Saito Soma no Tsurezure naru mama ni Extra: Night is Over

Published: 2018/11/14
Original URL: https://kiki-voice.jp/journal/585

※This essay contains a bonus image that can be seen at the original URL above. No paid subscription required for this one, but you do need to have a free account.


Extra: Night is Over

Countless stories are hidden in the interstices of the world.

Between eyes bluer than love and crimson silk, between the “a” and “i” when you pronounce “ai” (love), between cells when you take a deep breath, between a cropped photograph and noema, between a reckless nature and death, between kneecaps that don’t touch, between forelocks cut too short and eyebrows, between brothers lying in bed without saying a word, between the upper and lower lip of a mouth slightly ajar, between schizophrenia and paranoia, between polluted search predictions, between 24:00 and 0:00, between the stratosphere and the ozone layer, and between yourself, myself, and yourselves.


Note: The title is possibly a reference to the song 夜が終わる / NIGHT IS OVER by THEE MICHELLE GUN ELEPHANT. (not sure, but even if it’s not, the ambience is right)

Note: This essay was technically included with the book release of Kenkou de Bunkateki na Saitei Gendo no Seikatsu, in the form of a printed manuscript in Soma’s own handwriting (exclusive to Kinokuniya)

Saito Soma no Tsurezure naru mama ni #16: A Bright Room

Published: 2018/10/31
Original URL: https://kiki-voice.jp/journal/577

※This essay contains a bonus image that can be seen at the original URL above, past the paywall (KIKI-VOICE subscription required).


#16: A Bright Room

It’s a dim, dry morning.

On nights when I go to sleep early and days after drinking too much, I often see dreams. Sometimes I jot down the good ones and use them as material for lyrics or essays. In the past I had a lot of nightmares—for example, going to the bathroom in my parents’ house and seeing that the whole floor has become linoleum, and there’s a giant praying mantis in the middle that I have to fight by myself (tragically, my skin was ripped apart by its sickle claws). Or there’s a witch pretending to be part of my family, and now she’s chasing me because she realized that I figured out the truth, so I hide inside the blankets in the closet—but she finds me. I remember those horror sequences very well.

Lately, many of my dreams have been story-like, taking place between middle school and university. This morning was one of them. For some reason, I was participating in a university festival despite being 27. Each club had to put on a large-scale play with all of its members. The university was filled with that pre-festival restless feeling that something unusual is taking over, and it felt extremely nostalgic. As the story reached its climax, the dream began to fall apart, and the play transformed into a grand carnival. My role was a major supporting character that acted as a go-between for the main characters who couldn’t be honest with each other, and I think it probably went well. Everyone was smiling with tears in their eyes, and it felt like those festivities could only exist in that moment. As I watched them, I thought, even though I’m not a student anymore, I’ll surely experience these emotions again, so I won’t forget this feeling. Today’s dream was much more vivid than usual. It almost felt like I’d leapt through time.

…It was only a dream, of course. But what if possibilities from parallel universes manifested in the form of memories I haven’t experienced yet? I wondered absentmindedly, mind still half-asleep.

There are two books by Roland Barthes on the table. One of them has a Polaroid photo taken by Daniel Boudinet on the cover. The curtains, bed, and pillow are all bathed in a deep emerald green, and like the gentle gaze of the universe, it calls me from extraordinary sleep into ordinary life. Like I’ve seen it somewhere before. Like I knew about it before I encountered it.

Light streams through the curtains, brightening my field of view. The world will be waking up soon, and another new day will begin. I drink up the remnants of my dream with my coffee, open the door, and leave my room.


TL Note: The book that this essay references is La chambre claire (English title Camera Lucida) by Roland Barthes. The Japanese title is 明るい部屋 (A Bright Room) and the cover looks like this:

Saito Soma no Tsurezure naru mama ni #15: Milk Boy, Milk Girl

Published: 2018/8/10
Original URL: https://kiki-voice.jp/journal/454

※This essay contains a bonus image that can be seen at the original URL above, past the paywall (KIKI-VOICE subscription required).

※This essay was also published in the book compilation of Saito Soma no Kenkou de Bunkateki na Saitei Gendo no Seikatsu.


When they’re distributing lunch at school and someone is absent, that’s when the war for the leftover milk begins.

Not to brag, but I was an extremely active young boy up until elementary school. I was the type of kid who would take the initiative to start a game of dodgeball during recess. I ate my school lunches heartily too, and I always participated in rock-paper-scissors battles for extra food.

My favourite part was the milk—I loved chugging down that cold, smooth, white substance, emptying the bottle in one go. I assume everyone in my class recognized me as “the hero who averages two bottles.”

Even at home, I often got scolded by my parents because I’d drink milk straight from the carton at every opportunity. On average, I probably drank over a litre of milk every day—casually. I liked flavoured milk too. Coffee milk, fruit milk, banana juice, melon milk; I’d gulp down anything that caught my eye.

