doublewarhol

[doublewarhol]

Artist in the East

1

I am writing because I want to leave behind a trace of what I have experienced. This is also a record of my adventures in becoming an artist through music. It took many, many years to make some career out of that, and it so happens it started in the east. After college, I went to live in Japan because it seemed like a place where new things were happening. Maybe the place. And I felt a sense of comfort returning to the country where I was born and had grown up for some years. The year was 2001, some months before the terrorist airplane attacks on America. Maybe I had a sense somewhere, that it would be a good time to not be in the United States of America.

Even from Japan I could get the sense that the U.S. was enraged as a whole—the people and the president—and trying to pump up the population with fervent patriotism. This did not appeal to me, perhaps because I had grown up in two countries and could see how one-sided most nations could be when insecure. Bob Dylan said “patriotism is the last refuge to which a scoundrel clings.”

I personally wanted to know more about what it meant to be half-Japanese. To be in the liminal place. The only environment I consistently saw half-Japanese kids was at the airport. Always on the move, just like I had been. And probably like they would be, I felt at home in airports. I stared at these kids now, hearing them switch from speaking Japanese to English, and felt some kind of kinship.

But in these times, apparently, I looked like an Arab. Erwin (one of my friends in Japan) cocked his head at me once, and said, “You know, you kind of look like Osama.”

Maybe I was a blank piece of paper upon which anyone’s thoughts could be readily cast.

[doublewarhol]

Artist in the East (a novel)

Gonna be posting bits of my novel "Artist in the East" here.

[doublewarhol]

AFTER

Only the sound

Of water dripping off

The leaves. And the

Sound of cars far

Off rushing. Night is

Finally kind. Right

Now, it is there, a ways

Away.

[doublewarhol]

Worth watching

Art

Is a special space.

Express anything, so long as it

Is art. Make it beautiful, make it amusing,

Make it pleasant.

Then you can say what you want to say.

Otherwise, don’t get up there.

And if you have nothing to say, and it’s

Pretty, we don’t want to hear that either.

[doublewarhol]

Everyone is human

The screaming people in the street, the looks of distress.

The man in the blanket as the air bites.

The ukulele man cursing at the puppeteers. The woman

Drawing patterns

In the street. The rags, no riches.

Insanity is bursting--can you stop it?

And you stand up

There and scream for the people,

The people who are sitting quite comfortably.

Everyone is human, especially those who in flames right in front of you.

[doublewarhol]

Thank you to everyone who got me to 100 likes!

[doublewarhol]

Starter Musician

Picasso’s three musicians

Occupy time. Pierrot,

Harlequin, and Monk--

All eternal. If I had to choose

One to be my starter,

I would the middle,

Because his diamonds

Are red and yellow

 And that would surely blast

Another fellow into oblivion.

[doublewarhol]

“If you’re going through hell, keep going.” -Winston Churchill

Yep, I feel that.

[doublewarhol]

I think rock and roll is gonna make a comeback. Calling it now.

[doublewarhol]

This is a song I created in 2021. It broke new ground for me because I thought objectively about how to create a good song. Through a painting class, I realized that composition (or structure) might be the most important thing in any art form. I focused on getting the chorus right first, and did different iterations of it until it sounded right. And then I moved onto the verse. After I wrote the song, the opening melody stuck in my head for so long that I figured I better properly record it. So I had it professionally mixed, and now it’s on Spotify. Are there any musicians out there who also have insights into songwriting?  

[doublewarhol]

Early Bird, version 2

[I tried a new way of editing my story, by highlighting parts I liked and removing parts that weren’t interesting, and changing parts that didn’t make sense. Hope you enjoy this version.]

One day, I got a match with this girl who also liked the song “Thriller.” I wrote her a message, saying "Hey, we should go to a graveyard for our first date." She responded with "Yes, that sounds great." I asked her which graveyard. She said, "The Grand Army Cemetery." I said, "That sounds grand." I looked it up and it wasn't so far from me. We set a day.

Though it was November, on that day, it happened to be temperate and sunny. I stopped by a café near my house to pick up a coffee and met her by the gate of the cemetery. She was very pale-skinned and I thought that she looked somewhat ghostly. I did not tell her that. Her name was Nora. She walked close to me as we perused the various gravestones and read the names inscribed there. I was good at making up stories about the various deceased soldiers, and she giggled as I did so. "The generals are so lucky, aren't they?" she said. "They don't have to die."

