have to do that here. Do it at home. Makes me sick to see this kind of thing in public. It was different in the past.

The OR ignored this outburst and completed its final touches to its all-important appearance.

       The OR got off the train at the next station. As it climbed up the stairs and headed for the exit, it was just about noticeable that some sort of enhancement had been carried out on the smooth sheen of the silver body. It looked a little cleaner, a little younger than most of the other silver bodies beneath the bobbing silver heads rushing up the stairs and escalators at the same time.

Pic 49: 池袋 - Ikebukuro, Tokyo

Pic 48: 浅草 - Asakusa, Tokyo

Pic 47: 中井 - Nakai, Tokyo

Waves

  

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Pic 46: 千早 - Chihaya, Tokyo

Pic 45: 麻布十番 - Azabu-Juban, Tokyo

Haiku

under the eaves
a pair of sparrows;
typhoon from the west

Pic 44: 新宿 - Shinjuku, Tokyo

Surreal happy ending

The strain

of the brain

riding on the trains

The stress

of the guess

how much bigger is more than less

The ache

of the fake

that’s the icing under the cake

The toll

on the mole

in the hole

The scare

of the tear

in the teddy-bear

The dread

of the bed

on your head

The calm

of the palm

on her arm