So naturally, my fridge at home is always stocked with milk. However, recently—to be precise, in the past half year—something’s been very wrong. When I drink milk, there’s about a 100% chance that my bowels can’t handle it. I’m sure some of you are wondering why I’m writing about this in a public-facing essay, but this is a grave situation for a milk lover like me. I did hear before that Japanese people aren’t very good at digesting milk, and even in my own family, my father didn’t like milk for that reason. But still, what on earth happened to the young Saito who everyone acknowledged as a milk boy?

My research led me to a depressing reality. As I wrote earlier, it would appear that many Japanese people are poor at decomposing “lactose,” a component of milk. Additionally, the enzyme that does this, “lactase,” decreases as you grow up. The gist of it is that it’s secreted when you’re a baby so that you can absorb nutrients from your mother’s milk, but production is reduced when that’s no longer necessary. This is only one theory, of course, since studies are still ongoing. I can’t present definite proof here, but it certainly does feel like my milk tolerance has weakened compared to when I was a child.

When I was in third grade, I suddenly broke out into hives after eating my favourite food, karaage. “Ah, love is such a sorrowful thing,” I thought, and the sorrow I feel right now is by no means inferior.

That said, it’s not that I can’t drink it at all. As long as I can still drink it in small amounts, maintaining an appropriate distance, I should be able to continue my relationship with the milk girls.

As I wrote this, I arrived at my usual cafe. I often stop by here between jobs, and I order the same drink every time. I’ll be ordering that today too, of course.

“Excuse me, could I get cold milk?”

I can’t help that I like it.

Saito Soma no Tsurezure naru mama ni #14: Yet Unnamed

Published: 2018/6/20
Original URL: https://kiki-voice.jp/journal/480

※This essay contains a bonus image that can be seen at the original URL above, past the paywall (KIKI-VOICE subscription required).


#14: Yet Unnamed

One of my hobbies is giving strange names to songs and stories. I’ve always been oddly obsessed with titles, and in high school, I wrote a story called 密花 (Hisoka; “Secret Flower”) that won a small prize. The judge announced it as “Next is… Mitsuka!” and I said, “Oh… um… it’s actually Hisoka…”, secretly embarrassed by my unusual kanji reading.

The three songs on my third single “Date” were all written and composed by me, so of course, I was the one who named them. “Date” came rather easily, but “Reminiscence” was originally called “Ame” (Rain) and it had a more “wet” feeling.

“C” went through the most complicated journey. Its temporary title was “crowling chaos” [sic]. This was lifted from the Cthulhu mythos (those familiar with Nyarlko-san may recognize it too), and since I didn’t have any English song titles before, I thought I’d go with something chuuni. Then it became “Cx” (as in C multiplied by x), at which point I realized that I could fit a lot into the letter C, so it became “C”.

“C” can mean anything you want; I don’t mind—but I suspect that people will have the most questions about what this song is about, so here are a few possible meanings for “C”:

cute.
chaos.
crazy.
catastrophe.

The pronunciation and spelling is a bit different, but:
see.
she.

And then, placing your index finger to your lips and saying,
“Shiii” (Shh)

So there are actually quite a few meanings that can be retrofit—I mean, assigned to it.

By the way, one of the senpai I’m close friends with at my agency (who has unusually intense eyes and used to be a magician) had this to say about the song: “I see. I thought of eyesight tests first. You look at rotated C’s for that, right? When you do that, one of your eyes sees the world of light, while the other eye sees the world of darkness. I imagined good and evil blending together into chaos.”

To which I proclaimed loudly, “Oh, I’ll say I came up with that then! I’m stealing that idea!” Utter chaos. 14 highballs were consumed. Jesus.

While I’m at it, here are some of the strange titles I have:

Sunny Day Lost (In Heaven)
Atashi Zekkouchou (I’m in top form)
Lemming, Ai, Obelisk
Ninniku Vampire (Garlic Vampire)
Saritotemo Akirameru Atamanaku Mujou ni mo (Alas, I’m in no mind to give up)
Android Spacenoid
Mayonaka no Maple Leaf Rag to Mune ni Aita Kyomu no Ana ni Tsuite (About the Maple Leaf Rag at midnight and the empty hole in my chest)

Utter chaos. When Takasugi Shinsaku was 27, he said, “Live an exciting life in the not-exciting world.” Now that I’m the same age, I more-or-less agree. Even if I can’t become like Kurt Cobain or Janis Joplin, the world is still so exciting. Totally lit. Markedly marvelous. Insane.

All of those feelings are packed into my third single, “Date”—please give it a listen♡


  • Note: The senpai he mentions is Kamio Shinichiro

Saito Soma no Tsurezure naru mama ni #13: Cherishing Plants

Published: 2018/4/27
Original URL: https://kiki-voice.jp/journal/454

※This essay contains a bonus image that can be seen at the original URL above, past the paywall (KIKI-VOICE subscription required).