"Not usually. Unless they're very stupid." I took her hand and pulled her a little closer to me. The strands of red hair drifted in the wind.

"You're not hard to read. I can tell exactly what you're thinking. You're kind of on the fence with me. The graveyard fence."

"I just broke up with my boyfriend, that's why."

"It's not my looks?"

"No."

"And then you found me on the app."

"Yes." “Thriller” was nowhere in our minds.

"The heart has different rooms. If he's in one of the rooms, I can see you in one of the other ones, right?"

"I guess so." Nora nodded toward my empty coffee cup. "But I'll need one of those too to get the motivation." And so we went to that same café near my house and talked more. I decided we should leave it at that and we said goodbye. We didn't see each other for a few days. Then I matched with this other girl on the app who also liked “Thriller.” What do you know? The chances. I messaged this girl, saying, "I didn't know that so many people liked graveyards." There was no response and I thought that I must have sent a bad message.

I saw Nora again the next week. It was still quiet in the streets with the global situation, and we peered into store windows to see which ones were open. She didn't want to see her family for Christmas. I said I understood—it was difficult travelling. But it sounded like there was something more. Her voice quivered when she spoke about her parents, so I knew it was bad. She said they were in England. I said "Oh. Well, you know, life is weird. So who cares anyway."

She was silent after that, and we were just as quiet as the storefronts. I did not take her home and the next day I got a text from the other girl who had liked Thriller. She said that she didn't like graveyards, unless it was very early in the morning. "How early?" I asked and she said 7 o'clock. I said that was fine, even though inside I didn't feel like it was. Some people wake up early; I didn't. Those people see life as a river and they want to get on the water first to get ahead. I admired them, but I didn't like them so much. I saw this girl, whose name was Holly, because I figured that Nora and I weren't officially going out yet. Holly wore a brown jacket and a hat, and had dark lipstick on. She was sitting on a bench waiting for me with her legs crossed, as if she had been there for an hour. She looked at me with beady eyes. "Thank you, I'm good," she said, even though I hadn't asked her.

"I'm sure you are. This is your time of day."

"You agreed to this."

"If I woke up this early every day, I'd be a rich man," I mumbled as we started walking toward the gravestones.

"You're not?"

"I had loans, okay?" We didn't joke with each other that much, at least in terms of tone, and we had these kinds of terse exchanges. I took her home that night. I found out she was a director of movies. That impressed me. I wanted to be in one of them. She told me I could be in a death scene. "Please let me be in a life scene," I said.

Holly sometimes wet the bed. She had a lot of rage against her father, who had left her family when she was twelve. She was not someone I would take to see my parents. But I loved her.

November became December and I had to choose with whom to spend more time with—Nora or Holly. Holly had the name for that time of year; Nora had the personality. She was going to England after all to see her family. I said I would take her to the airport. I did have a car. We hadn't even kissed, but I liked her very much. It would be a good time to kiss her at the airport, when we said goodbye. I hoped she wouldn't be crying. She was a very gentle girl. Holly, instead, was a go-getter. And me—I was just a thrill-seeker.

"Have you seen the movie City of Women?" Holly asked me as we were lying in bed. "By the director Fellini. It expresses his fears of women. Are you like that? Are you afraid of me?"

"No. I'm too lonely to be afraid. That's why I met you in a graveyard."

"I see. It's like you welcome the ghosts in your life."

I could see that our whole relationship was tinged with death, and I had no idea why. Oh yeah-- "Thriller." But I didn't know if I liked that song as the other things in my life. Like coffee and sweets, and love.

"We should both be a little more quiet with each other," I said, and then we fell asleep. The next morning, I woke up to take Nora to the airport—bright and early. As we were driving down I-5, the song "Monster Mash" came on to the radio. "Do you like this song?" I asked, tentatively.

"I do."

"So do I. I guess it's not quite 'Thriller,' but it's pretty good."

She was quiet for a minute. "I love you."

"Thanks," I said. I knew there was more going on in that head of hers than just that, but I wasn't sure how to tease it out. "Your parents—why don't you want to see them?"

"They like me too much. They don't let me do what I want to do. They want me back in England, and I hate that place."

"Why don't you have an accent?"

"I moved here when I was nine." Sometimes fear interferes with your decisions.

