At that beatnik hangout
As a kind of resignation letter
I scrawled in a corner of a graffiti-covered wall
A Declaration of the Rights of Man
In a corner of a collection of Baudelaire poems
I signed that contract of freedom
Something inside me as my witness…
A day to commemorate―the first snow danced to the ground
I am very bad at and cannot fake
Who I am.
Falseness always makes me sick, drives me mad
To escape from this
I refused becoming a single cog
Inserted into the machine of this materialistic civilized society
That’s right! It is because I am a born gypsy!
But even so it is a wild and unknown field that stretches out
Before my eyes
Anxiety and lack of confidence
Cowardly begin to nestle closer towards me
Freedom and solitude are two sides of the same coin
Clouds, hanging low in the sky,
Foretell the many difficulties that lie ahead
But even so I have decided to march forward
Something inside me goes
“Go and be brave! I am right with you!”
Through eyes that see the world for what it is, a rebellious spirit
With plenty of anger and sadness
A gypsy soul wanders
Want this or not, it forces adaptation,
Defying the trampling on living life like a human being and the soul’s dignity
By some monster of enormous strength
Oh how in jazz it sprouted, grew up in Rock n’ Roll
Now proof of my existence
My gypsy soul!
If this is fate, then let’s go wherever
Bringing music and poetry
Humans are creatures that do not learn their lesson
Until they see their final destruction…
Ahead the wilderness, too, a wilderness
There is the battlefield of the Valkyries
Young women!
Hereafter we pass through hell
Take your high heels off
Then polish your machine guns and get your bodies prepared
Blacken your whole face, we go forth resolute
We shall probably end up stepping over dead bodies
Piled up in the streets like a burnt and stuck pizza
There! On the top of that mountain Buddha is sitting
KILLA BUDDHA - - - I have come to like these words.
The belt of light that circles around Kan-nana
Gridlocked cars slowly moving, the line of red taillights
While reciting sutras, a Buddhist priest counts 108 beads
And facing a future of rebirth called death
We slowly continue to push the accelerator at 20kms per hour
Along the side of the road, a family restaurant’s
Dazzling white brightness!
That long lost illusion of good times and the Holy Family!
The Japanese flag in our children’s lunch boxes!
Banzai!
In that happy, red and white country
The spirit continues to be spoiled slowly
The spirit of good citizens who know no better.
Meandering through the weak
Pale, yellowish aura they give off
The gypsy soul goes
Seeking the spirit’s rightful place
Proudly embracing solitude
Simply intent not to lose its humanity
Wearing rags, these desolation angels go
Like fools….
Under the metropolitan lights
Distant and twinkling
to the starly
*Note: Bird is in reference to the album by Charlie Parker
PHOTOGRAPHED BY MAKI FUJIMOTO