※This essay was also published in the book compilation of Saito Soma no Kenkou de Bunkateki na Saitei Gendo no Seikatsu.


#13: Cherishing Plants

I’m not good at growing plants. Or rather, I wasn’t.

Watering and fertilizing them at regular intervals, giving them sunlight… It sounds simple when I put it in words, but I just couldn’t do it. I realized this at a fairly early stage, so I generally never invited plants into my house. I didn’t think flowers were particularly beautiful either; I was more attracted to solid things like minerals and structures.

But lately, I’ve been cherishing them very much. I now share my home with Eucalyptus, Olive, Sansevieria, Pilea glauca, and Tillandsia tectorum, among others, all of which are growing quickly. No longer am I only capable of loving a Roomba.

If you asked me what caused this change, I wouldn’t be able to give a clear answer. I always liked the shapes of cacti (and succulents in general), but I had no interest whatsoever in things that required watering.

I have two sofas at home; one of them is a moss-green-coloured one from Karimoku. Next to it is an ironwood side table, which I decorate with dried eucalyptus leaves. It looks just like a scene I saw in Casa, which kind of makes me laugh too.

Naturally, plants each have their own characteristics and ways of compromising. In the past I thought there was no way I could do such a difficult thing as raising plants, but people do change over time.

By watering and fertilizing them, I feel like I’m energizing my own heart as well. However, they show me different faces depending on the day, and sometimes they wilt even if I’m watering them the same way as always. They seem a bit unhappy these days, probably because of the temperature. I can sense the state of their lives in how they don’t fully conform to logic. It’s said that it takes three years to master watering, but I think I still have a long way to go.

The book version of this essay has been revised from when it was originally published online. There are times when I think I’ve escaped from stagnation—only for my heart to be caught in a different haze. I imagine that these back-and-forths are an inevitable part of one’s daily life. Still, if I persist in my watering, things will sprout again. I think I’ll trust in that and persevere, keeping my enthusiasm in check.

In the future, I’d like to live in a house that resembles a museum. I’d want to relax there, surrounded by lots of books, plants, and things of an ancient flavour. That’s how my state of mind has been lately.

Saito Soma no Tsurezure naru mama ni #12: Fishing Story

Published: 2018/4/1
Original URL: https://kiki-voice.jp/journal/432

※This essay contains a bonus image that can be seen at the original URL above, past the paywall (KIKI-VOICE subscription required).

※This essay was also published in the book compilation of Saito Soma no Kenkou de Bunkateki na Saitei Gendo no Seikatsu.


#12: Fishing Story

(Please read this while listening to my debut single, “Fish Story.”)

Trout fishing often comes up as a motif in Brautigan’s novels, and I’m quite fond of it.

Since fishing is fundamentally a task of waiting, what’s critical is how you choose to spend that vast amount of time. By nature, I’m extremely bad at doing nothing. Whenever there’s downtime, I feel compelled to do something. At first I brought books with me, but I quickly tired of them. I spent those days restlessly staring at the water’s surface, feeling the need to do something.

If you ask me whether I prefer sea fishing or river fishing, it’s definitely the latter. My favourite is the simple kind without using a reel. Driving out into the mountains, leisurely dangling the line in a ravine—and if there’s a catch, cooking and eating it on the spot. Not being able to drink alcohol is a shame, but the deliciousness of river fish eaten in the serenity of mountains cannot be described in words. The other day I caught a large char, and I instinctively shouted “Fiiish!” like Grander Musashi. I also want to try fly fishing and pond smelt fishing. The world of fishing is profound.

That said, lately there’s been a change in how I spend my time waiting. As I stare absentmindedly at the ripples around the float, my consciousness separates from my body and completely different ideas well up. My mind is freed from the bounds of three-dimensional logic and begins to make incoherent connections. It perhaps bears similarity to the state I’m in before falling asleep.

These days, the main purpose of my trips is the time spent letting my mind wander, not the fishing itself. You may be thinking, “Can’t you do that at home?”—and you’re right, but it’s not the same. What’s important is the setting; it has to happen in the remote mountains, surrounded by the trees’ whispers and the animals’ breathing.

I haven’t bought a new pole in quite a while, so I think I’ll visit a fishing store soon and procure some supplies. Oh, maybe I should get a new knife while I’m at it.

Well, I’ve never actually gone fishing before, though.

(The song ends)


TL note: A “fish story” is an extravagant, exaggerated story. In the case of Soma’s debut single, the lyrics are about a person who makes up fantastical stories to cheer up their hospitalized friend. (If this reminds you of Yumeno Gentaro’s “Scenario Liar,” yes, the resemblance is uncanny.)