I was suddenly glad to see her off. I didn't want someone who might not be coming back. I wanted to get back to Holly. That brown jacket, those dark lips. We had to plan my scene in her movie—my death scene. I parked my car at the airport and said that I had to get back to take care of some Christmas shopping. Nora latched on to the lapel of my jacket and kissed me on my cheek. "I'll write you," she said.

I nodded, and then I slowly pulled out of the parking spot, and then drove back uptown. When I arrived back at my apartment, I saw a small note that had been left on my bed. "I can never be quiet," it said. "From Holly." I texted her, feeling that something was off. I didn't hear from her for weeks. After sending many frantic messages, I finally received a text from her mother that said she had tried to kill herself and was in the hospital. I didn't think that I could visit her. I never heard from her again. A month later Nora returned from England and we started officially going out.

[doublewarhol]

Early Bird - A short story (on Wattpad) 

I published this story on Wattpad with a few changes. Copy the link to see the page:

https://www.wattpad.com/1159032088-early-bird-a-short-story?utm_source=web&utm_medium=tumblr&utm_content=share_reading&wp_uname=doublewarhol&wp_originator=LeNuTTDHsU5GzXWmSO00G66aRoqgxQIaA3x2s8ny1zeAPuKrCTLTfF3199ms%2B%2BpWc8w9ehxwvoeW4o6Ucnf%2Fb2uWN2%2BoNx8AQr20kmEWRGiyd0sOIrS959%2BushGhWoTe The main character finds a dating app that lets you connect with people by their favorite song. The song affects the relationships that form.

[doublewarhol]

Early Bird (short story, contd.)

As we were driving down I-5, the song “Monster Mash” came on to the radio. “Do you like this song?” I asked, tentatively.

“I do.”

“So do I. I guess it’s not quite ‘Thriller,’ but it’s pretty good.”

She was quiet for a minute. “I like you.”

“Thanks,” I said. I knew there was more going on in that head of hers than just that, but I wasn’t sure how to tease it out. “Your parents—why don’t you want to see them?”

“They like me too much. They don’t let me do what I want to do. They want me back in England, and I hate that place.”

“Why don’t you have an accent?” “I moved here when I was nine.”

I was suddenly glad to see her off. I didn’t want someone who might not be coming back. I wanted to get back to Holly. That brown jacket, those dark lips. We had to plan my scene in her movie—my death scene. I parked my car at the airport and said that I had to get back to take care of some Christmas shopping. Nora latched on to the lapel of my jacket and kissed me on my cheek. “I’ll write you,” she said.

I nodded, and then I slowly pulled out of the parking spot, and then drove back uptown. When I arrived back at my apartment, I saw a small note that had been left on my bed. “I can never be quiet,” it said. “From Holly.” And I never heard from her again—that early bird. A month later Nora returned from England and we started officially going out. What a thrill.

[doublewarhol]

Early Bird (short story, contd.)

“The heart has different rooms. If he’s in one of the rooms, I can see you in one of the other ones, right?”

“I guess so.” Nora nodded toward my empty coffee cup. “But I’ll need one of those too to get the motivation.” And so we went to that same café near my house and talked more. I decided we should leave it at that and we said goodbye. We didn’t see each other for a few days. Then I matched with this other girl on Kord who also liked Thriller. What do you know? It was amazing. I messaged this girl, saying, “I didn’t know that so many people liked graveyards.” There was no response and I thought that I must have sent a bad message.

I saw Nora again the next week. It was still quiet in the streets with the covid pandemic and we peered into store windows to see which ones were open. She didn’t want to see her family for Christmas. I said I understood—it was difficult travelling. But it sounded like there was something more. Her voice shook when she spoke about her parents, so I knew it was bad. She said they were in England. I said “Oh. Well, you know, life is just impossible. So who cares anyway.” She was silent after that, and we were just as quiet as the storefronts. I did not take her home and the next day I got a text from the other girl who had liked Thriller. She said that she didn’t like graveyards, unless it was very early in the morning. “How early?” I asked and she said 7 o’clock. I said that was fine, even though inside I didn’t feel like it was. Some people wake up early; I didn’t. Those people see life as a river and they want to get on the water first to get ahead. I admired them, but I didn’t like them so much. I saw this girl, whose name was Holly, because I figured that Nora and I weren’t officially going out yet. Holly wore a brown jacket and a hat, and had dark lipstick on. She was sitting on a bench waiting for me with her legs crossed, as if she had been there for an hour. She looked at me with beady eyes. “Thank you, I’m good,” she said, even though I hadn’t asked her.

“I’m sure you are. This is your time of day.”

“You agreed to this.”

“If I woke up this early every day, I’d be a rich man,” I mumbled as we started walking toward the gravestones. “You’re not?”

“I had student loans, okay?” We didn’t joke with each other that much, at least in terms of tone, and we had these kinds of terse exchanges. I took her home that night and we fucked. I found out she was a director of movies. That impressed me. I wanted to be in one of them. She told me I could be in a death scene. “Please let me be in a life scene,” I said.

November became December and I had to choose with whom to spend more time with—Nora or Holly. Holly had the name for that time of year; Nora had the personality. She was going to England after all to see her family. I said I would take her to the airport. I did have a car. We hadn’t even kissed, but I liked her very much. It would be a good time to kiss her at the airport, when we said goodbye. I hoped she wouldn’t be crying. She was a very gentle girl. Holly, instead, was a go-getter. And me—I was just a funny guy.

“Have you seen the movie City of Women?” Holly asked me as we were lying in bed. “By the director Fellini. It expresses his fears of women. Are you like that? Are you afraid of me?” “No. I’m too lonely to be afraid. That’s why I met you in a graveyard.” “I see. It’s like you welcome the ghosts in your life.”

I could see that our whole relationship was tinged with death, and I had no idea why. Oh yeah--“Thriller.” But I didn’t know if I liked that song as the other things in my life. Like coffee and sweets, and love.

“We should both be a little more quiet with each other,” I said, and then we fell asleep. The next morning, I woke up to take Nora to the airport—bright and early.

[doublewarhol]

Early Bird (short story)

“Bird” is another word for “young woman.” I don’t think it’s too offensive to refer to them as that. So I’ll use it as part of the title for this story. I found this dating app called Kord, that connects people by their musical taste. The app, which used an icon of two music notes facing each other, asked me what my favorite song was, and I put in “Thriller.” In about five minutes, I got a match with this girl who also liked that song. I wrote her a message, saying “Hey, we should go to a graveyard for our first date.” She responded with “Yes, that sounds great.” I asked her which graveyard. She said, “The Grand Army Cemetery.” I said, “That sounds grand.” I looked it up and it wasn’t so far from me. We set a day.

Though it was November, on that day, it happened to be temperate and sunny. I stopped by a café near my house to pick up a coffee and met her by the gate of the cemetery. She was very pale-skinned and I thought that she looked somewhat ghostly. I did not tell her that. Her name was Nora. She walked close to me as we perused the various gravestones and read the names inscribed there. I was good at making up stories about the various deceased soldiers, and she tittered as I did so. “The generals are so lucky, aren’t they?” she said. “They don’t have to die.” “Not usually. Unless they’re very stupid.” I took her hand and pulled her a little closer to me. The strands of red hair drifted in the wind. It was very romantic.

“You’re not hard to read. I can tell exactly what you’re thinking. You’re kind of on the fence with me.”

“I just broke up with my boyfriend, that’s why.”

“It’s not my looks?” “No.” “And then you found this app.” “Yes.” The song that had brought us here was nowhere in our minds.

[doublewarhol]

Praying

Making art is praying. To love, which is in the air. Life can be saved. You may pray by yourself or with others. There may be a preacher who leads you, and there may be music. There may be readings from the great masters. There may be miracles performed on the uninspired. There may be rituals, and there may be pretenders that come to those rituals. Young and old. And there may be a church. No guilt or shame here. There is no converting the unbelievers. No crusades. Maybe sacrifices. Yes, sacrifices.

[doublewarhol]

One Family

My computer is a baby that can shit on me at any time. And by shit I mean it can freeze, and ruin my day. Which is like barfing on my mood. I want to leave it, but I can’t. It gets updates—it’s improving. What is it capable of now? There are some good times. We enjoy music together, and laugh sometimes at videos. I have a smaller baby too, that I hold all day long. I give this one more love because it’s cuter. I dropped it once or twice but I think it’s all right. There’s a middle child too, that’s often forgotten. The iPad. What have I become? No cord connects us, but we are one family. We are one.